EXT. GILEAD - MORNING
TITLE: THE DARK TOWER I
It is deep springtime. Here are a group of Stonehenge-esque rocks at the outer courtyard of a castle. Pacing slowly at the center is VANNAY, a bent, old teacher in simple robes with sharply intelligent eyes. He carries an ancient tome in one hand and a thin walking stick in the other.
Sitting (crossed-legged and stiffly formal) in a semi-circle around VANNAY are four 14 year-old boys: ROLAND DESCHAIN, CUTHBERT ALLGOOD, ALAIN JOHNS, and JAIME DECURRY.
VANNAY
Beyond the Arc o’ the Borderlands,
past the Wastelands, and into the
heart of End World itself lies
The Dark Tower. This you know.
There it has stood since before
Arthur Eld, before the Old Ones,
before time and all things. The
Tower. The linchpin at the center,
binding time and spa -
A SERVANT WOMAN labors, trimming a hedge at the foot of a stone archway. At the shadowy base of the hedge, two gold-rimmed eyes appear.
CUTHBERT (whispering)
Roland.
CUTHBERT catches ROLAND’S eye and flicks his chin in the direction of the hedge. ROLAND glances over, spots the eyes, then rolls his own, refocusing on their lesson. CUTHBERT cracks a grin, still watching the bushes.
VANNAY (cont’d.)
How the Tower came to rise from the
prim, no man nor text can tell, but
Summa Theologica hints at some of
its purpose: To hold back the void
of Todash and all the unspeakable
horrors which dwell -
The creature with the gold-rimmed eyes (which looks like a cross between a raccoon, a woodchuck, and a dachshund) pounces from the brush. Its tiny teeth snap playfully at the hem of the SERVANT WOMAN’S dress.
BILLY BUMBLER
Bool! Bush! Bush Bool!
The SERVANT WOMAN screams. The fuzzy little BILLY BUMBLER darts away, disappearing through the archway. CUTHBERT snorts, barely holding back laughter.
SERVANT WOMAN
Apologies sai.
She quickly bows to VANNAY before retreating through the arch.
VANNAY
Cuthbert Allgood. Enlighten us on the
beams of the Tower. Or perhaps you are
not interested in becoming a Gunslinger
and would prefer to follow your billy
bumbler friend into the West?
CUTHBERT seems to consider the option for a long moment as the other students glare at him. ALAIN elbows him in the ribs.
CUTHBERT
There are twelve of them.
VANNAY’S face has become stone. CUTHBERT sighs.
CUTHBERT
Hare, bear, horse, dog, eagle,
elephant -
VANNAY
Any ka-babby knows their guardian names,
cully. Speak their purpose.
CUTHBERT
Six beams, anchored by twelve portals
across Mid-World. They meet at the Dark
Tower and support it... somehow. I
always kinda pictured it like a clock,
you know, except with a bunch of hands
instead of just three. Also, I always
wondered about the guardians, like, how
does a dog hold up a beam, or is it the
beam somehow? Maybe the beam is just
dog-shaped, but all stretched out -
VANNAY
Gods boy, stop your idiotic prattling
before I send you without meals for
another two days! Would someone else
please say their lesson true, ka-me?
ALAIN
There are six beams and twel-
VANNAY
You have ken much today, Alain, and
remembered the face of your father.
Let us hear from Roland for a change.
ROLAND (slowly, specifically)
Six beams meet at twelve portals. All
cross at the nexus, The Tower. The beams
bind time, space, size, and dimension.
Without them, all order would fall. The
Tower would fall.
VANNAY
Dry as this old book, but you say true,
sai, and I say thankee. But let us consider
the truth behind your recital: If space and
time died, how might your own mind fare? How
long might you survive should your memories
cross with all other possibilities? Did a
thing happen? Did it not? And what if both
were true?
Mixed confusion and fear passes over the boys’ faces, though ROLAND is thoughtful. VANNAY glances at the sun and shadows and sighs.
VANNAY
That is all for today. Best hasten to
your lessons with Cort or no doubt he’ll
bloody you more than usual.
The four quickly rise and bow.
THE CLASS
Thank you for this instructive day.
ALAIN, JAIME, and CUTHBERT make for the archway. ROLAND hangs back. CUTHBERT, noticing, waits for him at the hedge.
VANNAY
Yes, sai Deschain?
ROLAND
The Tower.
VANNAY
What of it?
ROLAND
You teach that Arthur Eld and the
Gunslingers of old were seekers and
protectors of the Tower.
VANNAY
Yes.
ROLAND
But no one living has seen The Tower.
VANNAY (cautiously)
Some have visions. The Manni folk
meditate on it at times... cautiously.
ROLAND
My father and his ka-tet... I am to
become a Gunslinger as they, but they
only range and debate and continue the
fight against Farson...
VANNAY lowers his stern facade and lays a hand on ROLAND’S shoulder, understanding.
VANNAY
Your father is a great man. A leader,
a fighter, and a diplomat. Yet I fear
the world is moving on, sai.
ROLAND
But if the world is truly moving on,
why are they not seeking The Tower,
trying to stop it? To fix it?
VANNAY
Your father follows his own ka as you
must follow yours. Now, onto Cort. We
shall speak of this no more today.
ROLAND stands a moment longer, wishing to pursue his train of thought, then finally bows.
ROLAND
Thank you for this instructive day,
sai Vannay.
ROLAND turns and goes to meet CUTHBERT at the archway.
EXT. THE TRAINING GREEN - DAY
The training green is a narrow strip of grassy field with a line of pale ghost grass dividing its two halves. The castle of Gilead stands to the East and the crop fields to the West roll out to meet rows of apple trees. A WHITE DOVE vanishes into the branches.
Red splatters across the green grass. CUTHBERT, squinting with pain, struggles to his feet. He wears a leather falconry brace on one arm, its ties dangling loosely. Blood runs from one ear. Behind him, ROLAND raises a similarly-clad arm and DAVID, a large hawk, alights upon it. In a flash, ROLAND cleanly tethers the bird to his arm. ALAIN and JAIME stand at silent attention at his sides.
CORT
You were slow.
CUTHBERT
I’m sorry, Cort. It’s just that I -
CORT, a bald boulder of a man, wearing patched leather trousers and a threadbare jerkin swings a fist a fist at CUTHBERT’S other ear, dropping him again.
CORT
Speak the High Speech, maggot.
CUTHBERT is fighting tears, but his face is filled with hatred.
CUTHBERT
I... grieve. I have forgotten the face of
my father, whose guns I hope someday to
bear.
CORT
To consider what you did wrong, brat,
you’ll bookend your reflections with
hunger. No supper! No breakfast! Now
let us see if this roont cully has more
than shit for reflexes.
CORT waves a hand at ROLAND and he steps forward.
ROLAND (whispering to the hawk)
Hai, David. Straight and true.
Crouching, CORT opens a thatched crate and a white dove bursts out in a flurry. At the same instant, ROLAND yanks the rawhide free from DAVID and presses upward against the spring of the bird’s liftoff.
ROLAND
HAI, DAVID! KILL!
DAVID climbs high above the dove in seconds, then dives, bullet-fast. The birds meet in a small puff of pink and the dove drops. DAVID lands beside it a moment later and begins feeding. ROLAND runs to DAVID.
ROLAND
Finely done! Fine-
As ROLAND crouches and attempts to re-lash the bird, DAVID twists, and jabs his beak, tearing a long strip of flesh from the back of ROLAND’S bare hand. ROLAND tries again, this time, succeeding in forcing the flapping hawk onto his arm. He returns to CORT. The others watch on from behind. CORT nods to the blood dripping from ROLAND’s hand.
CORT
What’s this, Roland?
ROLAND
He struck me.
CORT
You pissed him off. The hawk does not
fear you and never will. The hawk is
God’s Gunslinger, boy.
Behind CORT, CUTHBERT sticks out his tongue. CORT steps in close to ROLAND, glaring at his eyes. ROLAND braces for the blow, but holds his ground. After a moment, CORT roughly manhandles DAVID to his own arm and backs off.
Movement from the apple grove catches everyone’s attention. SIX GUNSLINGERS on horseback break from the trees, heading for the castle.
CORT
Your father’s ka-tet returned from the
Uplands. Go. Now. All of you. We’re
done for the day.
THE CLASS (bowing)
Thank you for this instructive day.
As CUTHBERT raises his head, CORT lands a blow to the kid’s gut, doubling him over.
CORT
You learn, but your tongue has a bad
habit of lolling from your stupid
mouth when your instructor’s back is
turned!
CUTHBERT (gasping)
Cort... how?
CORT
I saw you reflected in this maggot’s eyes.
As shock dawns on CUTHBERT’S face CORT’S fist slams right between his eyes, dropping CUTHBERT on his ass. CUTHBERT refocuses, then looks up with a grin and murder in his eyes. CORT considers him.
CORT
Perhaps there’s hope for you yet. When
you think you can, you come for me,
maggot.
CORT retrieves the dove cage and a thick bo staff, then departs. ROLAND helps CUTHBERT back to his feet.
CUTHBERT
I’ll kill that son of a bitch.
ROLAND
Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.
Come on, we can sneak some supper in
the West Kitchen. Hax will give us
something.
CUTHBERT
He’ll tell Cort.
ROLAND
He’s no friend of Cort’s. And what if
he did?
CUTHBERT (bloodstreaked and grinning)
Fuck him.
INT. WEST KITCHEN - A SHORT WHILE LATER
SCULLIONS and WASHERBOYS scuttle in the massive kitchen as ROLAND and CUTHBERT weave their way through. Many seem to tense up or shy away when noticing them.
ROLAND
So when do you think you’ll earn your
apprentice guns?
CUTHBERT
Oh, you mean, ‘When am I going to beat
the living hell out of Cort, take his
staff, and become a gunslinger?’
ROLAND
Yes.
CUTHBERT
Shit. Maybe once I gain thirty pounds
and grow three inches. Of course, if
a bah or crossbah were allowed I’d try
the line and twang the bastard to Nar
tomorrow. How about you?
ROLAND (smiling)
Perhaps I’ll wait for you to soften
him up for me.
The boys approach HAX, a massive, jovial man in a soiled apron.
HAX
Young sais Roland and Cuthbert! What
brings you two lads to my kitchen?
No, no, let me guess: You’ve finally
met your true loves and wish to woo
them with the best cakes in Barony.
Maybe you’ve heard of your father’s
latest victory over Farson’s spooky,
evil henchmen and wish for cookies to
celebrate their return. Or perhaps
that drunken shitheel Cort has cut
your rations yet again and you’re
here for whatever slop you can get?
CUTHBERT
Right on all accounts, Hax! We’ll
take the whole lot!
ROLAND
Whatever you can spare, please.
A GUARD, dusted and sweaty after a hard ride enters and catches HAX’S eye.
HAX
You boys go over to Maggie and see what
we have. I’ve got some work to see to.
INT. KITCHEN STAIRWELL - A FEW MINUTES LATER
ROLAND and CUTHBERT are huddled together on the lower steps of a disused stone stairwell. Both dig into a pan of berry pie with their bare hands. A door creaks and they look up.
ROLAND (whispering)
Under!
The two race down, around a long-forgotten cart with a busted wheel, and beneath the stairs just in time.
GUARD
The Good Man says two weeks. You have
to get it done and -
CUTHBERT looks shocked and mouths “FARSON” to ROLAND. There is a CRASH of pots from the kitchen and the GUARD’S words are drowned out.
GUARD
- poison the meat.
HAX
Risky. How does Farson say it’s to be
done?
GUARD
The crates will be marked with the eye.
Small, bottom corner, in your cold room,
next delivery.
ROLAND’S eyes have gone dead, flat. GUNSLINGER eyes.
HAX
Poisoned meat. And what about the
children?
GUARD
There are more children outside Gilead.
Outside this castle of lies. It’s the
children we - he - cares about.
HAX
Strange way to care for children...
Will they curdle and hold their
bellies and cry out for their mammas?
GUARD
It will be like going to sleep.
HAX
Of course. I’m sure.
GUARD
Do you enjoy seeing children under the
rule of the gun when they could be under
his hands? Who makes the lion lay down
with the lamb? Do you question your
orders? Do you question The Good Man?
HAX
No. No. It will be done. I’ll do it.
GUARD
Long days and pleasant nights, Hax.
HAX
And may you have twice the number.
As HAX and the GUARD exit, ROLAND meets CUTHBERT’S eyes. The cold death in ROLAND’S stare is reflected in CUTHBERT’S.
INT. STEVEN & GABRIELLA DESCHAIN’S BEDCHAMBERS - A SHORT WHILE LATER
ROLAND’S father, STEVEN DESCHAIN, looks utterly out of place in the cushy room. He is thin, tall, with a handlebar mustache and the twin Guns of Eld at his hips. Face dripping over a washbowl, he meets his son’s eyes reflected in the mirror.
STEVEN
The head cook of Gilead.
ROLAND, standing at attention, stares back.
STEVEN (cont’d.)
Imagine it! The railroad destroyed in
the Uplands, the dead in Hendrickson,
What might he or his scullions have
overheard then shared with him?
Imagine! How many dead from just one
traitor...
ROLAND
One in our own kitchen.
STEVEN
Hax was your friend, he fed you two
even after Cort’s orders. Tell me,
does it prey on you? That your friend
will now hang, as you well know. You
knew this, and still you told. Why?
STEVEN is half undressed, his body a road map of scars. He considers his son carefully. ROLAND shrugs, unsure of what his father is asking.
ROLAND
How could I not? It’s treason -
STEVEN
TREASON? If you told me for such a
cheap, schoolbook idea, you did it
unworthily! I would rather see all
of Gilead poisoned!
ROLAND
I didn’t! I wanted to kill them, both
of them, right then and there! Liar!
Snake! Bastard! He... he...
STEVEN
Yes?
ROLAND
He hurt me. Changed me. I wanted to
hurt him for it.
STEVEN
That is worthy. Not moral, perhaps, but
morals may forever be beyond you. You
are not quick like Cuthbert or Alain,
but that may yet be alright. It will
make you formidable.
ROLAND’s mother, GABRIELLA enters. She is beautiful, dressed as though she has just come from a formal outing, but is slightly red-faced and breathless.
GABRIELLA
Steven, you’re back early! The railr-
Upon seeing her son, she stops, then begins to apologize and exit.
STEVEN
Gabriella, wait. We are nearly done.
ROLAND
Hello, mother.
GABRIELLA
Roland.
STEVEN (to ROLAND)
I shall set the hanging for tomorrow at
noon. I expect your friends will wish
to attend...
ROLAND
I do as well.
STEVEN
Not as formidable as I thought! Or
perhaps just stupid! Very well. Go
then, if you must. Aye, Cort will
likely demand you see this lesson
through either way. Now leave us.
ROLAND bows, then exits, leaving his parents facing each other in silence.
INT. HALLWAY - A MOMENT LATER...
Hello dear fellow readers,
Anyone interested in seeing the Dark Tower series fully and faithfully adapted to film may have followed the turbulent history of its production. Darabount wanted to do it, Akiva Goldsman gave it a shot, even J.J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof had some leaked pre-vis of Tull out there. Lots of big names, lots of opportunities, lots of challenges.
And that is where we come in.
You see, I'm nobody when it comes to Hollywood. Just one more Constant Reader who loves the story of the Tower. And the telling of that story on the Big Screen has always intrigued me. It is not an easy story to tell. Triple overlapping flashbacks in the first book alone, and so much world-building that to run at the thing directly is... well, fucking impossible.
But I never stopped thinking about it.
How could it be done? Where was the beginning? And then I thought about how I teased the story when trying to rope my friends and family into reading a 4,200+ page series? I began by earmarking a page in Wizard and Glass, but that's not all. It was a puzzle, a game I played in the back of my mind each time I re-read the works or re-listened to the audio books.
Then I found a key. At least I think I did. I suppose that final call is up to you based on the handful of scenes above (and those which are yet to come). Better yet, I know that same key can unlock the rest.
So what's next?
Now we come to the purpose of this blog. Any prospective screenwriters out there can attest to the following: Were one to attempt to mail or email or even hand deliver a printed copy of the above screenplay to any published author or actor (or otherwise famous or well-placed) person who might be interested in making it, they would never see past the cover. Their agents and lawyers would have (probably rightly so) INSISTED they NEVER accept ANY unsolicited work ...for their own protection. I'm not going to dig into the reasons or nuances for that here, but (sigh) I suppose I must accept it.
But better than that, I can exploit a loophole.
The internet, by and large, is free reign. So, following in the steps of Jason Pargin or hell, even E.L. James, I can publish my vision here. As the lovely, considerate, and hilarious author Christopher Moore once told me, "[publishing on the internet] might make [the lawyers] heads asplode trying to figure out if they have the rights."
I'll take that chance. What do I have to lose? Some bigwig or established writer steals my shit? I mean, I'd dig the cash, but big picture, I'd really just love to see it done right. And I think I'm on the right path (you know the one I'm talking about).
So if you like what I've written, a share on social media will go a LONG way toward making these words a reality. Give it some attention, spread the word, and hell, this is your chance to directly influence the end product. I hereby swear to read and seriously consider every single comment and suggestion for as long as this blog shall live.
So let's see what we can do. Together. As Ka-tet.
Always yours,
Sean J. McCoy
