SAMPLE SCRIPTS. TREATMENTS. SCREENPLAYS.
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Transcript of SAMPLE SCRIPTS. TREATMENTS. SCREENPLAYS.
Stealing Michael Treatment OLIVIA winces in pain as an instance of clarity breaks through the fog she’s been experiencing, for what now seems like hours. She looks up at the corroded, rust-‐colored pipes running across the ceiling above her, hears the pitter-‐pattering of slowly dripping sediment, splashing onto the dirty tarpaulin she’s lying on. The drops splash up red with blood, her blood. She knows something is not right – she doesn’t belong here, but can’t figure it out, just too listless, drugged . . . her mind flashes on a dimly remembered all-‐white space, surrounded by curtains, nice people running in and out, the sounds of beeping machines – now, only the deafening silence. Silence, except for that woman admonishing her to push again. And again.
____________ CYNTHIA is getting impatient. The woman’s damned cervix is still shut tight as a drum. Squatting between the woman’s legs, she wipes her arm across her sweaty brow, and adjusts into a more comfortable position, The murky light is not helping matters much. She licks her dry lips, and looks around at the sinister shadows, wondering yet again if she’s doing the right thing. She then picks up the knife with an exasperated sigh.
Olivia is stricken by one final paroxysm of intense pain. The last thing she hears before lapsing into unconsciousness is the high-‐pitched shriek of a newborn baby.
12 years later Cynthia’s eyes snap open at the sound of the piercing alarm clock on her bedside table. Jerking forward in alarm, she throws her covers off and searches for something with her hands, all the while trying to unravel the sheets twisted around her legs. Now fully awake, she sighs with relief, or is it resignation, as she wipes away the sweaty hair matted to her forehead, but her expression is anything but serene. As she hits the alarm button, stopping the sound, her fingers twist a stray strand of hair, a comfortable habit. Standing at the counter in her tiny, functional kitchen Cynthia finishes making her sandwich – spreading mayo on the bread, then folding it over the turkey slices, careful not to let the cranberries scatter -‐ neatly wraps it in Saran and places it in a paper lunch bag, along with an apple and a yogurt. She does so by rote, as her attention is riveted to the Superman cartoon playing on her small TV set.
____________
Cynthia methodically and hastily finishes placing lunch items in a paper bag. “Shit!” she mumbles under her breath. She grabs a sandwich back out of the bag and unwraps it on the counter. Turning around, she grabs a canister off the shelf behind her, opens it and proceeds to count out 12 cranberries, placing them on the turkey slices. Licking a dab of mayo off her finger, she yells, “Michael! Time for school!” MICHAEL sighs, but makes no move, his attention drawn to the same Superman cartoon playing on a large screen TV. He is lying on the couch, almost invisible in his sweatshirt, hood up around his head, his fingers playing with a stray curl of hair.
____________ !!
IN-THEATRE SOFT DRINK AD The movie theater seats fill up with a wide assortment of people (hitting every !Coke demographic); the camera zooms in on the different stereotypical groups: !the young couple in love, looking adoringly at each other, oblivious to everyone !around them; a group of wisecracking high school jocks, pushing and shoving, !making lots of noise; an older couple holding hands, the woman with crutches; a !dad with his young daughter, a couple of nuns, a group of valley girls, etc. . . . ! Some time has passed. The theatre is dark; the movie is playing onscreen, in black & white - a boring Dickensian scene of people sitting around a table, just talking – old fashioned, monochromatic, spartan decaying set, starkly lit, floating dust motes, etc. – drab and depressing. The actors are blasé and spiritless. !! Quick shots of the audience members we saw at the beginning: all of them are now sitting slumped down in their chairs – totally bored, slack jawed, eyes glazed over, weary and disinterested, seemingly not believing what they’ve gotten themselves into . . . the old couple are asleep, the nuns are in shock, etc. Cut to the girlfriend looking up as her boyfriend returns from the concession stand and hands her a bottle of Coke. !! She takes a sip and suddenly, a wide sunny smile breaks out on her face. Her boyfriend sits down and takes a sip of his Coke, and also smiles. They then pass their Coke bottles to the person sitting next to them, who smiles, and passes on the bottles to the next person, and so on down the rows . . . Each seat is set aglow as that person takes a sip of their bottle, until the entire section is ignited in multi-colored light. !! The audiences has now come alive, laughing and talking, sharing and enjoying each other in a new environment of pandemonium and bedlam, totally ignoring the movie onscreen. !! Cut back to the screen, where the same boring scene continues to play out. The actors look at one another as if something is amiss. One of them, now clearly annoyed at the noisy interruption looks out at the audience, then directly at the camera; he is angry . . . he raps on the table loudly, which gets the attention of the theatre audience. ! Silence. The boyfriend raps on the chair in front of him in answer. The actor onscreen stands up and bangs his chair on the floor, making a louder !noise.
The woman from the older couple takes her crutch and bangs IT on the floor to! match. In the meantime, the other members of the audience begin to clap their hands / stamp their feet in unison. The actor now rolls up his sleeves as if he means business and wants to do damage, then steps out of the screen to confront the theatre audience in person. He stands menacingly in front of the audience. !! The little girl timidly approaches him and hands him a bottle of Coke. !All noise stops as the entire audience watches, waiting for his reaction. ! He smiles broadly, takes the little girl by the hand and walks her back to her seat next to her dad (right in the center of the audience). She sits down and gestures for him to sit down in the empty seat next to her. !! As he does so, extremely upbeat music begins to swell up and a fast-paced, seated Zigfield Follies-style hand-leg routine ensues. Each member of the audience includes their bottle of Coke in their moves (so that the product is shown in almost every frame). The music builds to a crescendo, and the seated dance climaxes (with pyrotechnics); huge Coke banners unravel, falling from the ceiling behind the audience to prominently display the Coke logo / slogan (TBD). !! The actor high fives excited, happy laughing audience members as he heads down the rows, and steps back into the movie screen – the split second he crosses through the “line”, his clothing changes from Dickensian to modern, fashionable club wear. The movie scene is now in full gorgeous, exaggerated color! !! Everyone still sits around a table, but they’re all drinking bottles of Coke amidst a sexy, ultra modern nightclub, full of imaginative set design, neon lights, LED tables, very cool space age furniture, etc. Each actor is now dressed in similar current chic and stylish garb. !! An updated electronic version of the music plays in the background. The main actor takes his seat after high-fiving his fellow screen actors. He looks straight into the camera, winks and holds up his bottle of Coke.
____________
Dark Comedy Treatment Scorsese style
Frankie DeCatta was a real anomaly in his family. Either that, or he was the lone normal offspring of a deviant, unconventional father and confused but doting mother. (The A-‐type son of atypical parents) Only child to the last remaining Don in America, Frankie unfortunately witnessed firsthand many incidents that no young child should ever have to encounter – not without permanent psychological damage. His father, Don Jules DeCatta was responsible for much murder and mayhem, both on and off the record, but he had one pure, shining truth in his dismal life – he brought into the world, and raised his sole son and heir, Frankie. As difficult as it was to blind and protect young Frankie from all of the horrors that came with the territory of the Mafiosa, Jules desperately tried to raise his son uncorrupted, and hoped that young Frankie could grow up with at least some integrity and innocence – an upright citizen and a man with unflagging moral fiber – what any man hopes for his son. The film starts with Frankie’s VO narration of growing up, as still photos pan across the screen: the usual life pictures of first steps, communion, birthday parties, with dad doing archery, playing soccer, swimming in a lake, fishing, making pasta w/ mom, big family around the dinner table, mom in her garden sanctuary, pruning her Azaleas, dad picking tomatoes off the vine in the backyard, etc. . . . “Other dads borrowed lawn mowers; MY dad borrowed chain saws. While other dads were using their weed wackers, MY dad was. . . well.”
The entire neighborhood would turn out in force to watch us kids in Little League – relaxed in their weekend attire, my dad’s friends (associates, as he called them and as he was ALWAYS “working”) would show up looking like Silvio from The Sopranos. Wearing their shiny sharkskin suits, they’d sit apart from the other parents, talking and gesturing in a tight group, betting on players’ stats and the outcome of the games. When my dad did try to fit in one time, he wore black knee socks, sandals and shorts that exposed his skinny white legs, black t-‐shirt and enough gold chains to catch the sun and reflect it into the opposing pitcher’s eyes . . . accompanied by my Uncle Vito in a t-‐shirt that said “My parents went to Sicily and all they brought back was this lousy t-‐shirt.” Embarrassing? ‘Ya think? Photos pan by of a coach arguing a play with the umpire, being thrown out, then my dad throwing out the umpire . . . ice cream vendor bicycle, family spread out on picnic blanket, a mom pulling sandwiches out of a Styrofoam cooler at picnic table, a complete Expresso machine. Yah, I definitely began to notice the “subtle” differences. Other frames deliver the dark, almost imperceptible alternate rapport that exists between father and son – few and far between sparse hints of the other world in this life of a family: Frankie running into his dad’s office with a report card, only to be immediately shunted out by Jule’s business associates “henchman” (zoom into hurt look on Frankie’s face as his dad’s office door close in his face . . .); Frankie getting a snack late at night, hidden in the shadows watching his father slam the receiver down on the phone with a scowl and throwing his coffee cup against the wall where it shatters into pieces ; Scenes of Jules reacting to bad news by dumping out a vase of fresh flowers that Frankie’s mother has happily and painstakingly arranged all morning, or stomping on a papier mache school project as he barges out of the house, one that Frankie has stayed up all night working on;
Frankie shrinking away from the light-‐hearted cuff to the shoulder from one of his dad’s business cronies, as they all laugh (menacingly in Frankie’s eyes) and good-‐naturedly make fun of Frankie’s small stature in size (in Italian which Frankie doesn’t understand, with subtitles for the audience’s benefit). Here, Jules will defend his son, by suddenly threatening the guy, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and throwing him up against the wall. As much as he’d like to hide it and keep it completely separate from his “normal” family life, Jules does have a dark side that he inadvertently, and unknowingly, shows to his son, time and time again . . . this alternate ego ticks at the center of the ongoing conflict like a time bomb, the one within the family members, and the one inside Jules himself, and no one, especially the audience, knows when all of the drama and opposing emotions between the main characters will blow up – and who will ultimately pay the price and get hurt the most. It makes for a harrowing ride, as it can always go either way, and the audience still feels for Jules and wants him to succeed in furthering the greatest thing he has going in his life – his relationship with his son . . . and then . . . Then, Frankie’s mother dies, and he feels it was him that killed her. (Some accident occurs for which Frankie feels wholly responsible; “if only I’d been there in time” – in fact, there was no way he could have changed anything, but he still feels deep guilt and shame over the circumstances of her death. His father has to deal with this as well – in prison, without knowing all of the facts surrounding his wife’s death, he has only Frankie to blame, or believe. An inner struggle ensues, as he holds this against Frankie while at the same time wanting desperately to steer his son towards the right path, make sure he doesn’t make the same bad choices; to love him and be accepted by him, as Frankie is all he has for salvation in his own miserable life).
Frankie starts his story at his present age of 19. He is sophisticated, creative, and awkwardly handsome. Frankie is a brooding introvert who conceals his deep depth and intelligence from the world. He is a misunderstood teen who can show pure emotion with just one quick glance, and a burning in the pupils of his eyes; a present day Michael Corleone . . . an angry James Dean as Jim Stark from Rebel Without a Cause. There are two things that can be considered legitimate anchors that keep Frankie going, and partially hopeful; they are his childhood sweetheart Kim, and his father’s virtuous intentions. Kim was the love of young Frankie’s life, and she unfortunately broke his heart by cutting the romance short, yet still wants to stay in contact, and on friendly terms. His father rests in prison awaiting parole. Anything and everything can be an easy escape for Frankie, or set him off in a rage; he constantly switches moods, back and forth between reality and optimism, and the darker façade that has stung him periodically while shaping his childhood. Encounters as a child are memories of a tragic, ominous world. His father’s words of wisdom, and the gut pull to win the heart of Kim back keep the 19-‐year-‐old Frankie optimistic and stable. Even though Frankie is medically normal, his personality exhibits symptoms of hypochondria, ADD and bipolar behavior that result in a very precarious immediate future for Frankie as he struggles to deal with these polarizing effects on his life. With motivation to win approval from his two loves, Kim and his father, there is much hope for Frankie to be an exception to the Noir world, and become a man who can finally break free of tragedy.
Title Card Fathers are the powers that be, and with their power and might must shelter, guard, and hold and teach and love... All men with sons must learn to do these things... Too soon, too soon, a small son grows and leaves his father's side to test his manhood's wings. Before being imprisoned, Jules was bounded to his NY urban estate, completely tethered to his life as Don. He makes a decision to change the setting for his son, hoping to create a new life for him. Jules sends Frankie to a California University (UC school). Perhaps the different lifestyle can destroy the awful childhood memories, so Frankie can leave them behind in NY. However, as Kim’s connection further deteriorates, Frankie experiences confrontations with many local California bred kids (classic case of assimilation from outsiders). Frankie begins his descent in a downward spiral – the soft-‐spoken, stand up Italian kid has an interior breakdown. His heart and gut battle for control of his mind, and split him down the middle. Now, a powerful, vengeful and excessive Italian brute takes over. The more uncertain his relationship with Kim becomes, coupled with increasingly less contact with his imprisoned father, begin to make rehabilitation seem impossible. The demons from his childhood experiences in NY take control. After further and further confrontations arise due to his father’s name and his Italian roots, a slow transition takes place as Frankie, the sincere, serene boy becomes a selfish, misogynistic bully. Frankie becomes dangerous. It is frightful and disturbing to watch, as the Frankie we once knew and pitied turns into an introverted monster.
As a result, the young Don takes all of the repressed feelings and emotions he was confronted with as a child, and proceeds to twist his father’s inspirational advice. He creates a newfound perception and knowledge, resulting in actions with an immoral set of rules, and no comprehension of right and wrong. His modified mind pushes Frankie to start his own syndicate organization, a small replication of his father’s dynasty, one that will create havoc and misdemeanors around the college campus. His gang is organized Italian, yet collaborates with the Blacks and Hispanics from the neighboring hoods around the school. An Italian Don with Black/Hispanic muscle, it’s almost a parody. As long as the connections with Kim and his father remain dim, the contorted advice from his father will continue to affect his degenerate behavior, getting further in intensity and danger, perhaps permanently. Even more telling is the palpable sense of unease that seethes just under the surface, as a menacing undercurrent to the action onscreen -‐ those subtle signs of conflict experienced by the characters earlier, come back into play now, deftly and deceptively leading the audience in unforeseen directions . . . Frankie continues to act with the twisted notion that his actions will eventually make his father proud, as he continues to organize and grow a band of misfit, rejects and local gang members from the surrounding hood (Bloods or Crypts). An exaggerated caricature of the notorious Italian mafia organization combined with a lampooned South Central disorganization in crime can be made. Boyz in the Hood and Don’t be a Menace meet Don Vito and the Corleones. Wise cracks about the difference in crimes and iconography between the two syndicates can be made (Some of the Muscle upgrade their thuggish look as Frankie buys them some nice Italian suits -‐ Cuba Gooding Jr. looking like James Cagney).
This can be considered as some dark humor / comic relief to loosen up the seriousness of the film. With every mob organization there is a business to run, and with college campuses, it’s bicycles, then drugs. Frankie’s syndicate takes over the local bike business action. Their crew steals and resells bikes for substantial profit. Soon, Frankie is able to begin squeezing the local bike shop and repair stores. Now his name becomes almost mythic, and notorious around campus, especially for the top-‐grade drugs he has access to. His infamous title is almost glorified, like that of a respected vigilante, and he enjoys the misguided, unjustified obeisance. The deeper he gets, the more subtly hidden a role he must play. Frankie’s business continues to grow as he squeezes other organizations: the Fraternities, the Sororities and sport teams. They all pay their dues, and their bikes aren’t touched. The corrupt conspiracy of a Mafiosa on Campus gets the attention of the University public safety department and eventually, police from the surrounding neighborhood begin to take a closer look. The University makes it a priority to infiltrate Frankie’s organization. With mob business (frats/bike shops paying dues, drugs all over the place) leaks are to be expected, and with leaks come an escalation of violence and the excessive use of power. Frankie becomes so deeply entwined in crime, he can’t even believe the horror he himself is causing. Inside he wants to stop, but his mind disallows it. Tragedy is just around the corner, even more ill-‐timed with his father so close to parole, and his ex girlfriend beginning to warm to him as she realizes her loss across the their distance (both romantically, and geographically as they begin to slowly rekindle their love affair from opposite coasts).
It is too late. Frankie’s mob eventually gets entangled with other gangs in the same businesses – he begins to lose control of the situation. Unlike Frankie, who only roughs up, beats up and destroys college student’s careers, these gangs kill. As things really begin to steadily go downhill for Frankie, and get increasingly more dangerous, he unknowingly gets in too deep with someone who his father once crossed (the son is becoming his father). In the lead up to the film’s climax, Frankie’s right-‐hand man and close friend is shot dead, and that’s all it takes for Frankie to snap out of his deceitful coma. Frankie, only recently a man on a mission again becomes the scared little boy in desperate need of his father. When the news becomes national, his father gets word of it, just days before his parole. Even though the last Don is stuck in prison, he makes some calls and gets some of the old boys to get the fuck out to LA and provide salvage for his only son. BUT, this is what the audience is expecting, that the dad saves the day and his son, they reunite, and live happily ever after (Frankie marrying Kim, etc.) . . . In LA, there is a small underground war between the real NY Italians and the ghetto-‐surrounding gangs.
The climax: The scene is a grimy, dilapidated LA garage interior (like Reservoir Dogs). The final confrontation between Jule’s "henchmen", Frankie and the lead villain (character to be developed) backed by his gang . . .
-‐ Cut back to Jules pacing his cell -‐ -‐ Cut back to LA –
The discussion / threats / go back and forth (perhaps some ‘Yo Mama jokes to offset the violence / lighten the mood / maintain the black humor and comic relief running through the otherwise dark film). -‐ Cut back to JULES LOOKING AT HIS WATCH – -‐ Cut back to LA – Frankie is acting cocky because of his dad's cronies’ protection surrounding him; he starts to approach his adversary -‐ a gun is drawn, but the audience doesn’t know whose hand and gun it is (Frankie’s? One of his dad’s mobsters? A gang member?) The shooter suddenly turns and puts a bullet right into Frankie's forehead; the small hole begins to stream blood above the still-‐open, shocked eyes of Frankie. -‐ Cut back to Jules repeatedly hitting his head against HIS cell wall, drawing blood as well -‐
V.O. "It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was. " END CREDITS.
Jules ends up having to make the "ultimate" choice while in prison -‐ either saving his son, or saving himself, as he knows he is about to be set free. Jules chooses to pay off his own debts, to make good and save his OWN life, rather than Frankie’s. As much as Frankie looked up to his old man, and aspired to be just like him, he ends up dying for it. Not such a great man / role model after all . . . the son's rise becomes the father's ultimate failure -‐ and adds a kick-‐ass twist at the end of the movie. Jules' men end up taking out Frankie!!! The audience will still feel deeply for Frankie so HE becomes a tragic figure, while his father has to live with the undeniable fact that he killed his only son. Kim (secondary character) drifts away as well -‐ the bittersweet romance ended for good. There are a few scenes showing her writing Frankie (V.O. of her as she writes, explaining that while she hates his father and will always consider him a criminal, no matter how much love he professed for his son, she strangely feels a grudging respect for Frankie as he rises through the ranks out in LA, finally making something of himself – even if it IS crime-‐driven, and she plans to make amends with Jules for Frankie’s sake)
A late-‐night telephone call between the two of them, discussing their differences / coming to some terms . . . Frankie fondly tracing the lines of Kim’s face in a photograph of her he keeps in his wallet . . . Kim reading local LA newspaper accounts of Frankie’s exploits, keeping track of his life (perhaps cutting out clippings about him) . . . watching TV (split screen or cutting from one to the other) – Kim watching a newscast about Frankie, or about Jule’s upcoming parole and release from prison / Frankie watching a television rerun of Good Fellas . . . perhaps a scene of Kim gathering up the nerve to finally visit Jules while he’s still in prison, making amends with him through the glass partition (for Frankie’s sake, and hers, as they plan to get back together). Or spitting against the glass. Note: Just a skeleton
____________
Shooters' Gallery INT. WATCHTOWER -‐ DAY MICHAEL BUICK (13) gazes through his “binoculars”; hands steady, tracking the current object of his affections.
NARRATOR There was a time when he would have approached her in school, right after their English class, up close and personal. But now, he could only contemplate her from afar, way atop his favorite place to hang out.
Michael sits atop the watchtower, the cornerstone of his family's palatial estate that served as his observatory, the only spot he felt truly comfortable, where he could command a panoramic view of his own immediate world.
NARRATOR (CONT’D) Of course, he thought, his old man wouldn't even call them binoculars, as that was too “modern” a term for his old man.
MICHAEL (mockingly)
No no, my dear boy, those are your great granddad's field glasses you have there. They were a very important factor, instrumental indeed, in leading us to victory at The Battle of Rich Mountain back in 1861, don't you know. (back to self)__ Enunciating every fucking word with his proper New England damn inflection.
Michael pulls his eye away briefly to readjust his “scope” and dips down to reengage with her.
MICHAEL (CONT’D) (mockingly) Aim high my boy, aim high and the world will be yours!
(back to self) Ya, maybe YOUR world, not mine! Mister Asshole Industrialist, with your perfect prim and proper wife. I’m up on my own fucking Rich Mountain, don’t YOU know?!
INT. BUICK ESTATE -‐ MORNING The next morning, Michael was up early as usual. He quietly made his way past his parent's bedroom, pausing to listen to the both of them snoring away. Then he remembered that they were gone again, having left on yet another foray to wherever they happened to visit every week.
NARRATOR Michael was born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth; some people even thought it might be platinum. Over time though, as Michael grew older and lonelier, that spoon began to taste like gunmetal. Their son was the classic “chip off the old block”.
INT. BUICK ESTATE KITCHEN -‐ MOMENTS LATER At this hour, only the cook was up. ISAAC (42) was kneading the dough for that day's fresh bread.
NARRATOR Isaac weighed at least 350 lbs. He knew how much time Michael spent in the watchtower. He also under-‐ stood why the boy sought the solitude afforded up there.
He looked up as Michael entered his spacious domain. Still had the staff to feed, after all. As well as the young heir.
ISAAC Ah, if it isn't the Master of the House. Good morning young man! Shall I bring your breakfast up to your steeple in the sky this fine day? (wink)
MICHAEL
Not today Isaac. I fear it might be a trifle, too windy up there for you. Besides, you have your morning work to do. What have you planned for their menu this morning? Arsenic omelets with toxic toast?
ISAAC
Sure...and camphor cupcakes for a sweet dessert! Michael smiles, the old cook his favorite person in the world.
NARRATOR It was a standing joke between them that if Isaac ever DID climb to the top with Michael, the tower would topple immediately over. Michael liked to think that it would crash right onto his parents' bedroom, thus doing away with the both of them in one foul swoop.
ISAAC
Well here, take some biscuits to eat up there, and I brewed some nice hot tea.
MICHAEL
Thanks Isaac. See you later. Isaac fondly but sadly shakes his head, as he watches Michael exit the room.
INT. BUICK ESTATE STUDY -‐ MOMENTS LATER The kitchen happened to be way over in the east wing of the mansion, far away from the bedrooms, so Michael knew he was safe to enter his father's study to get his “field glasses”. He made his way past the paintings of his ancestors, thinking all the while of slashing each of their throats, ripping the canvases beyond redemption. Of course without his forbears, he himself wouldn't exist; but in his current state of mind, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing He approached his father's gun cabinet, and pulled out his favorite set of “binoculars”, making sure that the telescope was solidly affixed. EXT. BUICK ESTATE -‐ MOMENTS LATER Soundlessly closing the massive oak door behind him, Michael swiftly hiked across the great lawn towards his watchtower, his only company a few black crows circling above him through the early morning mist.
NARRATOR He knew that he had to get there early enough to see Ellen, that was her name, Ellen. It was his one chance on the weekends to see her from atop his aerie before she stepped inside to work for the day.
Michael arrives at the base of the tower, “binoculars” fasted over his shoulder.
NARRATOR (CONT’D) By now, he knew exactly where to look, and when, to seek out those he had built up the biggest disdain for.
Yes, the ones who exhibited the same airs of goddam superiority his own father did, and his mother, meekly adoringly following his example.
As he easily climbed up the tower and settled himself in his customary position, he placed the “binoculars” on the stone ledge, aimed it and focused the scope.
MICHAEL (whispering) Ah, there she is, right on time.
NARRATOR
What a beautiful girl she was.
As he trailed her path, he noticed that some guy was shadowing Ellen. Michael zoomed in and recognized a boy that went to his school. He didn't know him well at all, given that he dressed practically in rags and wasn't very bright, but rumor had it that he lived way outside of town in some old shack, and that he was also an only child.
MICHAEL What the fuck is HE doing following my girl?
Michael zooms in ever closer until the guy's head is right in the middle of the bulls-‐eye, and slowly pulls on the trigger.
MICHAEL (CONT’D) Bang. You’re dead.
INT. BECKLEY SCHOOL HOUSE -‐ MORNING Monday morning at school was business as usual for Michael.
He avoided the very kids that he had grown up with, because he had gradually grown apart from them as his confidence eroded. They now laughed behind his back as he made his way towards his class. He got about halfway down the hallway when a couple of his old friends teamed up on him. As one knelt on the ground behind Michael; the other shoved him, hard. Michael hit the ground with a grunt, his books flying all over the place. Already having learnt that it was best to just ignore the two assholes as they ambled off laughing hysterically, Michael, crestfallen, started to pick up his books. As he stood up, a large shadow completely blocked out the weak shaft of sunlight filtering through the only window in the long corridor.
NARRATOR The BOY was really HUGE up close. A veritable BOHEMOTH, from his steel-‐toed boots up! The guy also looked incredulous and scornful at the same time.
BOY
Man o man, you are one sorry ass little wimp, ya know that? Why'd you let those guys get away with that shit?
MICHAEL
Basically because I don’t GIVE a shit, that’s why! Michael noticed that besides a big gut, the guy was sporting a black eye the size of a massive port wine stain.
MICHAEL (CONT’D) You wouldn't know how to deal with them anyway! Looks like you lost your last brawl big time! What's with the shiner?
BOY I um ... I got in a fight with a Chevy! It's none of your fuckin' business anyway. I still woulda beat the crap out of those two guys if they tried that stunt on me.
MICHAEL
Yah well, you deal with your life your way, and I'll deal with mine!
Michael started to turn away and walk off to class, but then paused as if making up his mind. He turned around again and looked up into the other guy's face, still unsure whether to exhibit friendliness to the big lug. At that point, the other guy grinned. With a matching grin, Michael extended his hand, which was swallowed up in the other's gigantic mitt.
MICHAEL (CONT’D) Michael Buick.
BOY
Danny Hannigan. What’ya say we get the hell outta this joint? The two of them started to amble off, the physical difference between them instantly apparent to any passersby. EXT. BUICK ESTATE -‐ AFTERNOON Michael leads Danny through the gates to his mansion estate, Michael visibly embarrassed as Danny looks around in wonder. The two make there to base of the watchtower.
DANNY Are you sure this thing is strong enough to hold both of us?
MICHAEL Actually, I DON'T know. I never brought anyone else up with me before.
EXT. WATCHTOWER -‐ MOMENTS LATER Danny does a slow 360
DANNY Are you fucking kiddin' me?! You could fit everyone in a prison, PLUS a hundred chain gangs in this joint, with room to spare! I live in a shitty one-‐room shack!
MICHAEL
I thought you said that you lived with your dad?
DANNY I do, but he's hardly even home...and when he IS home, he's either falling down drunk as a skunk, or itching for a scrap.
MICHAEL
You mean your own father picks fights with you? Is that where you received your black eye?
DANNY
Yah, this and a few other cuts and scrapes. But I tell you, I get in one good punch, inflict just a little pain on his sorry ass, and I'm good to go!
Michael takes a few seconds to reply, as he gazes forlornly out into the distance.
MICHAEL I sure wish I had the backbone to challenge my father to a duel. He surely deserves a beating.
DANNY
What are you talkin' about? Look where you live! What could your old man have done to you to deserve a beating.
MICHAEL
It's just a big empty space . . . full of things that mean the world to my parents, but absolutely nothing to me. Antiques and artifacts and photographs from THEIR world, mementos of the many vacations they've gone on, leaving me all alone yet again and again!
DANNY
Hey, I bet a lotta that shit is worth big money, huh?!
MICHAEL Ah, I guess I never really thought about it.
It seems Danny has hit upon an uncomfortable nerve.
MICHAEL (CONT’D) Hey, would you like to get something to eat?
DANNY
Sure I’m starvin’. Danny, thinking that he'd get a chance to case the joint and inspect the goods on offer. INT. BUICK ESTATE STUDY -‐ MOMENTS LATER
The boys are sitting in Michael's father’s richly furnished study. Description banker's lights, soft leather chairs, lots of antiques. Empty plates sit on his dad's massive desk, as Daniel walks around the room picking up things, then putting them back as his attention is drawn to something else. Then, he notices the gun cabinet.
DANNY (mumbling) Now we're talkin’...
Danny has a real gleam in his eye. He makes to open the cabinet, but it is locked.
DANNY (CONT’D) Michael, 'ya got a key for this thing?
Michael, distractedly going through some papers on his father's desk looks up.
MICHAEL Huh? Sure. But you better let me do it. My parents give me pretty much free reign around here, but it is not unusual for my father to notice when things are amiss.
He walks over to the cabinet, shifting a small jade sculpture that Danny had held up back into it's proper position, then pulls a small key chain from his pocket. Danny steps aside to give him room, and Michael unlocks the cabinet, swinging the glass door open. Danny immediately rushes forward to grab the first weapon he puts his hands on, but Michael puts a hand on his arm.
MICHAEL (CONT’D) Easy Danny...Here, let me show you my favorite set of “binoculars”.
He slowly eases a rifle out of its niche, stroking it reverently for a second before handing it to Danny.
MICHAEL (CONT’D) Be careful with it.
Danny looks at Michael with utter confusion and incredulousness.
DANNY Are you fucking crazy Michael? This ain't no binoculars! It's a gun!
MICHAEL
Well, I only utilize it for the telescopic scope on the side, just like binoculars.
Danny grabs the rifle out of Michael's hands and makes like he's taking aim, pointing at objects all around the room.
DANNY (shouting) BANG! BANG! BANG!
Michael looks startled. Danny then turns full around and points the rifle directly at Michaels face.
DANNY (CONT’D) (softly) Bang.
MICHAEL
There aren't any bullets in it, so back off Danny.
Michael grabs back the rifle. As the two boys escape the study, Danny slips something into his pocket. A jewel-‐encrusted ceremonial dagger, one of many laying on Michael’s father’s desk. Isaac sees him slip it into his pocket. Isaac enters the room to clear the boys' plates, but he says nothing, locking away the information for later use.
INT. DANNY’S HOME -‐ NIGHT Danny sits on an old crate, slowly fondling the dagger. His mind begins to wander.
CUT TO: INT. DANNY’S HOME -‐ PAST Danny sits on the crate with the dagger, witnessing his memories unfold.
NARRA TOR My only “friends” were the other unkempt drunks my father hung out with, passing around a cruddy bottle of moonshine.
Danny watches himself being forced to take swigs.
NARRATOR (CONT’D) Other “friends” were the ugly whores my father managed to find in some places.
Danny watches himself outside his father’s room in a dingy hallway, his knees are drawn up to his chest as he tries to ignore the obnoxious sounds emanating from inside the room.
The women would invariably look down at him on the way out, smiling sympathetically and patting him on the head, as she left him to wait for his father to sleep it off on the blotchy, disheveled bed.
MAN’S VOICE (O.S.) What the hell you got there boy?!
INT. DANNY’S HOME – NIGHT
CUT TO: Danny is startled out of his reverie. His FATHER bellows at him.
DANNY’S FATHER Gimme that!
Danny jumps up and answers meekly.
DANNY Hey dad, I was just waitin' for you to git home so's I could show this to you.
He hands the dagger to his dad, who immediately makes like he's going to slice up his son. Danny reflexively throws up his arm and gets a bad gash for his effort. He wipes away the blood.
DANNY (CONT’D) And I know where to get a hell of a lot more shit, just as hot and expensive.
His father, less belligerent lends out an ear. EXT. WATCHTOWER -‐ AFTERNOON
Michael and Danny climb back up to the top of the watchtower. Michael unstraps the rifle. Danny is far more subdued then he was a day earlier and continuously glances at the entrance gate. Michael hands Danny the rifle and Danny focuses the scope, tracking the township denizens as they scurry like ants.
MICHAEL By the way, this is where I saw you from the other day, when you were pursuing Ellen. Why were you following her?
DANNY
How do you know Ellen?
MICHAEL Ellen is the only classmate that still smiles at me.
Michael smiles as he treasures the thought of her.
MICHAEL (CONT’D) Used to be, we would share interests in school...discuss the books that we had both read. We even sat together several times for lunch!
DANNY
Wow...For a little man, you sure got closer to first base with Ellen than I ever did! Did you ever kiss her?
MICHAEL
Are you crazy, you big idiot? I would never have had the courage to even TRY something like that!
(beat) What about you? Danny lowers the rifle.
DANNY Honestly? I never spoke a word to her. She just looks down on me anyway; you know...I don’t blame her.
Michael retorts.
MICHAEL Not Ellen! She’s way too nice to look down on ANYONE!
DANNY
I sure do think she’s the prettiest girl in town, though. They both sit there, deep in their own thoughts. Danny glances again at the gates. As Michael looks away. Danny rummages through his pocket and grasps a single bullet. With Michael still entranced, Danny surreptitiously inserts the bullet. Unbeknownst to Danny though, Isaac has followed the boys outside this time. Danny places the rifle in Michael’s hands. Michael takes his turn to voyeur. Suddenly, Danny spots his father sneak onto the premises. Danny’s eyes widen.
DANNY (CONT’D) Intruder! Shoot him Michael!
Michael, startled, fumbles the rifle and then takes aim.
DANNY (CONT’D) SHOOT HIM!
As Michael pulls the trigger, the entire watchtower lurches like an earthquake erupts immediately below them. As the camera shows Danny’s father running for his life out of the gates, it slowly pans back to the base of the tower, where Isaac has used his great bulk to push the tower at the very moment the shot rings out. Michael jitters as he holds the smoking rifle. The two boys stare at each other in shock. INT. BUICK ESTATE KITCHEN The dagger is found on Danny and he's led away from the mansion in handcuffs. In the meantime, MICHAEL’S FATHER is outside amidst the flashing lights and hullabaloo of the crime scene, he holds his shaking son.
MICHAEL’S FATHER My dear boy, what were you thinking, bringing the rifle up there?
MICHAEL
I only used it as “binoculars”. Michael’s father is pleasantly perplexed.
MICHAEL’S FATHER Well then, it appears we need to find you a real set of binoculars. Would you object to aiding the construction of our watch tower? I believe it’s time we Buick’s get our hands dirty.
Michael’s father lifts his boy.
MICHAEL’S FATHER (CONT’D)
Isaac. Would you prepare some biscuits for my son?
ISAAC Yessir!
As they walk back into the house together, Isaac winks at Michael.
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RAZZLE DAZZLE “OK gang, take five.” The crew takes off, & Jim relishes the moment, left alone for a change, instead of being constantly catered to & harangued by legions of yes men, ass lickers, technicians, hair & make-‐up, script people, co-‐stars . . . Jim takes a deep, cleansing breath, and decides to take a walk outside to enjoy his unexpected solitude. Walking through the vast lot, he happens upon a soundstage notable for the many musicals that were shot within its cavernous space, way back when the studio churned them out in a string of successful money-‐makers. Furtively looking around to make sure that no is watching, he slips inside, just to experience that Golden Age ambience for a moment, before he is needed back on his own set. The space is dark, the silence deafening. Suddenly, a powerful klieg light shines directly into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. “Hey, who’s there?” No one answers. “C’mon Nicole, if you wish to shower me with your brilliance, just come on to me in the usual fashion . . . there’s no need for these theatrics!” He fingers the lapel of the Hugo Boss suit he’s wearing for that days’ shoot, absently brushing off some lint as he looks around the vast room. Shrugging, he turns towards the entrance when another strong light ignites to the left of him, planting him squarely in the illuminated crossfire.
“What the fuck?” Jim hears the distinct sounds of fingers snapping, as a series of gelled spotlights turn on in sequence . . . now, the swish of a brush on a snare drum arises seemingly out of thin air. Jim now notices his shadow cast on the floor, surprised by a weird protrusion atop his head. He feels and finds a top hat. Really startled now, he looks down to discover that he’s no longer clothed in Boss, but is now wearing tails, spats and is carrying a cane! A backbeat begins to play, and individual musicians, set behind music stands on an immense Art Deco bandstand are illuminated one by one, their instruments joining in as they are set alit, the now full-‐fledged musical number filling the soundstage with glorious sound. Jim can’t help but tap his toe, as the beat is now infectious. Throwing caution to the wind, he pivots once, twice. Now completely caught up in the music, he turns again, and is confronted by an entire line of dancers, girls in Fosse-‐style black leotards, heels and bowler hats, men dressed just like he is creeping out from the dark perimeter. Somehow, Jim instinctively knows exactly what to do, as all the bodies rush forward to whisk him up onto their shoulders amidst a sudden infusion of dry ice creeping along the floor at their feet. Colored lights now flash in unison with the upbeat music, following the dance troupe through their choreographed moves. Jim is in the lead, enjoying his newfound freedom and talent with total abandon, dancing up a storm with his chorus line.
One final razzle dazzle swivel of the hips, and Jim, now sweating profusely from his energetic efforts, does a classic shoulder roll, looks behind him and is shocked to discover no one there. Total silence, palpable, again surrounds him as the last notes echo off into the darkness. A camera crane descends out of the air close to Jim. Seated in it, a director gestures towards him, saying,” "Great sequence, Jim! A few close-‐ups and a little editing, and we’ll have another hit on our hands. Congratulations.”
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