Wes Anderson - Moonrise Kingdom Scene 1 lyrics

[INT. BISHOP'S HOUSE. DAY] [A landing at the top of a crooked, wooden staircase. There is a threadbare, braided rug on the floor. There is a long, wide corridor decorated with faded paintings of sailboats and battleships. The wallpapers are sun-bleached and peeling at the corners except for a few newly-hung strips which are clean and bright. A small easel sits stored in the corner.] [Outside, a hard rain falls, drumming the roof and rattling the gutters.] [A ten-year-old boy in pajamas comes up the steps carefully eating a bowl of cereal as he walks. He is Lionel. Lionel slides open the door to a low cabinet under the window. He takes out a portable record player, puts a disc on the turntable, and sets the needle into the spinning groove.] [A child's voice says over the speaker:] RECORD PLAYER (V.O.): In order to show you how a big symphony orchestra is put together, Benjamin Britten has written a big piece of music, which is made up of smaller pieces that show you all the separate parts of the orchestra. [As Lionel listens, three other children wander out of their bedrooms and down to the landing.] [The first is an eight-year-old boy in a bathrobe. He is Murray. The second is a nine-year-old boy in white boxer shorts and a white undershirt. He is Rudy. The third is a twelve-year-old girl in a cardigan sweater with knee-high socks and brightly polished, patent-leather shoes. She is Suzy. She carries a one-month-old striped kitten.] [The boys drop down to the floor next to their brother. They lie on their stomachs with their chins propped up on their fists, listening.] [Suzy sits in the windowsill. She opens a book called Shelly and the Secret Universe. There is an illustration on the cover of a young gymnast with a glowing amulet around her neck.] [Suzy starts to read -- then pauses. She lowers her book. She raises a pair of junior binoculars to her eyes. She looks out into the rain.] [EXT. BISHOP'S HOUSE. DAY] [A rickety, three-story, stone-and-shingle house on a hillside with turrets and a widow's walk. A weather vane swings creaking on the roof. Tree tops sway in a cluster below. The sea is almost invisible in the misting rain, and the mainland is a shadow across the sound. Suzy sits in the high window, watching.] [TITLES OVER:The family stuck indoors all day out of the rain.] [In bedrooms, bathrooms, and corridors, we see the boys. They shoot marbles. They throw jacks. They play cards. They eat grilled cheese sandwiches together in the kitchen.] [In half-open doorways, we see the parents. Mr. Bishop is a tall, fifty-year-old man in Madras trousers and horn-rimmed gla**es. He reads the newspaper and drinks coffee. Mrs. Bishop is a tan, forty-five-year-old woman in a Lilly Pulitzer-type wrap-around skirt. She washes her hair, topless, in the kitchen sink.] [In windows, we see Suzy with her binoculars. She watches wet branches shaking in the woods. She watches a man in a slicker fishing from a row-boat. She watches a white colt in a field. She eats a bowl of tomato soup alone in the pantry.] [In the distance, a seaplane flies by below the clouds.] CUT TO:The edge of a cliff above a white beach. A rocky peninsula curls into the background. Brisk wind rustles the tall gra**. A fifty-year-old man, bald on top with long hair on the sides, stands next to a surveyor's levelling instrument on a tripod. He wears rubber boots and a parka. He is the narrator. He speaks to the camera: NARRATOR: This is the island of New Penzance. Sixteen miles long. Forested with old- growth pine and maple. Criss-crossed by shallow tidal creeks. An important seabird habitat. There are no paved roads but instead many miles of intersecting foot paths and dirt trails and a ferry that runs twice daily from Stone Cove. The year is 1965. We are on the far edge of Black Beacon Sound, famous for the ferocious and well-documented storm which will strike from the east on the fifth of September -- in three day's time. [EXT. SCOUT CAMP. DAY] [A clearing in the woods with ten small, khaki tents pitched in a row. A banner on a flag-pole ripples in the wind. It reads Camp Ivanhoe. A bugler in a khaki uniform with a yellow neckerchief plays a staccato tattoo. He has a gauze patch over one eye. He is Lazy-Eye.] [A thirty-five-year-old man in the same uniform emerges through the flaps of a larger tent. He is Scout Master Ward. He puts on a wide-brimmed felt hat. A badge on the crown reads Khaki Scouts, Troop 55. He lights a cigarette. A thin scout with curly hair and sungla**es joins him at his side. He is Gadge.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Morning, Gadge. GADGE: Morning, sir. [Gadge flips open a small, spiral-bound note-book. Scout Master Ward goes over to a latrine made from thick sticks and rope. A tall, stooped scout digs a trench next to it with an army-shovel. He is Deluca.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Deluca. Latrine inspection. [Deluca stops digging. He pulls on a rope and water runs down a chute. It bursts through a valve, spins a little door, and a small, red flag flips up. Scout Master Ward nods.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Good. [Gadge makes a note. Scout Master Ward strides away. He stops in front of a scout with long hair over his eyes sitting on a stump twisting something in his fingers. He is Roosevelt.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Roosevelt. How's that lanyard coming? ROOSEVELT: *frustrated* I don't know. I think I skipped a stitch. [INSERT:A small, woven, multi-colored cord with a rabbit's foot attached to the end of it. It has been braided exceedingly badly and is brutally twisted and misshapen.] [Scout Master Ward studies the lanyard briefly. He looks perplexed. He pats Roosevelt on the back gently and does a secret handshake with him. Gadge makes a note. Scout Master Ward strides away.] [An off-road motorcycle races by in the background behind the tents. It jumps a mound of dirt, kicks sideways in the air, and revs away riding a wheelie. Scout Master Ward frowns.] [Scout Master Ward stops in front of a pile of boards and logs stacked six feet high. A thick-set scout with black hair and a crooked tooth approaches with more logs in his arms. He is Skotak.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Skotak. What's all this lumber for? SKOTAK: *cheerily* We're building a tree house. [Skotak points up. Scout Master Ward squints. There is a small platform under construction about sixty feet above them. Two scouts are sawing something in half on it. Scout Master Ward looks astonished.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: That's not a safe altitude. [Scout Master Ward circles around the trunk while looking up at the tree house. He stammers:] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Why's it up so high? If somebody falls -- it's a guaranteed d**h. SKOTAK: Well, where would you've built it? SCOUT MASTER WARD: *pause* Lower! [Gadge makes a note. Skotak looks sheepish. Scout Master Ward strides away. He stops in front of a very small scout with tiny eyes poking at an anthill with a stick. He appears to be contemplating pouring lighter fluid on it. He is Nickleby.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Nickleby. Spot check. [Nickleby stands up. He looks extremely disheveled.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Your socks are down. Your shirt-tails are untucked. Your trousers are not properly pressed. You are reported for uniform violation! [Gadge makes a note. Nickleby slouches. Scout Master Ward strides away. He stops in front of a work-bench covered with newspaper where one scout sifts green powder through a funnel into cardboard tubes and another makes wax stoppers with a metal press. They are Panagle and Izod. A sign on the side of the table reads No Smoking. Scout Master Ward hands his cigarette to Gadge, who holds it away at arm's length.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: How many rockets you up to, Panagle? PANAGLE: Sixteen and a half. SCOUT MASTER WARD: *to Gadge* That enough for the Jubilee? [Gadge shakes his head. Scout Master Ward turns to Izod.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Izod, go fetch another pint of gun-powder from the armory shed. [Izod dashes around the corner. Scout Master Ward strides away. He shouts:] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Redford! Halt! [The motorcycle skids to a stop in front of Scout Master Ward, engulfing him in a thick cloud of dust. He coughs and waves his arms in the air. As the smoke clears, we see that the rider is a bronze, all-American-looking boy with blond hair. He is Redford. His motorcycle has flames painted on the gas tank. He tries to cover for himself:] REDFORD: Safety-test, sir. SCOUT MASTER WARD: *bristling* Come again? REDFORD: The vehicle appears to be in good working order. I'm just checking if -- SCOUT MASTER WARD: *angrily* Reckless cycling. Second warning. Next time, I take away the keys. [Gadge makes a note. Redford scowls. Scout Master Ward strides away. He walks past a scout in a white apron cooking bacon over a charcoal grill. He is Chef.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Morning, Chef. [Chef rings a bell hanging on a post. Scout Master Ward arrives at a long picnic table. He sits down and opens a magazine called Indian Corn. There is a picture on the cover of a scout troop crossing a bridge in Indonesia.] [INSERT:The first page. A caption across the top reads Scout Master-in-Chief. There is a drawing of a seventy-year-old man on horseback. He has silver hair and a moustache. A signature below reads Commander Pierce. There is a quotation in large text: “An eagle was never hatched from a goose's egg.”] [As Scout Master Ward reads, all the scouts begin to join him one-by-one. They range in age from twelve to fifteen. They unscrew the tops of tin mess-kits and a**emble folding utensils. The chef brings a tray of scrambled eggs to the table. The scouts serve themselves noisily.] [Scout Master Ward starts to take a sip of coffee from a metal cup -- then stops. He looks up from his magazine.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Who's missing? [Scout Master Ward silently reels off a list of names, scanning the troop. He turns and shouts across the camp:] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Shakusky! Breakfast! [Silence. Scout Master Ward calls to Lazy-Eye:] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Lazy-Eye. [Lazy-Eye plays another tattoo. Silence.] [Scout Master Ward closes his magazine. He flicks his cigarette into a red bucket labelled Fire. He picks up a strip of bacon and chews on it as he rises to his feet and walks down the row of smaller tents. The last one is sealed at the front. Scout Master Ward stands with his hands on his hips and says:] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Shakusky? You in there? [Scout Master Ward tugs on the tent's flaps. He frowns. He says to Gadge:] SCOUT MASTER WARD: It's zipped from the inside. [The other scouts begin to gather with their tin breakfast plates in their hands, watching curiously while they eat. Scout Master Ward's voice softens:] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Sam? [Scout Master Ward looks concerned. He produces a wooden-handled scout pocket-knife. He unfolds a few blades and gadgets and decides quickly on a thin tool with a hook on the end. He crouches down and slips the hook through a small gap at the base of the flap, twists left and right, then pulls up briskly, unzipping the tent.] [INT. SCOUT TENT. DAY] [The lining of the tent is printed with images of trees and pine cones, and a plaid rug covers the floor. There is a foot locker, a gas lamp, a chair with a folded blanket over it, and an empty cot. Scout Master Ward steps inside slowly, bent over, examining the space. He lifts the lid of the foot locker. He looks under the corner of the mattress. He picks up a piece of folded yellow notebook paper sticking out from under a pillow. He opens it and stares at it. He turns suddenly to the chair against the wall of the tent and slides it aside.] [There is neat but slightly jagged hole the size of a basketball cut through the fabric in the back corner. Scout Master Ward looks to his staring troop.] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Jiminy Cricket. He flew the coop. [EXT. POLICE STATION. DAY] [A one-room bungalow with a sign on the door that reads Island Police. There is a wood-panelled station wagon parked alongside it with roller-lights on the roof and a sheriff's office insignia on the door. (This is the only car on the island.) A dock stretches from the cottage into a small harbor. There is a launch moored at the end of it which bobs in the rough tide.] [A silver Airstream trailer is parked under a tree nearby.] [A six-foot tall, forty-five-year-old man sits on a stool fishing from the side of the dock. He wears a short-sleeved police uniform with a black necktie and a baseball cap. His gla**es have clear, plastic frames and a strap. He is Captain Sharp.] [Two grouchy, leathery, very old men in plaid flannel and hunting caps fish alongside Captain Sharp. A speaker on a post emits an electric buzz. Captain Sharp turns. He stands up briskly and says to one of the old men:] CAPTAIN SHARP: Watch my line, Edgar. [INT. POLICE STATION. DAY] [A small office with a desk, a file cabinet, and a two-way radio. Captain Sharp comes inside, sits down, grabs a microphone, and presses a red bu*ton on the side of it with his thumb.] CAPTAIN SHARP: Hello? This is Captain Sharp. Over. [Scout Master Ward's voice comes over a crackly speaker:] SCOUT MASTER WARD (V.O.): Captain Sharp, this is Randall Ward over at Camp Ivanhoe. Over. [Captain Sharp pours himself a cup of coffee from a pot on a hot-plate as he answers distractedly:] CAPTAIN SHARP: Morning, Randy. What can I do for you? Over. SCOUT MASTER WARD (V.O.): I'm not sure, exactly. I've got an escaped Khaki Scout. Over. [Silence. Captain Sharp frowns slightly.] CAPTAIN SHARP: What does that mean? Over. SCOUT MASTER WARD *V.O.*: One of my boys seems to have stolen a dug-out and some fishing tackle, ten pounds *more* SCOUT MASTER WARD *V.O.*: *cont'd* of sundries, two bedrolls, plus an air rifle -- and disappeared. Over. [Captain Sharp slowly stirs sugar into his coffee as he contemplates this. He says finally:] CAPTAIN SHARP: Any idea why? Over. SCOUT MASTER WARD *V.O.*: No. He left me a letter of resignation. Over. [INSERT: A sheet of wide-ruled yellow paper which reads in a boy's penciled scrawl:] Dear Scout Master Ward, I am very sad to inform you I can no longer be involved with the Khaki Scouts of North America. The rest of the troop will probably be glad to hear this. It is not your fault. Best wishes, Sam Shakusky. [Captain Sharp scratches his head. He checks his watch. Pause.] CAPTAIN SHARP: I guess we better notify his folks. Over. SCOUT MASTER WARD (V.O.): OK. Over and out. [EXT. POST OFFICE. DAY] [A clapboard cottage surrounded by a white, picket fence. A sign on the door reads U.S. Mail. Captain's Sharp station wagon is parked in the background.] [INT. POST OFFICE. DAY] [A young woman with her hair in a bun sits at an operator's switchboard eating a sandwich wrapped in wax-paper. She is Becky. She wears bulky head-phones with a microphone attached. Captain Sharp paces behind her. Scout Master Ward flips through a stack of letters and post cards.] [A bell rings on the switchboard. Becky plugs cords into sockets.] BECKY: Hello, Diane. OPERATOR *V.O.*: Becky, I have your person-to-person from Chesterfield. BECKY: Hold the line, please. [Becky signals to Captain Sharp and Scout Master Ward. They sit down quickly and put on their own sets of operator head-phones.] BECKY: Go ahead, Chesterfield. CUT TO:Split-screen. On one side of the frame, we see Captain Sharp, Scout Master Ward, and Becky. On the other side, we see a seventy-five-year-old man with a grizzled face sitting at a kitchen table drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette while a white-haired woman ices a cake in the background. They are Mr. and Mrs. Billingsley. Mr. Billingsley says into his telephone MR. BILLINGSLEY: Hello? CAPTAIN SHARP: Hello, sir. This is Captain Sharp. MR. BILLINGSLEY: Yes, sir. I received your message. Thank you very much. In fact, we've come to a decision, as a family, because this is only the most recent incident involving Sam's troubles, and it's just not fair to the others, so, unfortunately -- we can't invite him back, at this time. [Captain Sharp, Scout Master Ward, and Becky all look puzzled. Captain Sharp says evenly:] CAPTAIN SHARP: There's no cause for alarm, sir. We'll find him. We're just notifying you as a matter of protocol and so on. MR. BILLINGSLEY: I understand that. I'm notifying you of the situation on my end. CAPTAIN SHARP: I'm confused by that statement. You can't invite him back? MR. BILLINGSLEY: I'm afraid not. He's a good boy, he's got a good heart, but it's just not fair to the others, you see? He's emotionally disturbed. [Long pause. No one moves except Mrs. Billingsley icing her cake. Captain Sharp says finally:] CAPTAIN SHARP: Am I speaking to Sam's father? [Mr. Billingsley frowns. He says, surprised:] MR. BILLINGSLEY: No, sir. Sam's parents pa**ed away a number of years ago. We're Mr. and Mrs. Billingsley. We're foster parents. Sam's been with us since last June. [Mrs. Billingsley has stopped icing her cake. She watches Mr. Billingsley. Scout Master Ward interjects:] SCOUT MASTER WARD: Excuse me, sir. This is Scout Master Ward speaking. Are you implying Sam's an orphan? MR. BILLINGSLEY: Well, it's a known fact. Of course, he is. SCOUT MASTER WARD: Why the hell doesn't it say that in the register? Excuse my language. [Scout Master Ward holds up a manila file-card. Mr. Billingsley shrugs.] MR. BILLINGSLEY: I don't know. What register? INSERT:The manila file-card. It is labelled Khaki Scout Register. Sam Shakusky is typed across the top line. There is an address, health information, and a small, faded snap-shot stapled to the corner of it of a twelve-year-old boy standing in a sunny tobacco field. He wears his scout uniform with a Davy Crockett-style coon-skin cap. MR. BILLINGSLEY: We sent him a letter. It should reach you presently.