Back to the Drawing Board

[captainsblog]

One unintended consequence of Ingmar Bergman's death earlier this week? The world will never know the power, the art, the utter highfaultin-inity of his interpretation of the film he was born to make:





A Burrow. Morning, dark and foggy, lit by a single candle.

ZOOM on a solitary clock, ticking nervously whilst its hands all point to MORTAL PERIL.

Pan back to reveal RON playing a solitary game of wizard chess with DEATH.

RON
Check.

DEATH
(moving King)
Nothing escapes me. No one escapes me.

FADE TO a wounded GEORGE, lying in agony upon his bed. FRED, or possibly the Ghost of FRED, encircles him. FRED's face encircles GEORGE's, finally the two becoming one, two-eared, twin.

FRED, GEORGE
(as one)
Brilliant! Now they won't be able to tell us apart again!

FADE TO a cemetery. ZOOM in on image in ancient tombstone.



VOICE
Would you please interpret this symbol, Miss Granger?

HERMIONE
But the patient is dead!

TOMBSTONE
::bursts into laughter::

FADE TO IMAGES, ONE QUICKLY AFTER ANOTHER, of other, newer tombstones in the graveyard reading
HEDWIG
DOBBY
FRED
REMUS
TONKS
CREEVEY
POTTER?!?

HARRY
Who are you?

DEATH
I am Death.

HARRY
Have you come for me?

DEATH
I have long walked by your side.

HARRY
So I have noticed.

DEATH
Are you ready?

HARRY
My body is ready, but I am not.

FADE TO BLACK.



Sheesh. And all these years I thought it was Star Wars she was ripping off.