She presses the cable release.
FRANCOISE : Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six.
She lets the shutter close.
FRANCOISE : Take a look.
Richard leans over and squints down the viewfinder.
The sky is framed. Francoise leans into the frame.
Richard draws back.
RICHARD : You realize that in the eternity of space, there is a planet,
just like this one, where you are photographing back towards us.
You’re photographing yourself.
FRANCOISE : Incredible
RICHARD : There are infinite worlds out there, where anything that can happen does happen.
FRANCOISE : So on one you are rich, on another poor. On one you are a murderer, on another the victim.
RICHARD : Exactly
FRANCOISE : Richard, you know something –
She hands him the cable release while she adjusts the camera.
FRANCOISE : That is just the kind of pretentious bullshit that Englishmen and Americans always say to French girls so that they can sleep with them.
RICHARD : Sorry. I thought I was doing quite well.
FRANCOISE : It’s just the sky, Richard.
She presses his thumb down on the cable release, her hand around his.
FRANCOISE : Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept…
EXT. NIGHT. SKY.
Francoise voice fades away over an image of the night sky.
Time lapse: the sky rapidly changes to day.
RICHARD (Voice Over) : When you develop an infatuation for someone, you always find a reason to believe that this is exactly the person for you. It doesn’t need to be a good reason, a bad one will do just as well. Taking photographs of the night sky, for example: in the long run that’s just the kind of dumb irritating habit that would cause you to split up. But at the time – it’s the charming eccentricity you’ve been searching for all these years.
Suggested read : Beach , the script
Suggested rythm: Goodbye blue sky, Pink Floyd