Beach

FRANCOISE : One night I will get the perfect photograph.

She presses the cable release.

FRANCOISE : Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six.

She lets the shutter close.

FRANCOISE : Take a look.

Richard leans over and squints down the viewfinder.

The sky is framed. Francoise leans into the frame.

Richard draws back.

RICHARD : You realize that in the eternity of space, there is a planet,
just like this one, where you are photographing back towards us.
You're photographing yourself.

FRANCOISE : Incredible

RICHARD : There are infinite worlds out there, where anything that can happen does happen.

FRANCOISE : So on one you are rich, on another poor. On one you are a murderer, on another the victim.

RICHARD : Exactly

FRANCOISE : Richard, you know something -

She hands him the cable release while she adjusts the camera.

FRANCOISE : That is just the kind of pretentious bullshit that Englishmen and Americans always say to French girls so that they can sleep with them.

RICHARD : Sorry. I thought I was doing quite well.

FRANCOISE : It's just the sky, Richard.


She presses his thumb down on the cable release, her hand around his.

FRANCOISE : Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept…

EXT. NIGHT. SKY.

Francoise voice fades away over an image of the night sky.

Time lapse: the sky rapidly changes to day.

RICHARD (Voice Over) : When you develop an infatuation for someone, you always find a reason to believe that this is exactly the person for you. It doesn't need to be a good reason, a bad one will do just as well. Taking photographs of the night sky, for example: in the long run that's just the kind of dumb irritating habit that would cause you to split up. But at the time - it's the charming eccentricity you've been searching for all these years.

Suggested read : Beach , the script

Suggested rythm: Goodbye blue sky, Pink Floyd