798. Lines and endings
August 26.
The takes finally brought the week to a kind of completion, where each person tried in their own way to accomplish the bare minimum. Billy somehow revived his mind and kept himself composed. That was the way to work.
His face was dirty, and one eye was half closed from the dust that had gotten into it. It burned sharply; it was almost a superficial irritation, strange and mysterious, yet somehow singular, something that still gave them time. Billy tried to breathe slowly. It was surprising. A good day’s work.
-What a remarkable profile. - Steven sighed, watching Billy as if he had been made for the mechanics of war. He brushed his hair back, and he liked it that way, that hairstyle that stood out so clearly.
-Hold the people to the side. - Steven replied, studying the entire scene. It would need between ten and eleven shots from different angles, and they began filming, something that might be brief or perhaps chaotic in its execution.
-We’ll do it. I want to film before dawn disappears. I liked the night—it carries that anxiety that wars usually create. But I want the people to feel nervous. - Steven commented to his camera assistant, a man named Pierrot, French, with a Jewish mother and Polish lineage. His grandfather had died in the Holocaust at the age of twenty-three, when Pierrot’s mother was still a baby. That history alone seemed enough to give Pierrot a certain gravity, and he had become a promising young director—cordial, quiet, deeply studious, and well read in literature, philosophy, and cinema. He had even been recommended for Cleopatra, though Billy had no idea whether he would ultimately be chosen for the role.
-Scene 139, take 3. -
A LINE OF BULLETS RIPS THROUGH THE AIR
MILLER
Throws the satchel charge beneath the tank. He rolls off the edge of the bridge and falls down the embankment.
THE LAST TIGER TANK EXPLODES
MILLER, RYAN, AND REIBEN keep firing.
Almost out of ammunition.
MILLER CLIMBS THE EMBANKMENT, back toward the bridge, and hears something rising above the noise of the gunfire.
MILLER
Stop! Stop! Stop!
Ryan and Reiben stop firing. Now they hear it too.
A rumble, deeper and more ominous than anything they have heard so far.
MILLER
(continuing)
Damn it… damn it…
REIBEN
More tanks… more tanks…
RYAN
A lot of them… a lot…
The fear on their faces slowly transforms into resignation. They know they are dead. They settle into their positions and prepare to fire and die.
They wait. The rumble grows louder and louder.
They wait. The rumble grows louder and louder.
Then Miller’s face begins to change… the hint of a smile… then a real smile… a genuine smile.
An American Sherman tank appears over the crest of the hill.
Then another… and another… and another… and another…
MILLER, REIBEN, AND RYAN
Stand there stunned, watching tank after tank appear, along with dozens of heavily armed American soldiers.
They keep coming. American tanks, wave after wave of American infantry searching for targets. They find a few among the Germans who are retreating.
THE TROOPS ADVANCE
They rush toward the bridge and begin securing the position.
A sergeant and several of his men look around, curiously observing Miller, Reiben, and Ryan—battered and bloody, standing among the bodies.
A commander approaches.
COMMANDER
Report, Captain. Report.
MILLER
Miller. Company B, Second Rangers. This is Private Richard Reiben, and this is Private James Ryan, 101st Airborne.
The sergeant and several soldiers listen closely.
SERGEANT
Ryan?
One soldier whispers to another.
SOLDIER
That’s him. That’s Ryan.
The Major places a hand on Ryan’s shoulder.
COMMANDER
Command has been looking for you, son. You’re going home. You’re going home.
Ryan looks up, exhausted. He nods slowly.
EXT. RAMELLE BRIDGEHEAD – DAY
American tanks and hundreds of fresh troops move down the road and cross the bridge.
MILLER, RYAN, AND REIBEN
Watch.
In a small cleared area, the bodies of Jackson, Upham, Sarge, Forrest, and the other paratroopers are laid out neatly and respectfully, covered.
Miller and Reiben remain close to Ryan, protecting him, as if they didn’t want to risk anyone from the advancing troops or vehicles knocking him over or running him down.
MILLER
Walks toward the bodies. He kneels beside Sarge and studies him for a long moment. Then, with steady hands, he removes one of Sarge’s identification tags. He does the same with Jackson and Upham.
REIBEN AND RYAN
Watch in silence.
MILLER
Stands and returns to Reiben and Ryan. He hands the dog tags to Ryan, who grips them tightly and nods in gratitude.
Miller casts one last look at the bridge and the bodies, then slings his gear over his shoulder.
MILLER
Let’s go. Let’s go.
CAMERA CRANE RISES
The three men—dirty, bloodied, and exhausted—walk down the road, ignored by the fresh troops marching in the opposite direction.
RYAN
Captain?
MILLER
Yes, soldier.
RYAN
Upham and Jackson… what were they like?
MILLER
Upham? He was a good kid. Smart.
RYAN
Yeah?
REIBEN
Yeah, and he was fast too. Ran the 220 in twenty-four minutes and five seconds.
RYAN
Seriously?
MILLER
Jackson was from West Fork, Tennessee. He was going to be a preacher. His father and uncle ran a traveling ministry along the Hudson River.
RYAN
And Sarge? What about Sarge?
MILLER
Sarge?
(pause)
He was the best friend I ever had.
(smiles)
Let me tell you about Sarge…
They keep walking, fading into the distance among the hundreds of American soldiers marching along the road and crossing the bridge.
Reiben and Ryan gather their things. They walk with Miller down the road, moving away from the bridge.
-cut.-
Something about the scene still wasn’t quite right. So they filmed everything again and created another version, a longer one, shot from so many angles that it almost felt excessive. They repeated the final segment and placed beneath it a simple transitional movement, something subtle, nothing rigid, almost ideal in its calmness. Billy could see that Steven wanted something colder, something more restrained, so they began filming again. This time, the scenes were harsher, shaped differently in tone and resolution.
-I think they’re going to make us do another scene. - Billy said.
-I think it might be difficult. - Edward replied, who was playing Reiben. The man had now asked him for a role in The Lord of the Rings, and he accepted, partly because of his profile and partly because he happened to be handsome enough to carry even a small role convincingly.
-We’ll do two extra takes. Just one final shot of the ending, but I want us to go back again—not at dawn, more like at sunset. - Steven said loudly.
Everyone moved as the final scene was rearranged once more, shaping it into something colder, something that carried a heaviness in the chest and perhaps a quiet sorrow.
Everything was repeated, and that day they worked until late into the night, almost until eleven. Everyone struggled to breathe, their eyes tired, their minds drifting. Billy watched as everything replayed in his head, a powerful idea, almost vivid and restless.
When they had said he would only appear for ten to fifteen minutes, it had sounded like very little. But unfortunately,y the film—and especially the war sequence—took far longer than anyone expected, nearly fifteen to thirty minutes just for the battle itself, and that felt like an exhausting excess that irritated everyone involved.
...