Timeless

Original screenplay by

Nicholas Begnaud

Nicholas Begnaud
159 North Main St.
Poland, OH 44514
Copyright 2010 nick.begnaud@gmail.com
EXT. GRAVEYARD – DAY

The sky is overcast, an endless palette of lifeless arid

grays reach the horizon; trees with just as much vigor as
the man in the casket.

We see a small funeral gathered.

A WIDOW kneels weeping for her late husband.

The FACES surrounding their deceased friend are bowed down

and dark; all except one face isolated behind everyone
looking on without sympathy. Disconnected.

We see an aged GRAVEDIGGER in the background, leaning on a

shovel, constantly checking a gold pocket watch to see how
much time he’s losing. A quarter to five.

LATER

The casket is nestled in the grave now under one isolated

tree, and the first toss of dirt showers over the beautiful
mahogany finish.

More weeping commences from the widow while the gravedigger

tries desperately to tune it out, shovel gripped in both
hands.

Everyone else is gone for the most part, but the widow
remains, not speaking a word to the gravedigger who would
fiendishly scatter dirt between those final moments
together.

The gravedigger waits until she’s finished.

-Long uncomfortable pause-

--She’s finished.

WIDOW
Thank you.

He says nothing, dumping more dirt into the final resting

place of her husband without grace. Holding back the sobs,
she goes back to her SON waiting by the car.
The gravedigger takes another look at his golden pocket
watch, worth more than his life, hanging on a gold chain.

Five o’clock.

It’s inserted back into the fob pocket of his waistcoat.

He continues shoveling dirt. Faster.

EXT. GRAVEYARD – EVENING

The gravedigger goes about his daily routine, later than

usual:

He pushes the dirt wagon behind the broken down tool shed,
tossing his shovel against boards of lumber.

CUT TO:

Gravedigger tends to a garden.

CUT TO:

Gathering wilting flowers off of headstones, the

gravedigger tosses them away.

CUT TO:

There are several attempts at fixing a busted lock on the

front gate of the graveyard entrance. He gives up.

INT. GRAVEDIGGER’S HOME – NIGHT

Inside the setting is humble, deserted.

There’s an old television set with an even older antenna in

the center of the room, a couch that’s seen better days and
a clock that doesn’t tick past 3:02.

His coat is tossed into the closet upon entrance.

LATER
The gravedigger is finally sitting to his dinner for one in
the armchair. He tunes in to watch the tail end of his
television program through poor reception.

INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT

The gravedigger sits on the edge of his double bed

unbuttoning his waistcoat. Watching the mirror over his
dresser, he takes a good look at the old man staring back.

He pulls on the gold chain tied through his pocket

buttonhole and removes it without weight. Here’s the end of
the chain but no watch.

A quick look to the floor and his lap: no watch.

Off comes the coat, and he pulls the pocket inside out:
nothing.

Under the bed, under the dresser, under the nightstand: no

luck.

Now he sees something with a gilded tone burrowed

underneath a book on the nightstand: just a set of keys.

-He stops-

That’s enough for tonight, he gives up and continues

preparing for sleep, constantly glancing at that broken
chain, sneaking a few peeks in drawers he hasn’t checked.

This bothersome misplacement doesn’t rest easy with the

gravedigger, but he tries to sleep it off.

INT. BEDROOM – MORNING

A diffused sunlight tries to break through the overcast and

shed the first fragment of light through the window.

The gravedigger is nowhere to be found, but the aftermath

to a vigorous inspection of his entire bedroom is obvious
with covers and clothes thrown from their proper places. No
stone has been left unturned—
INT. LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS

--The same hurricane has swept the rug from the floor and
the cushions from the furniture. No pocket watch and no
gravedigger in sight--

EXT. GRAVEYARD: GARDEN – CONTINUOUS

The gravedigger is digging through freshly planted daisies

searching for that damned watch. Already, he’s covered in
dirt and it isn’t even noon.

Nothing.

He stands.

EXT. TOOLSHED – DAY

He pokes around the wagon, noses around the inside of the

shed.

Retracing his steps carries him along a trail of dirt from

the wagon. He already knows where this trail leads, but he
follows: each step growing closer and closer until it’s
painfully obvious.

EXT. FRESH GRAVE - CONTINUOUS

That loose dirt is daunting, the headstone is intimidating.

There it is. No more than a few feet away from him. The
words “so close, yet so far away” never made more sense to
the old gravedigger.

Pacing, he can hardly reach a decision.

He waits for his answer to come to him--

--and wanders off.

The grave gets a moment of peace.

--But only a moment.

The widow returns alone with more flowers, and even more
grief. Tears already in her eyes, she kneels on top of the
grave whispering to the ground softly.

The flowers find their home on top of the headstone.

The gravedigger returns with a shovel in hand and stops

dead in his tracks when he sees her. He turns around and
leaves her alone.

She never notices him.

EXT. GRAVEYARD: GATE ENTRANCE - EVENING

Inspecting the useless gate latch, there is a feeble

attempt at allowing it to lock. The chain hangs out of his
pocket.

Everything’s broken.

Looking for the sun in the sky he can’t figure out what
time it is, but uses the chain to keep the gate secure.

Maybe it’s time to lock up, maybe it’s not.

He locks up anyway.

INT. HOME - NIGHT

The gravedigger flips on the television. He checks his fob

pocket with the absent watch. Bad habit. Self-consciously
he shrugs it off.

The signal is somewhat clear, but it’s a commercial break

and the signal is reaching static again. Tapping one rabbit
ear gently higher it proceeds to droop lower.

He pulls it back up again, but it droops once more.

Leaving it alone only does worse.

The station break ends by the time the signal is completely

dead. Static.
The tail end of his program and he can’t even see it. He
looks to the clock on the wall. 3:02.

Everything’s broken.

Scratching his pocket, he continues to watch the static--

--relaxes to it--

--sleeps to it.

EXT. GRAVEYARD – MORNING

The gravedigger tosses soil into the air. Piles of dirt

develop behind him. A determination in each thrust carries
on. He’s living a surreal dream of finding that watch
again.

He’s now lost in a twilight of the day. Sweat creeps down

his temples and drips from his chin. So close...

...Yet so far. The weeping widow can be heard nearby and he

stops his digging, woken from the daydream.

The flower on the late husband’s headstone has already

withered from days of neglect and the widow is helplessly
sobbing.

The gravedigger is digging a new grave not far from the

recent burial. He peeks over to see her there.

He pities her obsession with a sneer in his breath and

continues his work.

The dead flower blows away in a gust of wind.

EXT. GRAVEYARD: ENTRANCE – EVENING

The gates are locked as tightly as he can manage with the

use of a makeshift latch.

INT. GRAVEYARD: TOOLSHED - NIGHT

The final shade of daylight smothers away and a match is
struck. The gravedigger lights his lantern and searches the
arsenal of tools around him. No flimsy shovel can manage
the task at hand.

He tugs on a thick handle of a shovel that could split into

a rock like a scoop of ice cream. With a clank on the floor
it sounds like a church bell is tolling in the tiny shed.

The deep ringing puts a smile on the gravedigger’s face.

It’ll do the job.

EXT. GRAVEYARD - NIGHT

We finally see a name on the headstone reading “Freeman”.

The gravedigger hangs the lantern on a low branch over the
grave to flicker a light on his work.

The first drive into the ground--

--he lifts the shovel--

--tosses the soil--

-Nothing-

He tries again.

LATER

The wind shuffles the lantern lower down the branch

watching the gravedigger below, swinging back and forth.
He’s a few feet deeper now, but still digging.

The pile of dirt beside is a mountain range now.

He stops for a moment of rest. Shovel pierces the soil and

THUNK! He was closer than he thought. Why stop?

One more scrape of the dirt away--

--maybe one more--

LATER
The sky begins glowing from the East; the lantern is on its
last ember and the edge of the branch. The grave grows
dark.

There’s the casket, but no watch. The shovel is still in

hand. Eyes on that casket like a treasure chest.

Greedy hands clenching, twitching.

He can’t do it.

But his curiosity thinks differently.

Hand reaches.

He grips the heavy top of the casket.

Lifts not even an inch before--

--SMASH!

The lantern lands in the grave throwing the gravedigger

from his feet.

He lifts himself slowly. Taking the lantern from the dirt,

the gravedigger sets the light again.

A look around and he sees just how low he’s gone--

Twinkling light gleams in the packed dirt. A smile flashes

on the gravedigger’s face. No shovel, he digs this out with
his bare hands.

The watch!

Overwhelming relief comes in a long breath of laughter.

Wiping off the dirt with his shirt caked in mud, that old
watch never looked so beautiful.

Sitting down, he looks over the gilded casing.

EXT. OPEN GRAVE - MORNING

The gravedigger climbs out of the grave covered in dirt;

shovel in hand, watch in the other.
A gust of wind carries a creaking sound of metal. The
gravedigger takes a look to see the gate is wide open. The
widow stands speechless before him.

The exchange of stares seems endless. He’s unsure whether

she’s going to scream or strike him.

Instead she tears up. The gravedigger stands in a peculiar

situation.

Now she’s bawling her eyes out barely able to stand. He

inches closer. Wavering every step, he’s not sure what to
do.

Arms leave his sides as if to hug her, and she jumps at him
locking her arms around his back soaking his shirt with
tears. He pats her back looking around.

The face of the watch pops open so he can get a glimpse at

the time. The second hand is still. Trying to wind it with
his free arm, he hears rattling. He shakes it back and
fourth to listening to a few gears jingling around inside.

Everything’s broken.

He starts to cry.

CUT TO BLACK

THE END.