No Country for Old Men Page #3
Moss is on foot, rifle again slung over his shoulder,
binoculars around his neck. He is looking at the ground.
An intermittent trail of blood.
Moss's pace is brisk. Distances are long.
He suddenly stops, staring.
On the ground is the fresh trail of blood, the glistening
drops already dry at the periphery. But this trail is crossed
by another trail of blood. Drier.
Moss looks one way along this older trail:
His point-of-view: flatlands. Scrub. No movement.
A distant range of mountains. No movement.
He stoops to examine the trail.
He paces it 'til he finds a print clear enough to give him
the animal's orientation.
He stands and looks again toward the distant mountains. He
brings up the binoculars.
His point-of-view: landscape, swimming into focus, heat waves
exaggerated by the compression of the lens.
Panning, looking for the animal.
Movement, very distant. The animal is brought into focus: a
black tailless dog, huge head, limping badly, phantasmal by
virtue of the rippling heat waves and the silence.
Moss lowers the glass. A moment of thought as he gazes off.
He turns and heads in the direction from which the dog came.
EXT. RISE NEAR BASIN - MINUTES LATER
Moss tops a rise. He scans the landscape below.
Not much to see except-distant glints, off something not
native to the environment.
Moss brings up the binoculars.
Parked vehicles:
three of them, squat, Broncos or other off-road trucks with fat tires, winches in the bed and racks of
roof lights.
On the ground near the trucks dark shapes lie still.
Moss is walking cautiously up to the site, unslung rifle at
the ready.
Flies drone.
He circles two dead bodies lying in the grass, covered with
blood. A gut-shot dog of the same kind we saw limping toward
the mountains lies beside them. A sawed-off shotgun with a
pistol stock lies in the grass.
The tires and most of the window glass are shot out of the
first pickup Moss approaches.
He opens the door and looks inside.
The driver is dead, leaning over the wheel. Moss shuts the
door.
He opens the door of the second truck.
The driver, sitting upright, still in shoulder harness, is
staring at him.
Moss stumbles back, raising the rifle.
The man does not move. The front of his shirt is covered
with blood.
MAN:
Agua.
Moss stares at him
MAN:
...Agua. Por Dios.
MOSS:
Ain't got no water.
On the seat next to the man is an HK machine pistol. Moss
looks at it. He looks back at the man. The man is still
staring at him. Without lowering his eyes Moss reaches in
and takes the pistol.
Moss straightens up out of the truck and slings the rifle
back over his shoulder. He snaps the clip off the machine
Translation
Translate and read this script in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)
Citation
Use the citation below to add this screenplay to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"No Country for Old Men" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 5 May 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/no_country_for_old_men_175>.
Discuss this script with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In