Chapter 10
Man with the Silver Star is terrible. It makes no sense. It jumps from scene to scene with no transition. It randomly inserts clips from Morrison’s other movies—bits of dialogue, action shots. The goal is to string together a sequence of events that revolves around Morrison’s character, the sheriff. But you end up getting distracted by all the inconsistencies. In one shot Morrison’s wearing a hat. In the next he’s not. In the next, he’s ten years younger. Then suddenly he’s wearing a bandana. The dialogue is choppy. The action sequences have no rhythm. And I completely lose track of what’s supposed to be happening. Feeney seems to have deleted all the scenes that relate to the movie’s specific plot. Probably because John Willis, the Marshal, was in those scenes and Morrison wasn’t.
I guess it’s kind of cool to see Sanford’s Folly in its glory days. On-screen, it looks like a real town. All the buildings on Main Street are in good shape. There’s a jail, a hotel, a saloon. And of course the mission. Though each time Morrison throws away a cigarette, I expect everything to go up in smoke. And that’s pretty much the most interesting part of this viewing experience.
“Are you picking up on any clues?” I ask halfway through. “Because I’m completely lost.”
Gabby shakes her head. “I feel like we’re trying to find the stolen money from Fargo.”
Ahmed presses the spacebar on his laptop to pause the movie. “Well, should we just stop watching, then? It’s a really lame movie.”
“And the soundtrack is awful,” adds Destiny.
“It’s not really a movie at all,” I point out. “It’s like a mashup of Morrison clips. I think the Willis guy has said five lines so far.”
Willis. Why does that name sound so familiar? I’ve been trying to figure it out all night.
“If we stop now, we’ll still have no idea how to break the curse,” Gabby reminds us.
“Well, maybe we’ll be fine,” says Ahmed. “Even if we can’t break the curse. I mean, aside from the close call with the coyotes, nothing really awful has happened.”
“Yet,” says Destiny.
That word sinks to my stomach like a rock. My mom’s deployment is coming up. What if the curse transfers from me to her? What if my bad luck becomes her bad luck?
And there are smaller fears too. Gabby’s application might be gone. She might miss out on her chance at that summer program. Ahmed’s about to spend another year or more with a guy who punches people just for kicks. Destiny’s arm might not heal right. Those aren’t life-and-death stakes, but they’re not nothing. They’re life stakes, at least.
“Okay,” I say. “I vote for us to keep watching. We have to at least give this our best shot.”
Ahmed sighs and un-pauses the movie.
Forty-five minutes later, Earl Morrison lights one last cigarette. Then there’s a shot of a guy on horseback riding away from the camera. I can’t tell if this is Morrison, or a stunt rider, or . . .
A voiceover drowns out the music. “Some men are American originals. Some stories will not die. An original will remain, long after the glossy lies and tidy myths fade. An original, if seen by the world, will redeem this land and set us free.”
The terrible soundtrack swells, and the credits roll. Ahmed hits pause again.
“What. Was. That?” I demand.
Gabby scowls at the screen. “I think that was Feeney’s message. That part about redeeming the land and setting us free . . .”
“But how?”
“The original,” I say. “That’s what the voice-over keeps saying!” Electricity shoots through me. “As in the original movie. The original version, before it got recut into a Morrison-fest. Maybe we just need to find that original. . . print?”
I look at Gabby to confirm that’s the right word. She nods slowly. So does Ahmed.
“Find it,” he says, “and share it. Like it says in the last line of the voiceover.” He rewinds and plays that part again: An original, if seen by the world, will redeem this land and set us free. “If seen by the world,” Ahmed repeats. “So I bet we’d have to make the movie available to the public.”
“Maybe your mom could help with that, Gabby?” I suggest. “Since she’s a film-studies professor?”
“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?” says Gabby. I can hear the silent you idiots at the end of that sentence. “How exactly are we supposed to find an original version? How do we know it even exists?”
“Wouldn’t your mom have some ideas about where to look?” I say.
She throws up her hands. “Even if it does exist, do you know how many old film reels are lying around? Like, thousands. People collect them at garage sales. And those people may not even watch the films. They may have no idea what they’ve got. My mom won’t be able to find something if it’s in a hoarder’s storage locker. Or a landfill. Or Martin Feeney’s grandchildren’s basement.”
I can feel something deflate inside me. She’s right. We’re dealing with a needle in a haystack.
My eyes drift back to Ahmed’s laptop screen. The film is paused on the first frame of the credits. Morrison gets top billing, of course. Willis is fifth or sixth on the list.
And out of nowhere, it hits me. Willis screen test. The label on one of the old film reels. In the shed at Sanford’s Folly. Which reminds me of another labeled reel I saw there.
“I know where it is!”
I can see the label in my head. MWTSS.
Man with the Silver Star.
“The shed. The film reels in the shed. It’s one of those.”
I look up at the others. Blank stares.
“It’s there,” I insist. “I saw it. I just didn’t know what it was.”
Ahmed’s eyes widen. Gabby slowly sits up straight. Destiny’s hands fly to her mouth.
“Absolutely. The original print is at Sanford’s Folly.” Then I say what we’re all thinking: “We have to go back.”