With horizontal hatch lines.
… Call me Hi.
A disheveled young man in a gaily colored Hawaiian shirt is launched into frame by someone offscreen.
He holds a printed paddle that reads ‘NO. 1468-6 NOV 29 79.’
...Blackness. A bleak wind moans.
Music cues a cut to a twinkling city scape, seen through falling snow.
After a beat, the voice of an elderly black man:
NarratorThat's right… New York.
We are tracking high through the night sky. From...
A man in shades.
His sunglasses and the windshield of the car he drives reflect palm trees flashing by on either side. He is well dressed, in his early forties, with a little rat ponytail.
He slows in front of a swank Beverly Hills...
An opening voice-over plays against dissolving Texas landscapes – broad, bare, and lifeless.
The world is full of complainers. But the fact is, nothing comes with a guarantee. I don’t care if you’re the Pope of Rome,...
In black, we hear a chain-gang chant, many voices together, spaced around the unison strike of picks against rock. A title bums in:
Sing in me, and through me tell the story
Of that man skilled in all the ways of contending,...
...A Whiskey Tumbler
It sits on an oak bar under a glowing green banker’s lamp. Two ice cubes are dropped in. From elsewhere in the room:
ManoffI’m talkin’ about friendship. I’m talkin’ about character. I’m talkin’ about – hell, Leo, I ain’t...
Yeah, I worked in a barbershop. But I never considered myself a barber …
We track back from a barber’s pole.
… I stumbled into it – well, married into it more precisely …
We track back from a shopkeeper’s bell triggered...
It is late; the supermarket is all but deserted. We are tracking in on a fortyish man in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses at the dairy case. He is the Dude. His rumpled look and relaxed manner suggest a man in whom casualness runs...
...At the Bar
Pappi Corsicatto, the Greenwich Village-Italian owner of the club, nods Llewyn over. He is broadly smiling.
Pappi Boy, you were some mess last night.
Llewyn Yeah, sorry, Pappi. I’m an asshole.
Pappi Oh I don’t give a shit. It’s...
...House at Night
We are looking – through the rain-pelted windshield of a parked car – at a small, Spanish-style bungalow. The rattle of driving rain does not quite cover the sound from inside the house of drunken female laughter...
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