Skip to main content
Close

The Shawshank Redemption (1994): Opening

By Michael Schilf · July 19, 2011

“It was left on the cutting room floor.” For those who might be unfamiliar with the preceding expression, it refers to a scene (or a part of a scene) that was cut out in order to tighten up the visual narrative. Sometimes this hurts the movie because the powers that be (usually a producer feeling the pressure from the studio) demands too much be cut out, sometimes not enough is axed, and sometimes the editing makes the film worse. Conversely however, sometimes missteps in the screenplay itself can be fixed in the editing room.  And this is the case with the opening to Frank Darabont’s Academy Award winning film The Shawshank Redemption.

The opening scenes of Darabont’s screenplay read fine on the page, but the same story structure did not translate nearly as well on the screen. Darabont took a linear story telling approach in the screenplay: scenes 1 through 4 (the murder) and scenes 5 through 8 (the trial). However, these separate blocks of linear narrative proved to be overwhelmingly dragged-out and tedious when viewed in the same linear fashion.

In this entry, we’ll explore how Darabont and editor Richard Francis-Bruce fixed the problem by reconstructing the two separate blocks of narrative into a single block. The result of this new conceptualization focused solely on the trial (which was the main point and plot device to set up the dramatic premise anyway), while using flashbacks to illustrate the footage of the murder.

FROM SCRIPT: How It Reads

The Shawshank Redemption (1994), screenplay by Frank Darabont, based on the novella “Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption” by Steven King

INT – CABIN – NIGHT (1946)

A dark, empty room.

The door bursts open. A MAN and WOMAN enter, drunk and giggling, horny as hell. No sooner is the door shut than they’re all over each other, ripping at clothes, pawing at flesh, mouths locked together.

He gropes for a lamp, tries to turn it on, knocks it over instead. Hell with it. He’s got more urgent things to do, like getting her blouse open and his hands on her breasts. She arches, moaning, fumbling with his fly. He slams her against the wall, ripping her skirt. We hear fabric tear.

He enters her right then and there, roughly, up against the wall. She cries out, hitting her head against the wall but not caring, grinding against him, clawing his back, shivering with the sensations running through her. He carries her across the room with her legs wrapped around him. They fall onto the bed.

CAMERA PULLS BACK, exiting through the window, traveling smoothly outside…

EXT – CABIN – NIGHT (1946)

…to reveal the bungalow, remote in a wooded area, the lovers’ cries spilling into the night…

…and we drift down a wooded path, the sounds of rutting passion growing fainter, mingling now with the night sounds of crickets and hoot owls…

…and we begin to hear FAINT MUSIC in the woods, tinny and incongruous, and still we keep PULLING BACK until…

…a car is revealed. A 1946 Plymouth. Parked in a clearing.

INT – PLYMOUTH – NIGHT (1946)

ANDY DUFRESNE, mid-20’s, wire rim glasses, three-piece suit. Under normal circumstances a respectable, solid citizen; hardly dangerous, perhaps even meek. But these circumstances are far from normal. He is disheveled, unshaven, and very drunk. A cigarette smolders in his mouth. His eyes, flinty and hard, are riveted to the bungalow up the path.

He can hear them fucking from here.

He raises a bottle of bourbon and knocks it back. The radio plays softly, painfully romantic, taunting him:

You stepped out of a dream…

You are too wonderful…

To be what you seem…

He opens the glove compartment, pulls out an object wrapped in a rag. He lays it in his lap and unwraps it carefully —

— revealing a .38 revolver. Oily, black, evil.

He grabs a box of bullets. Spills them everywhere, all over the seats and floor. Clumsy. He picks bullets off his lap, loading them into the gun, one by one, methodical and grim. Six in the chamber. His gaze goes back to the bungalow.

He shuts off the radio. Abrupt silence, except for the distant lovers’ moans. He takes another shot of bourbon courage, then opens the door and steps from the car.

EXT – PLYMOUTH – NIGHT (1946)

His wingtip shoes crunch on gravel. Loose bullets scatter to the ground. The bourbon bottle drops and shatters.

He starts up the path, unsteady on his feet. The closer he gets, the louder the lovemaking becomes. Louder and more frenzied. The lovers are reaching a climax, their sounds of passion degenerating into rhythmic gasps and grunts.

WOMAN (O.S.):  Oh god…oh god…oh god…

Andy lurches to a stop, listening. The woman cries out in orgasm. The sound slams into Andy’s brain like an icepick. He shuts his eyes tightly, wishing the sound would stop.

It finally does, dying away like a siren until all that’s left is the shallow gasping and panting of post-coitus. We hear languorous laughter, moans of satisfaction.

WOMAN (O.S.):  Oh god…that’s sooo good…you’re the best…the best I ever had…

Andy just stands and listens, devastated. He doesn’t look like much of a killer now; he’s just a sad little man on a dirt path in the woods, tears streaming down his face, a loaded gun held loosely at his side. A pathetic figure, really.

FADE TO BLACK: 1ST TITLE UP

INT – COURTROOM – DAY (1946) 5

THE JURY listens like a gallery of mannequins on display, pale-faced and stupefied.

D.A. (O.S.): Mr. Dufresne, describe the confrontation you had with your wife the night she was murdered.

ANDY DUFRESNE

is on the witness stand, hands folded, suit and tie pressed, hair meticulously combed. He speaks in soft, measured tones:

ANDY: It was very bitter. She said she was glad I knew, that she hated all the sneaking around. She said she wanted a divorce in Reno.

D.A.: What was your response?

ANDY: I told her I would not grant one.

D.A.: (refers to his notes) I’ll see you in Hell before I see you in Reno. Those were the words you used, Mr. Dufresne, according to the testimony of your neighbors.

ANDY: If they say so. I really don’t remember. I was upset.

FADE TO BLACK: 2ND TITLE UP

D.A.: What happened after you and your wife argued?

ANDY: She packed a bag and went to stay with Mr. Quentin.

D.A.: Glenn Quentin. The golf pro at the Falmouth Hills Country Club. The man you had recently discovered was her lover. (Andy nods) Did you follow her?

ANDY: I went to a few bars first. Later, I decided to drive to Mr. Quentin’s home and confront them. They weren’t there…so I parked my car in the turnout…and waited.

D.A.: With what intention?

ANDY: I’m not sure. I was confused. Drunk. I think mostly I wanted to scare them.

D.A.: You had a gun with you?

ANDY: Yes. I did.

FADE TO BLACK: 3RD TITLE UP

D.A.: When they arrived, you went up to the house and murdered them?

ANDY: No. I was sobering up. I realized she wasn’t worth it. I decided to let her have her quickie divorce.

D.A.: Quickie divorce indeed. A .38 caliber divorce, wrapped in a handtowel to muffle the shots, isn’t that what you mean? And then you shot her lover!

ANDY: I did not. I got back in the car and drove home to sleep it off. Along the way, I stopped and threw my gun into the Royal River. I feel I’ve been very clear on this point.

D.A.: Yes, you have. Where I get hazy, though, is the part where the cleaning woman shows up the next morning and finds your wife and her lover in bed, riddled with .38 caliber bullets. Does that strike you as a fantastic coincidence, Mr. Dufresne, or is it just me?

ANDY: (softly) Yes. It does.

D.A.: I’m sorry, Mr. Dufresne, I don’t think the jury heard that.

ANDY: Yes. It does.

D.A.: Does what?

ANDY: Strike me as a fantastic coincidence.

D.A.: On that, sir, we are in accord…

FADE TO BLACK: 4TH TITLE UP

D.A.: You claim you threw your gun into the Royal River before the murders took place. That’s rather convenient.

ANDY: It’s the truth.

D.A.: You recall Lt. Mincher’s testimony? He and his men dragged that river for three days and nary a gun was found. So no comparison can be made between your gun and the bullets taken from the bloodstained corpses of the victims. That’s also rather convenient, isn’t it, Mr. Dufresne?

ANDY: (faint, bitter smile) Since I am innocent of this crime, sir, I find it decidedly inconvenient the gun was never found.

FADE TO BLACK: 5TH TITLE UP

INT – COURTROOM – DAY (1946)

The D.A. holds the jury spellbound with his closing summation:

D.A.: Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve heard all the evidence, you know all the facts. We have the accused at the scene of the crime. We have foot prints. Tire tracks. Bullets scattered on the ground which bear his fingerprints. A broken bourbon bottle, likewise with fingerprints. Most of all, we have a beautiful young woman and her lover lying dead in each other’s arms. They had sinned. But was their crime so great as to merit a death sentence?

He gestures to Andy sitting quietly with his ATTORNEY.

D.A.: I suspect Mr. Dufresne’s answer to that would be yes. I further suspect he carried out that sentence on the night of September 21st, this year of our Lord, 1946, by pumping four bullets into his wife and another four into Glenn Quentin. And while you think about that, think about this…

He picks up a revolver, spins the cylinder before their eyes like a carnival barker spinning a wheel of fortune.

D.A.: A revolver holds six bullets, not eight. I submit to you this was not a hot-blooded crime of passion! That could at least be understood, if not condoned. No, this was revenge of a much more brutal and cold-blooded nature. Consider! Four bullets per victim! Not six shots fired, but eight! That means he fired the gun empty…and then stopped to reload so he could shoot each of them again! An extra bullet per lover…right in the head. (a few JURORS shiver) I’m done talking. You people are all decent, God-fearing Christian folk. You know what to do.

FADE TO BLACK: 6TH TITLE UP

INT – JURY ROOM – DAY (1946)

CAMERA TRACKS down a long table, moving from one JUROR to the next. These decent, God-fearing Christians are chowing down on a nice fried chicken dinner provided them by the county, smacking greasy lips and gnawing cobbettes of corn.

VOICE (O.S.): Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty…

We find the FOREMAN at the head of the table, sorting votes.

FADE TO BLACK: 7TH TITLE UP

INT – COURTROOM – DAY (1946)

Andy stands before the dias. THE JUDGE peers down, framed by a carved frieze of blind Lady Justice on the wall.

JUDGE: You strike me as a particularly icy and remorseless man, Mr. Dufresne. It chills my blood just to look at you. By the power vested in me by the State of Maine, I hereby order you to serve two life sentences, back to back, one for each of your victims. So be it.

He raps his gavel as we

 

 CRASH TO BLACK: LAST TITLE UP.

 

 

 

THE SCENE: How It Looks

TO SCREEN: How It’s Improved (Or Not)

After comparing and contrasting the shooting draft of Darabont’s script and the final cut of his film, it’s obvious that Darabont made some distinctive decisions to tighten up the opening narrative. Just because something reads fine on the page does not necessarily mean it will translate well on the screen. And Darabont clearly had two major problems with his opening: (1) the use of “Fade to Blacks” for titles and (2) the two separate blocks of narrative presented with a linear approach. But, like any good filmmaker, Darabont found ways to fix these problems.

Problem One: The written technique of dividing the trial (Scenes 5 through Scenes 8) with “Fade to Blacks” to accommodate the titles. I’m sure Darabont thought it seemed like a cool and stylistic way to introduce the opening credits, but obviously, he made the decision to snuff out that approach in the final film. Why? Pacing. What seemed like a good idea in the screenplay (and which is also not particularly distracting on the page) most likely prolonged the opening sequence, and in many ways halted the flow of the narrative dead in its tracks.

So the easy solution was to give the “Fade to Blacks” the ax, allowing the opening titles to be presented in the more traditional manner of playing them over the images. This in many ways proves that trying to reinvent the wheel can be an extraneous exercise. Some things are traditional because they actually work, so as the cliché reminds us – if it’s not broken, don’t try to fix it.

Problem Two: The separate blocks of linear narrative. Screenwriting and filmmaking is about using the least amount of words/images/dialogue/etc. to show the story in the most economical way. It is a visual medium after all, and therefore, we should use visuals to move the story forward as fast as possible. In the shooting script, the first narrative block of the murder (Scenes 1 through Scenes 4), even though quite visual, are ultimately superfluous. In fact, the main point of the opening sequence is the trial and the guilty verdict that propels Andy Dufresne to Shawshank, hence the Dramatic Premise of the film: an innocent man goes to prison. However, the trial narrative block is long, full of monologues, and not particularly visually interesting. There are only so different ways to shoot the D.A. going on about the cold-bloodedness of Andy Dufresne, along with cut-away reaction shots of Dufresne. This might work fine for TV episodic law shows, but it’s not the answer for cinematic storytelling.

So what was the solution?

First, Darabont made the decision to start with the trial and combine both blocks of narrative by incorporating snapshot flashbacks of the murder scene: the cabin, the Plymouth, the .38 revolver, the bottle of bourbon, the bullets, the gravel, and a drunk-and-emotionally broken Andy Dufresne. Using these visuals over the District Attorney’s (V.O.) monologues of describing the murder scene killed two birds with one stone. We still get the visual storytelling, but within the context of the trial. And this also tightens up the narrative, improving the pacing dramatically by getting into the trial quicker.

Second, Darabont went on a dialogue hunt, looking for any place where he could “kill some babies” by weeding out as many unnecessary lines of dialogue as possible without harming the scene. You’ll see in the final cut of the film that most of the dialogue that “hit the cutting room floor” came from the District Attorney.

And did it work? Absolutely. Darabont’s script to screen attests a much tighter, focused, and engaging narrative. Nicely done! And so it goes…