To Die Laughingmature
The movie opens to a chillingly empty street in a suburb close to Detroit, where leafless trees hang down over the slightly frosted ground. The once-blue sky has been completely blocked out by gray clouds. Each house that lines the desolate street bears some resemblance to the one next to it; the whole street conveys a type of conformity, and safety in that conformity.
AUSTIN HENDERSON, a good-looking, well-built man around the age of 36, walks directly down the middle of the street with is hands deep in his pockets (a book is clenched in-between his side and his arm). His mouth forms intelligible words, curiosity-triggering words, as he travels. The suburbs pass quickly as he picks up pace, every once in a while checking his watch and observing his surroundings.
Though Austin is talking to himself, it is not in a childish nor repulsive manner; he does it in an innocent way, an almost endearing way. He seems almost incapable of speaking, though he wants to speak--the unspoken tragedy of the suburbs themselves.
Austin eventually reaches a small park and sits on a bench directly in front of the play equipment. The book he was carrying is immediately placed in his lap as he feigns reading, but really watches for passers-by.
After a few seconds of Austin's casually glancing around, HELEN THOMPSON, a grad student around the age of 23 (also good-looking, but so painfully average), walks by holding a few books from her classes. Austin eagerly raises his hand in a type of subtle wave after pretending to be distracted from his studies; Helen, as though used to it, raises back. She attempts to walk past, but Austin calls out to her:
AUSTIN: Wait!
Helen slows down, warily looking at him through the corner of her eye, then finally stops and turns.
Helen: Yes?
Austin stands, awkwardly and slowly; almost too awkward to watch. As he approaches the student, he holds up his book--The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat (a popular book by Michael Nyman, describing the cases of his clients; a collection of neurological studies).
AUSTIN: I noticed--you're reading the same thing as I am.
Helen does a double take from his book to hers, then gives him a polite half-smile.
HELEN: Yes, it's for class.
AUSTIN, inching closer: What are you studying in this class?
HELEN: Psychology--well, neurology, really, but I hope to deal with emotional disorders rather than physical.
AUSTIN: You want to be a psychologist?
Helen simply half-shrugs.
AUSTIN, trying to carry on the conversation: And...where do you study this?
HELEN, avoiding the question: Just a nearby university.
AUSTIN, now very close to her, entering her personal space: Which university? You must know, many are--
HELEN, uncomfortably: You know, speaking of, I'd better get back to class. Professor is waiting.
AUSTIN: You--he stops himself as her eyelids flutter; she's trying to keep her eyes downcast as she avoids eye contact. Alright.
HELEN, under her breath as she walks: I suppose I'll see you tomorrow.
AUSTIN, staring longingly after her, drawing his word out: Yess.





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