All language subtitles for Redemption.1994.1080p.x264.YIFY

If I Didn't Care

If I didn't care

More than words can say

If I didn't care

Would I feel this way?

If this isn't love

Then why do I thrill?

And what makes my head
go round and round

While my heart stands still?

If I didn't care

Would it be the same?

Would my every prayer begin and end

With just your name?

And would I be sure

That this is love beyond compare?

Would all this be true

If I didn't care for you?

Mr. Dufresne,

describe the confrontation you had
with your wife the night she was murdered.

It was very bitter.

She said she was glad I knew,
that she hated all the sneaking around...

And she said she wanted a divorce in Reno.

What was your response?

I told her I would not grant one.

"I'll see you in hell before I see you in Reno."

Those were the words you used, Mr. Dufresne,
according to your neighbors.

If they say so.
I really don't remember. I was upset.

What happened after you argued
with your wife?

She packed a bag.

She packed a bag to go and stay with...
Mr. Quentin.

Glenn Quentin.

Golf pro at the Snowdon Hills Country Club.

The man you discovered was your wife's lover.

Did you follow her?

I went to a few bars first.

Later, I drove to his house to confront them.

They weren't home, so I...parked in the turnout,

and waited.

With what intention?

I'm not sure.

I was confused.

Drunk.

I think...mostly, I wanted to scare them.

When they arrived,
you went up to the house and murdered them.

No. I was sobering up.

I got back in the car,
and I drove home to sleep it off.

Along the way, I stopped,
and I threw my gun into the Royal River.

I feel I've been very clear on this point.

Well, where I get hazy is where the cleaning
woman shows up the following morning

and finds your wife in bed with her lover,
riddled with.38 caliber bullets.

Now, does that strike you as a fantastic
coincidence, Mr. Dufresne, or is it just me?

Yes, it does.

Yet you still maintain that you threw your gun
into the river before the murders took place?

- That's very convenient.
- It's the truth.

The police dragged that river
for three days, and nary a gun was found.

So, there could be no comparison made
between your gun

and the bullets taken from
the bloodstained corpses of the victims.

And that also...

is very convenient.

Isn't it, Mr. Dufresne?

Since I am innocent of this crime, sir,

I find it decidedly inconvenient
that the gun was never found.

If I Didn't Care

And would I be sure that this

Is love beyond compare...

Ladies and gentlemen,
you've heard all the evidence.

We have the accused at the scene of the crime.

We have footprints, tire tracks,

bullets strewn on the ground which bear
his fingerprints, a broken bourbon bottle,

likewise with fingerprints.

And most of all,

we have a beautiful young woman and her lover

lying dead in each other's arms.

They had sinned.

But was their crime so great
as to merit a death sentence?

Now, while you think about that...

..think about this.

A revolver holds six bullets.

Not eight.

I submit that this was not a hot-blooded
crime of passion.

That could be understood, if not condoned.

No. This was revenge...

of a much more brutal
and cold-blooded nature. Consider this.

Four bullets per victim.

Not six shots fired, but eight.

That means that he fired the gun empty,

and then stopped to reload...

..so that he could shoot each of them again.

An extra bullet per lover.

Right in the head.

You strike me as a particularly icy
and remorseless man, Mr. Dufresne.

It chills my blood just to look at you.

By the power vested in me
by the state of Maine,

I hereby order you to serve two life sentences,
back to back.

One for each of your victims. So be it.

Sit.

We see by your file
you've served 20 years of a life sentence.

Yes, sir.

You feel you've been rehabilitated?

Oh, yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.

I mean, I learned my lesson.

I can honestly say...I'm a changed man.

I'm no longer a danger to society.

That's God's honest truth.

Hey, Red. How'd it go?

Same old shit. Different day.

Yeah. I know how you feel.
I'm up for rejection next week.

Yeah, I got rejected last week.

It happens.

Hey, Red. Bump me a deck.

Get the fuck out of my face, will you, man?
You've had five packs already.

- Four.
- Five.

There must be a con like me
in every prison in America.

I'm the guy who can get it for you.

Cigarettes, a bag of reefer - if that's your thing -

a bottle of brandy
to celebrate your kid's high-school graduation.

Damn near anything, within reason.

Yes, sir. I'm a regular Sears and Roebuck.

So, when Andy Dufresne came to me in 1949

and asked me to smuggle Rita Hayworth
into the prison for him,

I told him, "No problem."

Andy came to Shawshank Prison

in early 1947, for murdering his wife
and the fella she was banging.

On the outside he had been vice-president
of a large Portland bank.

Good work for a man as young as he was.

Hey, Red.

Do you speak English, butt steak?
You follow this officer.

I haven't seen such a sorry-looking heap
of m-m-maggot shit in all my life.

Hey, fish! Come over here.

Come on, fish.

Taking bets today, Red?

Smokes or coins? Better's choice.

Smokes. Put me down for two.

All right. Who's your horse?

That little sack of shit...eighth from the front.

He'll be first.

- Bullshit. I'll take that action.
- Me too.

You're out some smokes, son. Let me tell you.

Heywood, you're so smart, you call it.

I'll take...t-t-the chubby fat-ass there.

The fifth one from the front.
Put me down for a quarter deck.

Fresh fish!

Fresh fish today! We're reeling them in!

I must admit, I didn't think much of Andy,
first time I laid eyes on him.

Looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over.

That was my first impression of the man.

What do you say, Red?

That tall drink of water
with the silver spoon up his ass.

That guy? Never happen.

Ten cigarettes.

That's a rich bet.

All right. Who's gonna prove me wrong?

Heywood? Jigger?

Skeet?

Floyd?

Four brave souls.

Return to your cell blocks for evening count.

All prisoners return to your cell blocks.

Turn to the right. Eyes front.

This is Mr. Hadley. He's Captain of the Guards.

I'm Mr. Norton, the Warden.

You are convicted felons.

That's why they've sent you to me.

Rule number one:

No blasphemy.

I'll not have the Lord's name taken in vain
in my prison.

The other rules...

you'll figure out as you go along.

Any questions?

When do we eat?

You eat when we say you eat!

You shit when we say you shit,
and you piss when we say you piss.

You got that, you maggot-dick motherfucker?

Aarghh!

On your feet.

I believe in two things.

Discipline and the Bible.

Here you'll receive both.

Put your trust in the Lord.

Your ass belongs to me.

Welcome to Shawshank.

Unhook 'em.

Turn around.

That's enough.

Move to the end of the cage.

Turn around.

Delouse him.

Turn around.

Move out of the cage, go left.
Pick up your clothes and Bible.

Next man up.

To the right. Right, right, right.

Left, left...

The first night's the toughest.
No doubt about it.

They march you in,
naked as the day you were born,

skin burning and half-blind
from that delousing shit they throw on you.

And when they put you in that cell,

and those bars slam home...

that's when you know it's for real.

Old life blown away in the blink of an eye.

Nothing left,

but all the time in the world to think about it.

Most new fish come close to madness
the first night.

Somebody always breaks down crying.

Happens every time.

The only question is:

Who's it gonna be?

It's as good a thing to bet on as any, I guess.

I had my money on Andy Dufresne.

Lights out!

I remember my first night.

Seems like a long time ago.

Yoo-hoo!

Hey, fish.

Fish, fish, fish, fish, fishy.

- Boy, are you scared of the dark?
- You like it here, new fish?

You'll wish
your daddy never dicked your mommy.

Fishy! Oh, I want me a pork chop. Oh, yes!

You taking this down, new fish?
There's gonna be a quiz later!

- Poke your ass out, give me a first look!
- Shh! Keep it down.

The boys always go fishing
with first-timers.

They don't quit till they reel someone in.

Hey, Fat Ass.

Fat Ass.

Talk to me, boy.

I know you're there. I can hear you breathing.

Don't you listen to these nitwits.
You hear me?

This place ain't so bad.

I tell you what.

I'll introduce you around.
Make you feel right at home.

I know a couple of big old bull queers

that would just love to make your acquaintance.

Especially that big, white,
m- mushy butt of yours.

God!

I don't belong here!

We have a winner!

I wanna go home!

And it's Fat Ass by a nose!

Hey, it's the fat guy! It's the fat guy!

Fresh fish! Fresh fish! Fresh fish!

I don't belong here!

Fresh fish!

I wanna go home. I want my mommy.

I had your mother. She wasn't that great.

Fresh fish!

What the Christ is this happy horse shit?

He took the Lord's name in vain.
I'm telling the Warden.

With my baton up your ass!

Let me out of here!

What is your malfunction,
you fat barrel of monkey spunk?

Please...

I ain't supposed to be here.

Not me!

I ain't gonna count to three, or even one.

Shut the fuck up, or I'll sing you a lullaby!

Shut up, man. Shut up.

There's been a mistake!

You don't understand.
I'm not supposed to be here!

Open that cell.

Me neither.
You people run this place like a fucking prison!

Son of a bitch.

Take it easy.

If I hear so much as a mouse fart in here
the rest of the night,

I swear by God and sonny Jesus,
you will all visit the infirmary.

Every last motherfucker in here.

Call the trustees.
Take that tub of shit down to the infirmary.

His first night in the joint,
Andy Dufresne cost me two packs of cigarettes.

He never made a sound.

Tier 3 North. Clear.

Tier 2 South. Clear.

Tier 3 South. Clear.

Tier 1 North...

- Tier 1 South. Clear.
- Tier 4 South. Clear.

Prepare to roll out.

Roll out!

Are... Are you going to eat that?

I hadn't... I hadn't planned on it.

Do you mind?

Ah...that's nice and ripe.

Jake says thank you.

Fell out of his nest over by the plate shop.

I'm going to look after him
until he's big enough to fly.

Oh, no, no. Here he comes.

Morning, fellas. Fine morning, ain't it?

You know why it's a fine morning, don't you?

Come on. Set 'em down.
I want 'em all lined up here,

just like a pretty little chorus line.

Yeah, look at that!

- Look at that. Oh, Lord!
- I can't stand this guy.

Yes. Richmond, Virginia.

- Smell my ass!
- After he smells mine.

Gee, Red, it was a terrible shame
about your horse coming in last, an' all.

But I sure do love that winning horse of mine,
though.

I owe that boy a great big, sloppy kiss
when I see him.

Why don't you give him some of your cigarettes,
instead?

Lucky fuck.

Hey, Tyrell.

You pull infirmary duty this week?

How's that horse of mine doing?

Dead.

Hadley busted his head up pretty good.
The doc had already gone home for the night.

Poor bastard lay there till this morning.

By then, hell, there weren't nothing we could do.

What was his name?

What did you say?

I was just wondering if anyone knew his name.

What the fuck do you care, new fish?

It doesn't fuckin' matter what his name was.
He's dead.

Hey...

Anybody come at you yet?

Anybody get to you yet?

Hey, we all need friends in here.

I could be a friend to you.

Hey...

Hard to get.

I like that.

Andy kept pretty much to himself at first.

I guess he had a lot on his mind,

trying to adapt to life on the inside.

It wasn't until a month went by
that he opened his mouth

to say more than two words to somebody.

As it turned out...

that somebody was me.

Officers Russell and Burwell
report to the duty officer.

I'm Andy Dufresne.

The wife-killing banker.

Why did you do it?

I didn't, since you ask.

You're gonna fit right in!

Everybody in here's innocent.
Didn't you know that?

- Heywood, what are you in here for?
- Didn't do it. Lawyer fucked me.

Rumor has it you're a real cold fish.

You think your shit smells sweeter than most.
Is that right?

- What do you think?
- To tell you the truth,

I haven't made up my mind.

I understand
you're a man that knows how to get things.

I'm known to locate certain things,
from time to time.

- I wonder if you might get me a rock hammer.
- A what?

A rock hammer.

- What is it, and why?
- What do you care?

Well, if it was a toothbrush, I'd just quote a price,

but then a toothbrush is a non-lethal object.

Fair enough.

A rock hammer
is about six or seven inches long.

Looks like a miniature pickaxe.

Pickaxe?

- For rocks.
- Rocks.

Quartz?

Quartz.

And some mica.

Shale.

Limestone.

So?

So, I'm a rock hound.

At least, I was in my old life.
I'd like to be again on a limited basis.

Or maybe you want
to hammer somebody's skull.

No, sir.

I have no enemies here.

No? Wait a while.

Word gets around.

The Sisters have taken quite a liking to you.

Especially Bogs.

I don't suppose it would help any
if I explained to them I'm not homosexual.

Neither are they.

You have to be human first. They don't qualify.

Bull queers take by force.
It's all they want or understand.

If I were you,
I'd grow eyes in the back of my head.

Thanks for the advice.

Well, that's free.

You understand my concern.

Well, if there's any trouble,
I won't use the hammer.

Then I guess you want to escape.
Tunnel under the wall, maybe.

Did I miss something? What's funny?

You'll understand
when you see the rock hammer.

What's an item like this usually go for?

Seven dollars in any rock and gem shop.

My normal mark-up's 20 per cent.

But this is a specialty item.

The risk goes up, the price goes up.

Let's make it an even ten bucks.

Ten it is.

Waste of money, if you ask me.

Why's that?

Folks around this joint love surprise inspections.

If they find it, you're gonna lose it.

If they do catch you with it, you don't know me.

Mention my name, we never do business again.

Not for shoelaces or a stick of gum.
Now, you got that?

I understand.

Thank you...

Mr. er...?

Red. The name's Red.

Red?

Why do they call you that?

Maybe it's because I'm Irish.

I could see
why some of the boys took him for snobby.

He had a quiet way about him.

A walk and a talk
that just wasn't normal around here.

He strolled...

like a man in a park,
without a care or worry in the world.

Like he had on an invisible coat
that would shield him from this place.

Yeah. I think it would be fair to say...

I liked Andy from the start.

Let's go!
Some of us have got a schedule to keep.

Move it! Come on. Move it!

Bob, how are you doing?
How's the wife treating you?

Easy.

Keep it moving.

Red...

Andy was right. I finally got the joke.

It would take a man about 600 years
to tunnel under the wall with one of these.

Book?

Not today.

- Book?
- No.

Hey, Brooksy.

Delivery for Dufresne.

Book?

Dufresne...

Here's your book.

Thanks.

Dufresne! We're running low on Hexlite.

Get on back and fetch us up some.

If you get this in your eyes, it blinds you.

Honey...hush.

That's it. You fight.

It's better that way.

I wish I could tell you
that Andy fought the good fight,

and the Sisters let him be.

I wish I could tell you that.

But prison is no fairy-tale world.

He never said who did it.

But we all knew.

Things went on like that for a while.

Prison life consists of routine...

and then more routine.

Every so often,
Andy would show up with fresh bruises.

The Sisters kept at him.

Sometimes he was able to fight 'em off.
Sometimes not.

And that's how it went for Andy.

That was his routine.

I do believe
those first two years were the worst for him.

And I also believe,

if things had gone on that way,
this place would have got the best of him.

But then, in the spring of 1949,

the powers that be decided that...

The roof of the license-plate factory
needs resurfacing.

I need a dozen volunteers for a week's work.

As you know,

special detail carries with it special privileges.

It was outdoor detail...

..and May is one damn fine month
to be working outdoors.

Stay in line there.

More than a hundred men
volunteered for the job.

Wallace E Unger.

Ellis Redding.

Wouldn't you know it?

Me and some fellows I know
were among the names.

Andrew Dufresne.

It only cost us a pack of smokes per man.

I made my usual 20 per cent, of course.

So, this big-shot lawyer
calls me long-distance from Texas.

I say, "Yeah?"

He says, "Sorry to inform you,
but your brother just died."

Oh, damn, Byron. I'm sorry to hear that.

I'm not. He was an asshole.

Ran off years ago.
Figured him for dead, anyway.

So, anyway, this lawyer fella says to me,
"Your brother died a rich man."

Oil wells and shit. Close to a million bucks.

A million bucks?

Fucking incredible
how lucky some assholes get.

Jeez-Louise! Are you gonna see any of that?

35,000. That's what he left me.

- Dollars?
- Yeah.

Holy shit! That's great.
That's like winning the sweepstakes.

Isn't it?

Dumb shit. What do you think
the government's gonna do to me?

Take a big, wet bite out of my ass, is what.

Poor Byron! Terrible fucking luck, huh?

Crying shame.

Some people really got it awful!

Andy, are you nuts?

Keep your eyes on your mop, man. Andy!

Well, you'll pay some tax,
but you'll still end up...

Oh, yeah, yeah.
Maybe enough to buy a new car. Then what?

I've got to pay tax on the car.

Repair, maintenance, goddamn kids
pestering me to take them for a ride...

And at the end of the year, you figure the tax
wrong, you pay them out of your own pocket.

I tell you...Uncle Sam!

He puts his hand in your shirt
and squeezes your tit till it's purple.

- Andy! Andy!
- What's he doing?

- Getting himself killed.
- Keep tarring.

Some brother! Shit.

Hey!

Mr. Hadley...

do you trust your wife?

Oh, that's funny.

You're gonna look funnier
sucking my dick with no teeth.

I mean, do you think
she'd go behind your back, try to hamstring you?

That's it. Step aside, Mert.

This fucker's having an accident.

He's gonna push him off.

Cos if you do trust her,
there's no reason you can't keep that 35,000.

- What did you say?
- 35,000.

- 35,000?
- All of it.

- All of it?
- Every penny.

You'd better start making sense.

If you want to keep the money,
give it to your wife.

The IRS allows a one-time-only gift
to your spouse for up to $60,000.

Bullshit! Tax-free?

Tax-free. The IRS can't touch one cent.

You're the smart banker what killed his wife.

Why should I believe a smart banker like you?
So I can end up in here with you?

It's legal. Ask the IRS.

They'll say the same thing.
But I feel stupid telling you this.

I'm sure you would have investigated the matter.

Yeah, I don't need no banker to tell me
where the bears shit in the buckwheat.

Of course not, but you do need someone
to set up the tax-free gift.

It'll cost you. A lawyer.

A bunch of ball-washing bastards.

I suppose I could set it up for you.
That would save you some money.

If you get the forms, I'll prepare them for you.

Nearly free of charge.

I'd only ask three beers apiece
for each of my co-workers.

Co-workers! Get him! That's rich, ain't it?

I think a man working outdoors
feels more like a man

if he can have a bottle of suds.

That's only my opinion...sir.

What are you jimmies staring at?

Back to work!

Let's go. Work.

And that's how it came to pass...
that on the second-to-last day of the job,

the convict crew that tarred the plate-factory roof
in the spring of '49...

wound up sitting in a row
at ten o'clock in the morning,

drinking icy-cold, Bohemia-style beer...

courtesy of the hardest screw that ever
walked a turn at Shawshank State Prison.

Drink up while it's cold, ladies.

The colossal prick
even managed to sound magnanimous.

We sat and drank with the sun on our shoulders,
and felt like free men.

Hell, we could have been tarring the roof
of one of our own houses.

We were the lords of all creation.

As for Andy,
he spent that break hunkered in the shade...

a strange little smile on his face,

watching us drink his beer.

Hey...

Want a cold one, Andy?

No, thanks.

I gave up drinking.

You could argue
he'd done it to curry favor with the guards.

Or maybe make a few friends among us cons.

Me, I think he did it just to feel normal again.

If only for a short while.

King me.

Chess. Now, there's a game of kings.

- What?
- Civilized, strategic.

And a total fucking mystery.

I hate it.

Maybe you'll let me teach you someday.

Yeah. Sure.

I thought of getting a board together.

Well, I'm the right man.
I'm the guy that can get things.

We might do business on a board.

But I want to carve the pieces myself.

One side in alabaster, the opposing side
in soapstone. What do you think?

I think it'll take years.

Well, years I got.
What I don't have are the rocks.

Pickings are pretty slim in the yard.

Pebbles, mostly.

Andy, we're getting to be kinda friends,
aren't we?

Yeah, I guess.

Can I ask you something?

Why did you do it?

I'm innocent, Red. Just like everybody else here.

What are you in for?

Murder.

Same as you.

Innocent?

Only guilty man in Shawshank.

Where's the canary?

How did you know?

How did I know what?

So, you don't know? Come.

This is where the canary is, Johnny.

Quite a surprise to hear a woman singing
in my house, eh, Johnny?

That's quite a...

surprise.

Red...

Wait, wait, wait, wait.

Here she comes.

This is the part I like -
when she does that shit with her hair.

Yeah, I know. I've seen it three times this month.

Gilda, are you decent?

Me?

Hah! God, I love it!

I understand
you're a man that knows how to get things.

Yeah, I'm known to locate certain things
from time to time. What do you want?

- Rita Hayworth.
- What?

Can you get her?

So, this is Johnny Farrell.
I've heard a lot about you, Johnny.

Take a few weeks.

Weeks?

Well, yeah, Andy. I don't have her stuffed down
the front of my pants right now, I'm sorry to say.

But I'll get her. Relax.

Thanks.

- It was a surprise, Mr. Farrell.
- It was.

Sit down.

Did you tell him what I'm doing here?

No, I wanted to save that as a surprise, too.

Hang on to your hat, Mr. Farrell...

- Take a walk.
- I gotta change the reel.

I said fuck off!

Ain't you gonna scream?

Let's get this over with.

He broke my fuckin' nose!

Now...I'm gonna open my fly...

and you're gonna swallow
what I give you to swallow.

Then you're gonna swallow Rooster's.

You broke his nose,
he ought to have something to show for it.

Anything you put in my mouth,
you're gonna lose.

No. You don't understand.

You do that, and I'll put
all eight inches of this steel in your ear.

All right.

But you should know that sudden, serious
brain injury causes the victim to bite down hard.

In fact, I hear the bite reflex is so strong,

they have to pry the victim's jaws open...
with a crowbar.

Where did you get this shit?

I read it.

Know how to read, you ignorant fuck?

Honey...

..you shouldn't.

Bogs didn't put anything in Andy's mouth...

and neither did his friends.

What they did do...
is beat him within an inch of his life.

Andy spent a month in the infirmary.

Bogs spent a week in the hole.

Time's up, Bogs.

It's your world, boss.

Return to your cell blocks for evening count.

All prisoners report for lockdown.

What?

Where's he going?
Grab his ankles.

No! No!

No!

Help me...

Aaarghh!

Two things never happened again after that.

The Sisters never laid a finger on Andy again...

..and Bogs never walked again.

They transferred him
to a minimum-security hospital upstate.

To my knowledge, he lived out the rest
of his days drinking his food through a straw.

I'm thinking Andy could use a nice welcome
back when he gets out of the infirmary.

Sounds good to us.
I figure we owe him that much for the beer.

The man likes to play chess.

Let's get him some rocks.

Guys...

I got one. I got one. Look.

Heywood, that isn't soapstone.

And it ain't alabaster, either.

What are you, a fucking geologist?

He's right. It ain't.

Well, what the hell is it?

A horse apple.

- Bullshit.
- No, horse shit. Petrified.

Oh, Jesus Christ!

Oh, damn!

Despite a few hitches,
the boys came through in fine style.

And by the weekend he was due back,
we had enough rocks

to keep him busy till rapture.

I also got a big shipment in that week.

Cigarettes. Chewing gum.

Sipping whisky.

Playing cards with naked ladies on them.
You name it.

And of course, the most important item.

Rita Hayworth herself.

OK, look alive! Open all tiers.

Heads up. They're tossing the cells.

Heads up. They're tossing the cells.

119.

123.

On your feet.

Face the wall.

Turn around and face the Warden.

Pleased to see you reading this.

Any favorite passages?

"Watch ye, therefore, for ye know not
when the master of the house cometh."

Mark 13:35.

I always liked that one.

But I prefer...

"I'm the light of the world.

He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness,
but shall have the light of life."

John, Chapter 8, Verse 12.

I hear you're good with numbers. How nice.

A man should have a skill.

Wanna explain this?

It's called a rock blanket.
It's for shaping and polishing rocks.

A little hobby of mine.

It's pretty clean. Some contraband here,

but nothing to get in a twist over.

I can't say I approve of this.

But I suppose...

..exceptions can be made.

Lock 'em up!

I almost forgot.

I'd hate to deprive you of this.

Salvation lies within.

Yes, sir.

Tossing cells was just an excuse.

The truth is, Norton wanted to size Andy up.

My wife made that in church group.

Very nice, sir.

Do you enjoy working in the laundry?

No, sir, not especially.

Perhaps we can find something more...

befitting a man of your education.

Hey, Jake. Where's Brooks?

Andy.

I thought I heard you out here!

I've been reassigned to you.

I know. They told me.

Ain't that a kick in the head?

Well, I'll give you the dime tour.

Come on.

Well, here she is.

Shawshank Prison library.

National Geographics.

Reader's Digest condensed books.

Louis L'Amour.

Look Magazine.

Erle Stanley Gardners.

Every evening,
I load up the cart and make my round.

I enter the names on this clipboard here.

Easy-peasy, Japanesey. Any questions?

Brooks, how long have you been librarian?

Oh...I come here in '05,
and they made me librarian in 1912.

And in all that time,
have you ever had an assistant?

No. No, not much to it, really.

Well, why me? Why now?

I don't know,

but it'll be nice to have some company
down here for a change.

Dufresne!

That's him. That's the one.

I'm Dekins.

I was er...

thinking about maybe setting up
some kind of trust fund for my kids' educations.

Oh...

I see.

Well, erm...

..why don't we have a seat,

and talk it over?

Brooks,
do you have a piece of paper and a pencil?

Thanks.

So...

Mr. Dekins...

And then Andy says to Mr. Dekins,
"Do you want your sons to go to Harvard,

- or Yale?"
- He didn't say that?

As God is my witness, he did!

Dekins just blinked for a second.
Then he laughed himself silly.

And afterwards he shook Andy's hand.

My ass!

Shook his hand.

Hell, I...I near soiled myself!

All Andy needed was a suit and a tie
and a little jiggly hula girl on his desk,

and he would have been:

"Mr. Dufresne, if you please"!

Making a few friends, Andy?

I wouldn't say "friends".

I'm a convicted murderer
who provides sound financial planning.

It's a wonderful pet to have.

Got you out of the laundry, though.

Well, it might do more than that.

How about expanding the library?
Get some new books in there.

If you're gonna ask for something,
ask for a pool table.

- Right.
- How do you expect to do that?

I mean, get new books in here,
Mr. Dufresne, if you please?

Ask the Warden for funds.

Son, son. Six wardens
have been through here in my tenure,

and I've learned one immutable, universal truth.

Not one of them born...

whose asshole wouldn't pucker up tighter than
a snare drum when you asked them for funds.

The budget's stretched thin, as it is.

I see.

Perhaps I could write to the State Senate
and request funds from them.

As far as they're concerned, there's only three
ways to spend money when it comes to prisons:

more walls, more bars and more guards.

Still, I'd like to try, with your permission.
A letter a week. They can't ignore me forever.

Sure can.

But you write your letters, if it makes you happy.

I'll even mail them for you. How's that?

So, Andy started writing a letter a week,

just like he said.

And, just like Norton said, Andy got no answers.

The following April, Andy did tax returns
for half the guards at Shawshank.

The year after that, he did them all...

including the Warden's.

The year after that, they rescheduled
the start of the intramural season

to coincide with tax season.

The guards on the opposing teams
all remembered to bring their W-2s.

So, Moresby Prison issued you your gun,
but you had to pay for it?

Damn right. The holster, too.

That's tax-deductible.

You can write that off.

Yes, sir.
Andy was a regular cottage industry.

In fact, it got so busy at tax time...

he was allowed a staff.

Hey, Red, can you hand me a stack of 1040s?

It got me out of the wood shop
a month out of the year,

and that was fine by me.

And still...he kept sending those letters.

Red, Andy.

It's Brooks.

Watch the door.

Please, Brooks.

- Just calm the fuck down.
- Stay back!

- Stay back!
- What the hell's going on?

You tell me. One second he's fine.
Then out comes the knife.

Brooks, we can talk about this. Right?

Nothing to talk about, goddamn it!

I'm gonna cut his fucking throat.

Heywood? Wait, what's he done to you?

It's what they done!

I...I got no choice...

You're not gonna hurt him.
Even Heywood knows that.

- Right, Heywood?
- I...I know that, sure.

You won't hurt him, because he's a friend,
and you're a reasonable man.

That's right. Right, guys?

- Yes.
- So, put the knife down. Brooks, look at me.

Put the knife down.

Brooks...

Look at his neck, for God's sake.

Brooks, look at his neck. It's bleeding.

It's the only...

It's the only way they'd let me stay.

Come on. This is crazy.
You don't want to do this.

Put it down.

Come on. Take it easy.
You're going to be all right.

Him?

Hell, what about me?
Crazy old fool damn near cut my throat.

Shit, Heywood,
you've had worse from shaving.

What the hell did you do to set him off, anyway?

Nothing. I come in here to say fare-thee-well.

Ain't you heard? His parole's come through.

I just don't understand what happened in there.
That's all.

The old man's as crazy
as a rat in a tin shithouse.

Oh, Heywood, that's enough out of you.

- I heard he had you shitting in your pants.
- Fuck you!

Would you knock it off?

Brooks ain't no bug.

He's just...

He's just institutionalized.

Institutionalized, my ass.

The man's been in here 50 years, Heywood.
50 years.

This is all he knows.

In here, he's an important man.

He's an educated man.

Outside, he's nothing.

Just a used-up con with arthritis in both hands.

Probably couldn't get a library card if he tried.

You know what I'm trying to say?

Red, I do believe you're talking out of your ass.

You believe whatever you want, Floyd.

But I'm telling you, these walls are funny.

First you hate 'em...

..then you get used to 'em.

Enough time passes...

you get so you depend on 'em.

That's institutionalized.

Shit.

You can never get like that.

Oh, yeah?

Say that when you've been here
as long as Brooks has.

Goddamn right.

They send you here for life.

That's exactly what they take.

The part that counts, anyway.

I can't take care of you no more, Jake.

You go on, now.

You're free.

Bye.

Good luck, Brooks.

Dear fellas...

I can't believe
how fast things move on the outside.

Watch it, old-timer! Are you trying to get killed?

I saw an automobile once, when I was a kid,

but now...they're everywhere.

The world went and got itself
in a big damn hurry.

The parole board got me into
this halfway house called The Brewer,

and a job bagging groceries at the Foodway.

It's hard work, and I try to keep up,
but my hands hurt most of the time.

Make sure your man double-bags.

Last time, the bottom near came out.

Make sure you double-bag, like the lady says.
Understand?

Yes, sir. I surely will.

I don't think
the store manager likes me very much.

Sometimes, after work,
I go to the park and feed the birds.

I keep thinking Jake might just show up
and say hello.

But he never does.

And I hope, wherever he is,
he's doing OK and making new friends.

I have trouble sleeping at night.

I have bad dreams, like I'm falling.

I wake up, scared.

Sometimes it takes me a while
to remember where I am.

Maybe I should get me a gun

and rob the Foodway, so they'd send me home.

I could shoot the manager, while I was at it.

Sort of like a bonus.

I guess I'm too old for that sort of nonsense
any more.

I don't like it here.

I'm tired of being afraid all the time.

I've decided...

not to stay.

I doubt they'll kick up any fuss.

Not for an old crook like me.

"I doubt they'll kick up any fuss.
Not for an old crook like me.

PS. Tell Heywood
I'm sorry I put a knife to his throat.

No hard feelings. Brooks."

He should have died in here.

What the fuck have you done?
It's a goddamn mess. I'll tell you that.

What's all this?

You tell me, fuck-stick.
They're all addressed to you.

Take it.

"Dear Mr. Dufresne...

In response to your repeated enquiries,

the State has allocated the enclosed funds
for your library project."

This is 200 dollars.

"In addition, the Library District
has generously responded

with a charitable donation
of used books and sundries.

We trust this will fill your needs.

We now consider the matter closed.
Please stop sending us letters."

I want all this cleared out
before the Warden gets back.

Yes, sir.

Good for you, Andy.

Wow!

It only took six years.

From now on,
I'll write two letters a week, instead of one.

Oh, I believe you're crazy enough.
You'd better get all this stuff out,

like the Captain said.

Now, I'm gonna go pinch a loaf.
When I come back, this is all gone, right?

Wow.

Duettino from The Marriage Of Figaro

Sull'aria...

Andy,

do you hear that?

#..zeffiretto

Questa ser� spirera

Sotto i pini

Del boschetto

Sotto i pini...

Dufresne?

Dufresne?

Andy, let me out.

Andy?

I have no idea to this day
what those two Italian ladies were singing about.

The truth is, I don't want to know.

Some things are best left unsaid.

I like to think they were singing about something
so beautiful, it can't be expressed in words...

and makes your heart ache because of it.

I tell you, those voices soared...

higher and farther
than anybody in a grey place dares to dream.

It was like some beautiful bird
flapped into our drab little cage

and made those walls dissolve away.

And for the briefest of moments...

every last man at Shawshank felt free.

It pissed the Warden off something awful.

Open the door.

Open it up!

Dufresne, open this door!

Turn that off!

I am warning you, Dufresne. Turn that off!

Dufresne...

You're mine now.

Andy got two weeks in the hole
for that little stunt.

On your feet!

- Hey, look who's here.
- Maestro!

Y- Y-You couldn't play something good, huh?
Hank Williams or something?

They broke the door down
before I could take requests.

Was it worth it, two weeks in the hole?

Easiest time I ever did.

Bullshit!
There's no such thing as easy time in the hole.

A week in the hole is like a year.

I had Mr. Mozart to keep me company.

So, they let you tote that record player
down there, huh?

It was in here.

And in here.

That's the beauty of music.
They can't get that from you.

Haven't you ever felt that way about music?

Well, I played a mean harmonica,
as a younger man.

Lost interest in it, though.

Didn't make much sense in here.

Here's where it makes the most sense.

You need it, so you don't forget.

Forget?

Forget that...

there are places...

..in the world that aren't made out of stone...

that there's a...

there's something...

inside that they can't get to...

that they can't touch.

It's yours.

What are you talking about?

Hope.

Hope?

Let me tell you something, my friend.

Hope is a dangerous thing.

Hope can drive a man insane.

It's got no use on the inside.

You'd better get used to that idea.

Like Brooks did?

Sit down.

It says here that you've served
30 years of a life sentence.

You feel you've been rehabilitated?

Oh, yes, sir.

Without a doubt.

And I can honestly say I'm a changed man.

No danger to society here.

God's honest truth.

Absolutely rehabilitated.

30 years.

Jesus, when they say it like that...

You wonder where it went.

I wonder where ten years went.

Here.

Little parole rejection present.

Go ahead and open it.

I had to go through one of your competitors.
I hope you don't mind.

I wanted it to be a surprise.

It's very pretty, Andy.

Thank you.

Are you going to play it?

No.

Not right now.

Tier 3 South. Clear.

Tier 4 North. Clear.

Tier 1 South. Clear.

Fall in!

Lights out!

Andy was as good as his word.

He wrote two letters a week instead of one.

In 1959, the State Senate
finally clued into the fact

they couldn't buy him off
with just a $200 check.

Appropriations Committee voted
an annual payment of $500 just to shut him up.

And you'd be amazed

how far Andy could stretch it.

He made deals with book clubs, charity groups.

He bought remaindered books by the pound.

Treasure Island.

Robert Louis...

..Stevenson.

Fiction, adventure.

What's next?

I got here Auto Repair and...

..Soap Carving.

Trade skills and hobbies. Goes under
Educational. The stack behind you.

The Count Of Monte Crisco.

That's Cristo, you dumb shit.

By Alexandree...Dumass.

Dumb-ass?

Dumas. You know what that's about?

Uh-uh.

You'll like it. It's about a prison break.

We ought to file that under Educational, too,
oughtn't we?

The rest of us did our best to pitch in
when and where we could.

By the year Kennedy was shot,

Andy had transformed a storage room
smelling of rat turds and turpentine

into the best prison library in New England,

complete with a fine selection of Hank Williams.

Lawd I don't know what I'll do-ooo

All I do is sit and sigh...

That was also the year Warden Norton
instituted his famous Inside Out program.

You may remember reading about it.

It made all the papers
and got his picture in Look Magazine.

No free ride.

But rather a genuine, progressive advance

in corrections and rehabilitation.

Our inmates, properly supervised,

will be put to work outside these walls,

performing all manner of public service.

These men can learn
the value of an honest day's labor,

while providing a valuable service
to the community and...

at a bare minimum of expense
to Mr. and Mrs. John Q Taxpayer.

Of course,
Norton failed to mention to the press

that "bare minimum of expense"
is a fairly loose term.

There are a hundred different ways
to skim off the top.

Men, materials, you name it.

And, oh, my Lord, how the money rolled in.

If this keeps up, you'll put me out of business.

- Ned!
- This pool of slave labor you've got,

you can underbid any contractor in town.

Ned, we're providing
a valuable community service here.

Well, that's fine for the papers

but I've got a family to feed.

Sam...

Sam, we go back a long way.

I need this new highway contract.

I don't get it, and I go under.

That's a fact.

You just have some of this fine pie

my missus made especially for you,

and you think about that.

Ned, I wouldn't worry too much
about this contract.

It seems to me I already got
my boys committed elsewhere.

You be sure and thank Maisie for this fine pie.

And behind every shady deal,

behind every dollar earned,

there was Andy, keeping the books.

Two deposits.
Maine National and New England First.

Night drops as always, sir.

Get my stuff down to the laundry.

- Two suits for dry-clean and a bag of whatnot.
- Yes, sir.

Tell them if they over-starch my shirts again,
they'll hear about it from me.

How do I look?

- Very nice, sir.
- Big charity to-do up Portland way.

The Governor's going to be there.

Want the rest of this?

The woman can't bake worth shit.

Thank you, sir.

- He's got his fingers in a lot of pies, I hear.
- What you hear isn't half of it.

He's got scams you haven't even dreamed of.

Kickbacks on his kickbacks.

There's a river of dirty money
running through this place.

But the problem with having all that money
is you'll have to explain

- where it came from.
- That's where I come in.

I channel it, filter it, funnel it.

Stocks, securities, tax-free municipals.

I send that money out into the real world.

- And when it comes back...
- Clean as a virgin's honey pot, huh?

Cleaner.

By the time Norton retires,
I'll have made him a millionaire.

If they ever catch on, though, he's gonna
wind up in here wearing a number himself.

Now, Red, I thought you had
a little more faith in me than that.

I know you're good, Andy,
but all that paper leaves a trail.

Now, anybody gets curious,
the FBI, the IRS, whatever,

it's gonna lead to somebody.

Sure it is. But not to me.

And certainly not to the Warden.

All right. Who?

Randall Stevens.

Who?

The silent silent partner. He's the guilty one,
Your Honor. The man with the bank accounts.

That's where the filtering process starts.

If they trace anything,
it's just going to lead to him.

But who is he?

He's a phantom, an apparition.

Second cousin to Harvey the Rabbit.

I conjured him...

out of thin air.

He doesn't exist, except on paper.

Andy, you can't just make a person up.

Sure you can, if you know how
the system works, where the cracks are.

It's amazing what you can accomplish by mail.

Mr. Stevens has a birth certificate,

a driver's license, social security number.

You're shitting me?

If they ever trace any of those accounts,

they're going to wind up chasing
a figment of my imagination.

Well, I'll be damned.

Did I say you were good?

Shit, you're a Rembrandt!

You know, the funny thing is,

on the outside, I was an honest man,
straight as an arrow.

I had to come to prison to be a crook.

Ever bother you?

I don't run the scams, Red,
I just process the profits.

Fine line maybe but...

I also built that library

and used it to help a dozen guys
get a high school diploma.

Why do you think the Warden lets me do it?

To keep you happy and doing the laundry.

Money instead of sheets.

Well, I work cheap. That's the trade-off.

Willy And The Hand Jive

I know a cat named...

Tommy Williams
came to Shawshank in 1965

on a two-year stretch for B&E.

That's breaking and entering to you.

The cops caught him sneaking TV sets
out the back door of a JC Penney.

Young punk.

Mr. Rock'n'roll.

Cocky as hell.

Hey, come on, old boys! Moving like molasses!

Making me look bad.

We liked him immediately.

So I'm backing out the door, right?

And I got the TV like this.

It was a big old thing. I couldn't see shit.
Suddenly, I hears this voice.

"Freeze, kid! Hands in the air."

Well, I just stand there,

holding onto that TV. So, finally, the voice says,

"Do you hear what I said, boy?"

I say, "Yes, sir, I sure did.

But if I drop this fucking thing,
you got me on destruction of property, too."

Hey, you've done a stretch in Cashman, right?

Yeah. Yeah, that was an easy piece of time,
let me tell you.

Weekend furloughs, work programs.

Not like here.

Sounds like you done time
all over New England.

Yeah, I've been in and out since I was 13. You
name the place, chances are I've been there.

Perhaps it's time you tried a new profession?

What I mean is, you don't seem to be a good
thief. Maybe you should try something else.

Yeah, well, what the hell
do you know about it, Capone?

What are you in for?

Me?

The lawyer fucked me.

Everybody's innocent in here.
Don't you know that?

As it turned out, Tommy had himself
a young wife and a new baby girl.

Maybe it was the thought of them on the streets
or his child growing up not knowing her daddy.

Whatever it was,
something lit a fire under that boy's ass.

I was thinking of maybe
trying for my high school equivalency.

I hear you helped a couple of fellas with that.

I don't waste time on losers, Tommy.

I ain't no goddamn loser.

- You mean that?
- Yeah.

You really mean that?

Yes, sir, I do.

Good. Because if we do this,

we do it all the way, 100%, nothing half-assed.

The thing is, see...

..I don't read so good.

Well.

You don't read...

so well.

We'll get to that.

- R.
- R...

- S.
- S...

So Andy took Tommy under his wing.

He started walking him through his ABCs.

Tommy took to it pretty well, too.

The boy found brains he never knew he had.

Before long, Andy started him
on his course requirements.

He really liked the kid.

It gave him a thrill to help a youngster
crawl off the shit heap.

But that wasn't the only reason.

Prison time is slow time.

So you do what you can to keep going.

Some fellas collect stamps.

Others build matchstick houses.

Andy built a library.

Now he needed a new project.

Tommy was it.

It was the same reason he spent years
shaping and polishing those rocks.

The same reason
he hung his fantasy girlies on the wall.

In prison,

a man will do most anything
to keep his mind occupied.

By 1966, right about the time
Tommy was getting ready to take his exams,

it was lovely Raquel.

Time.

Well?

Well, it's for shit.

I wasted a whole fucking year of my time

- with this bullshit.
- It's probably not as bad as you think.

It's worse. I didn't get one thing right.
It might as well have been in Chinese.

Let's see how the score comes out.

Well, I'll tell you how the goddamn score
comes out.

Two points right there.

There's your goddamn score!

Goddamn cats crawling up trees,
5x5 is 25.

Fuck this place!

Fuck it!

I feel bad. I let him down.

Ah, that's crap, kid.

He's proud of you.

We've been friends a long time
so I know him as good as anybody.

- A smart fellow, ain't he?
- As smart as they come.

He used to be a banker on the outside.

What's he in here for, anyway?

Murder.

The hell you say!

You wouldn't think it to look at the guy.

He caught his wife in bed with some golf pro.

He greased them both.

What?

About four years ago,

I was in Thomaston on a two-to-three stretch.

I stole a car. It was a dumb-fuck thing to do.

About six months left to go,

I get a new cellmate in.

Elmo Blatch.

Big, twitchy fucker.

Kind of roomie you pray you don't get.

You know what I'm saying?

Six-to-twelve, armed burglary.

He said he'd pulled hundreds of jobs.

Hard to believe, high-strung as he was.

You'd cut a loud fart,
he'd jump three feet in the air.

Talked all the time, too.

That's the other thing. He never shut up.

Places he'd been in,

jobs he'd pulled, women he'd fucked.

Even people he'd killed.

People who gave him shit.

That's how he put it.

So...

one night, like a joke,

I say to him, I say,
"Yeah, Elmo, who did you kill?"

So he says...

I got me this job one time
bussing tables at a country club.

So I could case
all these big rich pricks that come in.

So I pick out this guy,

go in one night and do his place.

He wakes up.

He gives me shit.

So I killed him.

Him and this tasty bitch he was with.

That's the best part.

She's fucking this prick, see, this golf pro.

But she's married to some other guy.

Some hotshot banker.

And he's the one they pinned it on.

I have to say
that's the most amazing story I ever heard.

What amazes me most is
you were taken in by it.

Sir?

Well...

it's obvious this fella Williams
is impressed with you.

He hears your tale of woe

and quite naturally wants to cheer you up.

He's young, not terribly bright.

Not surprising he wouldn't know
what a state he'd put you in.

Sir, he's telling the truth.

Well, let's say, for the moment,
this Blatch does exist.

You think he'd just fall to his knees and cry,

"Yes, I did it! I confess!

And by the way,
add a life term to my sentence"?

That doesn't matter.
With Tommy's testimony, I can get a new trial.

That's assuming Blatch is even still there.

The chances are he'd be released by now.

They'd have his last address,
names of relatives.

There's a chance, isn't there?

How can you be so obtuse?

What?

What did you call me?

Obtuse. Is it deliberate?

Son, you're forgetting yourself.

The country club will have his old timecards,

records, W-2s,

- with his name on them.
- If you indulge this fantasy, that's your business.

- Don't make it mine. This meeting is over.
- Sir, if I were to ever get out,

I would never mention what goes on in here.
I'd be as indictable as you for laundering money.

Don't ever mention money to me again,
you sorry son of a bitch!

Not in this office.

Not anywhere! Get in here now.

I'm just trying to set your mind at ease,
that's all. Sir, I...

Solitary. A month.

- Yes, sir.
- What's the matter with you?

- Get him out of here.
- This is my chance to get out! Don't you see?

It's my life! Don't you understand?

- Get him out! Get him out!
- This is my life!

No!

A month in the hole.

It's the longest damn stretch I ever heard of.

It's all my fault.

Oh, bullshit.

You didn't pull the trigger
and you certainly didn't convict him.

Red, are you saying that Andy is innocent?

I mean, for real innocent?

It looks that way.

Sweet Jesus.

How long's he been here now?

1947. What is that?

- 19 years.
19 years...

Williams, Thomas.
- Yeah, over here.

- Paxon, Edward.
- Yeah.

What you got? Board of Education.

- The son of a bitch mailed it.
- Looks like he did.

Are you gonna open it or stand there
with your thumb up your butt?

The thumb up my butt sounds better.

Hey, Skeet, come on,
give me that, you shithead.

- Floyd, come on.
- Over here, over here!

Hey, Red!

Come on, will you throw that away, please?

Well, shit.

The kid passed. C+ average.

Thought you'd like to know.

The Warden wants to talk.

Out here?

That's what the man said.

Warden?

Tommy.

Tommy...

I'm asking you to keep this conversation
just between us.

I feel awkward enough as it is.

We got a situation here.

I think you can appreciate that.

Yes, sir.

I sure can.

I tell you, son, this thing really came along
and knocked my wind out.

It's got me up nights, that's the truth.

The right thing to do.

Sometimes it's hard to know what that is.

You understand?

I need your help, son.

If I'm going to move on this,

there can't be the least little shred of doubt.

I have to know
if what you told Dufresne was the truth.

Yes, sir.

Absolutely.

Would you be willing
to swear before a judge and jury,

having placed your hand on the Good Book

and taken an oath before Almighty God himself?

Just give me that chance.

That's what I thought.

I'm sure by now you've heard...

A terrible thing.

A man that young, less than a year to go,
trying to escape.

It broke Captain Hadley's heart to shoot him.

Truly, it did.

We just have to put it behind us.

Move on.

I'm done.

Everything stops.

Get someone else to run your scams.

Nothing stops.

Nothing.

Or you will do the hardest time there is.

No more protection from the guards.

I'll pull you out of that one-bunk Hilton

and cast you down with the Sodomites.

You'll think you've been fucked by a train.

And the library?

Gone.

Sealed off, brick by brick.

We'll have us a little book barbecue in the yard.

They'll see the flames for miles.

We'll dance around it like wild Injuns.

You understand me?

Catching my drift?

Or am I being obtuse?

Give him another month to think about it.

My wife used to say I'm a hard man to know.

Like a closed book.

Complained about it all the time.

She was beautiful.

God, I loved her.

I just didn't know how to show it, that's all.

I killed her, Red.

I didn't pull the trigger.

But I drove her away.

That's why she died, because of me.

The way I am.

That don't make you a murderer.

A bad husband, maybe.

Feel bad about it if you want to,
but you didn't pull the trigger.

No, I didn't.

Somebody else did.

And I wound up in here.

Bad luck, I guess.

Yeah.

It floats around.

It's got to land on somebody.

It was my turn, that's all.

I was in the path of the tornado.

I just didn't expect
the storm would last as long as it has.

Do you think you'll ever get out of here?

Me?

Yeah.

One day, when I've got a long, white beard

and two or three marbles rolling around upstairs,
they'll let me out.

I tell you where I'd go.

Zihuatanejo.

Zi...what?

Zihuatanejo.

It's in Mexico.

A little place on the Pacific Ocean.

You know what the Mexicans say
about the Pacific?

No.

They say it has no memory.

That's where I want to live the rest of my life.

A warm place with no memory.

Open up a little hotel,

right on the beach.

Buy some worthless old boat,

fix it up new.

Take my guests out.

Charter fishing.

Zihuatanejo, huh?

In a place like that, I could use a man
who knows how to get things.

I don't think I could make it on the outside, Andy.

I've been in here most of my life.

I'm an institutional man now.

Just like Brooks was.

Well, you underestimate yourself.

I don't think so.

I mean...in here, I'm the guy
who can get things for you, sure.

But outside, all you need is the Yellow Pages.

Hell, I wouldn't even know where to begin.

The Pacific Ocean?

Shit.

- About scare me to death, something that big.
- Not me.

I didn't shoot my wife and I didn't shoot her lover.

Whatever mistakes I've made,
I've paid for them and then some.

That hotel, that boat.

I don't think that's too much to ask.

I don't think you ought to be
doing this to yourself, Andy.

These are just shitty pipe dreams.

I mean, Mexico is way the hell down there
and you're in here.

And that's the way it is.

Yeah, right. That's the way it is.

It's down there and I'm in here.

I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really.

Get busy living

or get busy dying.

Andy.

Red.

If you ever get out of here, do me a favor.

Sure, Andy.

Anything.

There's a big hayfield up near Buxton.
You know where Buxton is?

- Well, just... There's a lot of hayfields up there.
- One in particular.

It's got a long rock wall

with a big oak tree at the north end.

It's like something out of a Robert Frost poem.

It's where I asked my wife to marry me.

We went there for a picnic
and made love under that oak.

I asked and she said yes.

Promise me, Red,

if you ever get out,

find that spot.

At the base of that wall, you'll find a rock that has
no earthly business in a Maine hayfield.

A piece of black, volcanic glass.

There's something buried under it
I want you to have.

What, Andy?

What's buried under there?

You'll have to pry it up to see.

No, I'm telling you, the guy is...

He's talking funnier.

- I'm really worried about him.
- We ought to keep an eye on him.

That's fine during the day,
but at night he's got that cell all to himself.

Oh, Lord.

What?

Andy come down to the loading dock today.

- He asked me for a length of rope.
- Rope?

Six feet long.

And you gave it to him?

Sure I did. Why wouldn't I?

Jesus, Heywood.

Hey, how the hell was I supposed to know?

Remember Brooks Hatlen?

No.

Andy would never do that.

Never.

I don't know.

Every man has his breaking point.

Lickety-split.

- I want to get home.
- Just about finished, sir.

Three deposits tonight.

Get my stuff down to the laundry.

And shine my shoes.
I want 'em looking like mirrors.

Yes, sir.

It's good having you back, Andy.

The place wasn't the same without you.

Lights out!

I've had some long nights in stir.

Alone in the dark with nothing but your thoughts,

time can draw out like a blade.

That was the longest night of my life.

Give me a count.

Tier 3 South. Clear.

Tier 4 North. Clear.

- Tier 3 North. Clear.
- Man missing on Tier 2.

- Cell 245.
- Dufresne.

Get your ass out here, boy.
You're holding up the show.

Don't make me come down there.
I'll thump your skull for you.

Damn it, Dufresne, you're putting me behind!
I got a schedule to keep.

You'd better be sick or dead in there,
I shit you not!

You hear me?

Oh, my holy God.

I want every man on this cell block questioned.

- Start with that friend of his.
- Who?

Him!

Open 237.

What do you mean, he just wasn't here?

Don't say that to me, Haig.

Don't say that to me again.

But, sir, he wasn't.

I can see that, Haig!

You think I'm blind?

Is that what you're saying? Am I blind, Haig?

No, sir.

What about you?

Are you blind?

- Tell me what this is.
- Last night's count.

You see Dufresne's name there?
I sure do. See? Right there.

Dufresne.

He was in his cell at lights out.

It stands to reason
he'd still be here in the morning.

I want him found.

Not tomorrow, not after breakfast.

Now!

Yes, sir!

Let's go, let's go!
Move your butts! Move it!

Stand.

Well?

Well, what?

I see you two all the time.
You're thick as thieves, you are.

He must have said something.

No, sir, Warden.

Not a word.

Lord, it's a miracle!

A man up and vanished like a fart in the wind.

Nothing left but...

some damn rocks on a windowsill.

And that cupcake on the wall.

Let's ask her.

Maybe she knows. What say there,
Fuzzy Britches? Feel like talking?

Ah...

I guess not.

Why should she be any different?

This is a conspiracy.

That's what this is.

One big...

damn conspiracy!

And everyone's in on it!

Including her!

In 1966,

Andy Dufresne escaped

from Shawshank Prison.

All they found of him
was a muddy set of prison clothes,

a bar of soap

and an old rock hammer
damn near worn down to the nub.

I remember thinking it would take a man
600 years to tunnel through the wall with it.

Old Andy did it in less than 20.

Oh, Andy loved geology.

I imagine it appealed to his meticulous nature.

An Ice Age here,

a million years of mountain-building there.

Geology is the study of pressure and time.

That's all it takes, really.

Pressure...

and time.

That and a big goddamn poster.

Like I said,

in prison, a man will do most anything
to keep his mind occupied.

It turns out Andy's favorite hobby
was toting his wall out into the exercise yard.

A handful at a time.

I guess after Tommy was killed,

Andy decided he'd been here
just about long enough.

Lickety-split. I want to get home.

I'm just about finished, sir.

Three deposits tonight.

Andy did like he was told.

Buffed those shoes to a high mirror shine.

The guard simply didn't notice.

Neither did I.

I mean, seriously, how often
do you really look at a man's shoes?

Andy crawled to freedom through 500 yards
of shit-smelling foulness I can't even imagine.

Or maybe I just don't want to.

500 yards.

That's the length of five football fields.

Just shy of half a mile.

The next morning, right about the time
Raquel was spilling her little secret,

a man nobody ever laid eyes on before

strode into the Maine National Bank.

Until that moment,

he didn't exist,

except on paper.

May I help you?

He had all the proper ID,

driver's license, birth certificate,
social security card.

And the signature was a spot-on match.

I must say, I'm sorry to be losing your business.

I hope you'll enjoy living abroad.

Thank you.

I'm sure I will.

Here's your cashier's check, sir.

Will there be anything else?

Please...

Would you add this to your outgoing mail?

I'd be happy to.

- Good day, sir.
- Good day.

Mr. Stevens visited nearly a dozen banks
in the Portland area that morning.

All told, he blew town with better than $370,000
of Warden Norton's money.

Severance pay for 19 years.

Good morning, Portland Daily Bugle.

Byron Hadley?
You have the right to remain silent.

If you give up the right to remain silent, anything
you say will be held against you in court.

I wasn't there to see it.

But I hear Byron Hadley started sobbing
like a little girl when they took him away.

Norton had no intention of going that quietly.

Samuel Norton?

We have a warrant for your arrest. Open up.

Norton!

Open the door.

I'm not sure which key it is.

Norton!

Make it easy on yourself, Norton.

I like to think
the last thing that went through his head,

other than that bullet,

was to wonder how the hell
Andy Dufresne ever got the best of him.

Carter, James...

Not long after the Warden
deprived us of his company,

I got a postcard in the mail.

It was blank but the postmark said...

Fort Hancock, Texas.

Fort Hancock.

Right on the border.

That's where Andy crossed.

When I picture him heading south
in his own car with the top down,

it always makes me laugh.

Andy Dufresne,

who crawled through a river of shit

and came out clean on the other side.

Andy Dufresne,

headed for the Pacific.

Hadley's got him by the toes, right?

And he says, "I believe this boy's
about to have himself an accident."

Those of us who knew him best
talk about him often.

I swear, the stuff he pulled...

"These friends of mine
could use a couple of beers!"

- And he got it.
- And he got it!

Sometimes it makes me sad, though,

Andy being gone.

I have to remind myself
that some birds aren't meant to be caged.

Their feathers are just too bright.

And when they fly away,

the part of you that knows
it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice.

But still...

the place you live in is that much more drab
and empty that they're gone.

I guess I just miss my friend.

Please sit down.

Ellis Boyd Redding.

Your files say you've served
40 years of a life sentence.

Do you feel you've been rehabilitated?

Rehabilitated?

Well, now, let me see.

You know, I don't have any idea
what that means.

Well, it means you're ready to rejoin society...

I know what you think it means, sonny.

To me, it's just a made-up word.

A politician's word so that...

young fellas like yourself
can wear a suit and a tie and have a job.

What do you really want to know?

Am I sorry for what I did?

Well, are you?

There's not a day goes by I don't feel regret.

Not because I'm in here
or because you think I should.

I look back on the way I was then.

A young...

stupid kid who committed that terrible crime.

I wanna talk to him.

I wanna try and talk some sense to him,

tell him the way things are.

But I can't.

That kid's long gone.

This old man is all that's left.

I gotta live with that.

Rehabilitated?

It's just a bullshit word.

So you go on and stamp your form, sonny,
and stop wasting my time.

Because to tell you the truth,

I don't give a shit.

Here you go, miss.

Rest room break, boss?

You don't need to ask me every time you need
to go take a piss. Just go. Understand?

Yes, sir.

40 years
I've been asking permission to piss.

I can't squeeze a drop without say-so.

There's a harsh truth to face.

No way I'm gonna make it on the outside.

All I do any more
is think of ways to break my parole...

..so maybe they'd send me back.

A terrible thing to live in fear.

Brooks Hatlen knew it, knew it all too well.

All I want is to be back
where things make sense,

where I won't have to be afraid all the time.

Only one thing stops me.

A promise I made to Andy.

Here it is.

Much obliged, sir.

Dear Red,

if you're reading this, you've gotten out.

And if you've come this far,
maybe you're willing to come a little further.

You remember the name of the town, don't you?

Zihuatanejo.

I could use a good man

to help me get my project on wheels.

I'll keep an eye out for you

and the chessboard ready.

Remember, Red,

hope is a good thing.

Maybe the best of things.

And no good thing ever dies.

I will be hoping that this letter finds you

and finds you well.

Your friend, Andy.

Get busy living or get busy dying.

That's goddamn right.

For the second time in my life,

I'm guilty of committing a crime.

Parole violation.

Of course, I doubt they'll toss up
any roadblocks for that.

Not for an old crook like me.

Fort Hancock, Texas, please.

I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still
or hold a thought in my head.

I think it's the excitement
only a free man can feel.

A free man at the start of a long journey

whose conclusion is uncertain.

I hope I can make it across the border.

I hope to see my friend and shake his hand.

I hope the Pacific is as blue
as it has been in my dreams.

I hope.