Monthly Archives: April 2012

To All Stewart’s 90th Birthday Party-Makers!

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Dearest All of You!

Walking unsuspecting through that stage door, with my wife Marilee walking behind me in case I fainted when I saw what lay ahead, was nearly a metaphor for Death and Transfiguration! But once she steadied me and I passed between your hands I kept wishing  that my lap were wide enough to crowd all of you onto it at once in the tightest, most  inclusive embrace the screen world has ever seen. Two weeks later the aftershocks continue and the mental snapshots of you all – all those endearing faces in the crowd that I could name and those just as endearing that I couldn’t, are with me still, coming and going like floaters on the delighted eye of time. 

You can’t imagine what it has been like morning after morning to come downstairs and wade through all the tokens of caring and affection that you heaped on me, from those coded messages scribbled on the back of a gigantic Peter Pan, to the cards and little pencilled drawings you took the time to pick or make, the books to read or journal in, the bottled wine libations, the twisty tasty home-baked cookies to hoard beneath my pillow, the toy parade of elephants for Count Nicholas to whistle “Up!” so flaccid sphyncters could only rumble “Truth!” All these and so much more, all strung out like mermaids’ seaweed on a beach in Neverland that still shows the boot prints of Hook’s charge-and-parry fight with that dearest of windmill stabbers, the Great Don Q Skerritt trying to act mean but last seen scampering through the Never-trees carrying a hug in each hand. I catch a glimpse of my smallest class, the fabulous Nine, minus Three tonight – all joined at the hip in their study and careers, churning out film after film to make the world better, prowling this city and much of the earth to find stories with something to say. And I think, with love, of all who could not be here.

More flashbacks of you swirl as I see that the party’s ending and class is done. There’s the Queen of SIFF Deborah Person over there, talking to my treasured wife. Some members of the Board are saying goodnight. Lyall Bush, friend and brilliant leader of Film Forum, others whose presence and hard work have made this evening an enchanted one. My amazing assistant, calm center of my classes, Lucy Hart, beloved by me and my students, always steps ahead in granting gifts that even I don’t know I need, and other earlier loyal helpers.

As he packs up the whole production, after hosting it with his usual immaculate charm, style, grace – and flowing hair that I want to snatch off his head and put on my own – I notice that John Jacobsen, is walking around exhausted and in agony from a hurt foot, heels bare to the floor to cool them. That’s style, John. 

Last to leave is the evening’s great producer. Skilled in almost everything theatrical Lee Ryan has not only found or made every prop, placed every flower and balloon, cued the beautifully played music for the pianist, run every lighting effect but also designed an earth and grass green colored Neverland cake, complete with blue sea, white surf for mermaids to  play in and, waiting in a frosting-lathered cave to do in Captain Hook, the ghastly Crocodile.  

After the applause, Lee packs up in a hurry, hugs me goodnight, and leaves. She must report to the hospital tomorrow morning to prepare for gallstone surgery later in the week. Most of the crowd don’t know.  With my eternal thanks to all of you, mentioned or not.

Excuse me, now, but I gotta fly! 

Love,

Stewart

The Candy Bandage – A Soldiers Tale

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                                The Candy Bandage                          

                                       By                                  

                                Duane R. Shrode                            

                        The Candy Bandaid (short essay)                    

                                        Duane Shrode
                                        2500 NW Regency St.
                                        Apt 42
                                        Bend, Or 97701
                                        ph# (541) 913-6152

          FADE IN
          RUBBLE COMPLEX INT. - DAY                                        

           ...A small child ducks into an open door within the complex
          as soldiers make their way through, families looking on from
          doorways with a level of uneasy tension...                       

          BASE EXT. - DAY                                                  

          A Jeep rolls up with fresh troops straight from basic.
          One of the vehicles occupants - Private Smith, looks on uneasy.                                   

                              PVT. SMITH
                         (inner monologue)
                    The series of buildings that was to
                    be our home, or better stated - the
                    pile of rubble that we were told
                    would be our home, loomed in the
                    distance. Needless to say, I wasn’t
                    too eager to set up quarters. I
                    didn’t even want to be here. I
                    found myself thinking - why are we
                    fighting for people that don’t want
                    us here, don’t have the courage to
                    fight for themselves, and would
                    probably rather see me blown up or
                    shot than anything.                                    

          BASE EXT. - DAY                                                  

          A confident soldier walks up to the jeep as it rolls to a
          stop.                                                            

                              SGT. JONES
                         (to Jeep driver)
                    These the new recruits Matthews?                       

                              MATTHEWS
                    Roger that Sarg.                                       

                              SGT. JONES
                    Excellent, well, let’s go
                    men, grab your kit... You there,
                    what's your name?                                        

                              PVT. SMITH
                    Private Smith Sarg., from Oregon.                                    

                              SGT. JONES
                    Ah the great pacific NW. Spent some
                    time in Seattle myself. Glad to
                    meet ya son. (he reaches out to
                    shake Pvt. Smiths hand)

                                                                  2.       

          Sgt. Jones escorts the the new troops to the barracks. The
          troops inside nod a greeting to the new recruits.                

          BARRACKS INT. - NIGHT                                                

          Pvt. Smith is trying to get some sleep as mortars bombard the base.
                    PVT. SMITH
                         (inner monologue)
                    The first night was restless.
                    Mortars bombarded the crumbling
                    walls of the abandoned building,
                    sometimes landing in the interior
                    of the hastily enclosed base with
                    an explosive ker-plunk, like
                    dropping a large round boulder into
                    a bucket full of water. Night after
                    night this continued, keeping the
                    platoon from anything that could be considered a
                    restful night. We would awaken
                    groggy, pull on our kit, and step
                    out to assess the damage every
                    morning, these 60mm never do much,
                    maybe throw some shrapnel through a
                    tent or two - but that’s about it.
                    Eventually, we became indifferent
                    to them, hardly looking up from our
                    card games when they would start to
                    impact - like clockwork - every evening
                    at dusk.                                               

          RUBBLE COMPLEX INT. - DAY                                        

          ...one little girl in particular took a long look at us
          before retreating to the safety of her home, her mother,
          obviously alarmed by our presence, quickly grabbed her and
          reeled her in, flashing a nervous but polite smile at
          Jones...                                                         

          OUT IN SECTOR EXT. - DAY                                         

                              PVT. SMITH
                         (inner monologue)
                    From dawn until dinner chow time we
                    would walk the streets, lugging
                    somewhere around 60 pounds of extra
                    gear. Some designed for saving,
                    some for killing, all heavy. On
                    occasion we would receive phantom
                    gun fire from some unknown
                    location, pushing us into action.
                    More wild goose-chases than not
                              (MORE)
                                                           (CONTINUED)
                                                                           
          CONTINUED:                                              3.       

                              PVT. SMITH (cont’d)
                    were to be had, my own sense of
                    pride told me that these combatants
                    were not honorable. Why would they
                    not come out and fight like men? We
                    were prepared, months of
                    painstakingly monotonous training
                    left us eager to test it. On
                    occasion we would get em’, but more
                    often than not the only thing we
                    would find were hasty sniper
                    positions, a few expended shell
                    casings, and a healthy serving of
                    disappointment.                                        

          RUBBLE COMPLEX INT. - DAY                                        

          ...Jones returned the smile, repositioning his firearm to
          the low ready in an effort to assure the worried mother that
          everything was ok, she nodded. Her daughter disappeared
          deeper into their apartment...                                   

          BASE INT. - NIGHT                                                

          Soldiers are milling around, writing, playing cards. Some
          are listening to the interpreter tell stories.                   

                              PVT. SMITH
                         (inner monologue)
                    Our translator, Francois, was very
                    knowledgeable about the area. More
                    often than not he could lead us to
                    the “good spots” for some action.                      

          OUT IN SECTOR EXT. - DAY                                         

                              PVT. SMITH
                         (inner dialog)
                    In meeting with various outskirt
                    town leaders, we were able to
                    locate and capture many enemy
                    combatants, and Francois was our
                    shiny spear point. He had an
                    uncanny way of reading people,
                    divining whether or not they were
                    telling the truth. I really built a
                    friendship with him over those
                    months. He cried deeply when our
                    platoon sergeant Mack was killed,
                    it wasn’t until then that the
                    platoon really accepted him.

                                                                  4.       

          RUBBLE COMPLEX INT. - DAY                                        

          ...the small girl reemerges with a bowl of hard candy and
          tentatively thrusts it towards Jones, he takes a piece and
          offers a quiet thank you as he pops it into his mouth, the
          little girl beams and glances quickly at her mother for
          approval, she promptly places an affirming hand on her
          little girls head...                                             

          OUT IN SECTOR EXT. - DAY                                         

                              PVT. SMITH
                         (inner monologue)
                    We had spent a day in that building -
                    smoking, joking, and rotating out
                    on security shifts. Just a few
                    hours before, we took some indirect
                    fire. It was nearly chow time and
                    we decided to hightail it back to
                    the base for some surf-and-turf, at
                    least, that’s what they told us it
                    was.                                                   

          RUBBLE COMPLEX INT. - DAY                                        

          ...Jones pulled some chocolate from his kit and gave it to
          the little girl, she was giddy, and instantly the envy of
          the neighborhood children. Francois told Jones that the girl
          had said thank you, we had all heard it too. The residents
          of the small apartment began to gather around, feeling at
          ease by the subtle friendship Jones and this little girl had
          struck up...                                                     

          NEAR BASE ETX. - DAY                                             

                              PVT. SMITH
                         (inner monologue)
                    The explosion rang loud in my ears.
                    Dust kicked up off of everything
                    and the bullets began to spray. I
                    swung my head back to the rear
                    guards that were laying down
                    suppressive fire so the rest of the
                    vehicles could get through the
                    ambush. Jones collapsed like a sack
                    of potatoes onto the floor of the
                    Jeep. “P” immediately popped up in
                    his place, laying down fire. I
                    crawled over to Jones, he was
                    bleeding badly under his lid. I
                              (MORE)
                                                           (CONTINUED)
                                                                           
          CONTINUED:                                              5.       

                              PVT. SMITH (cont’d)
                    popped off his chinstrap to discover a
                    bullet hole under his hairline, he
                    began to cough incoherently. Angry
                    and frantic I screamed at the
                    driver to gun it to base. By this
                    time Mitch was cradling Jones’ body
                    checking for any signs of life, we
                    tearfully exchanged a desperate
                    glance. I had never seen the
                    vehicles rollout so fast.                                 

          AID STATION ETX. - DAY                                           

                              PVT. SMITH
                         (inner monologue)
                    After rushing him to the aid
                    station - we all waited, it would be
                    the longest 10 minutes of my life.                     

          RUBBLE COMPLEX ETX. - DAY                                        

              ...the following visits to the apartment complex were
          always pleasant. The little girl and her mother would greet
          us with goodies. The men would share smokes and tea with us.
          Francois would do his best to translate jokes, sometimes they
          worked. Jones would bring school supplies and treasures for
          the little girl and the rest of the children of the
          building...                                                        

                              PVT. SMITH
                         (inner monologue)
                    Even though Jones’ death dealt a
                    devastating emotional blow to the
                    platoon, my bitter indifference
                    turned to true compassion and
                    concern through the families of
                    that small apartment complex. We
                    returned after what happened. There
                    were no parties or pleasant
                    exchanges, no jokes, and no candy.
                    When Francois told the little girl’s
                    mother what had happened, she wept. 
END

510

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“510″

FADE IN:

INT. THE BUS – MORNING

HISS! Air-brakes force the empty behemoth to stop.

A single person boards, looking sleepy. This is FEMALE, the doctorly-type, young, pretty, but most of all, sleepy.

She looks at the empty bus. Forces herself to a cold, puke- orange plastic bench seat. Female plops down into it, ready to pass out.

The bus begins to drive.

A POP type of HINDI music begins to play through the speakers.

Female glares at the speakers. Resumes sleep. HISS! SQUEAK! Passengers board. Female continues sleeping.

MIKE (O.S.) New music, Kasuma? Don’t tell me!

It’s…Niraj Chag. Yup. I knew it. Here’s the fare.

MIKE, a small, grungy man, carrying a large satchel that would make Indiana Jones envious, walks to the back of the bus.

He stops by the sleeping Female.

MIKE (CONT’D) GOOD MORNING!

Female jerks awake.

MIKE (CONT’D) Mind if I sit here?

Female shrugs. Resumes sleep.

Mike, smiling, plops into his seat. A HEAVYSET MAN walks by.

MIKE (CONT’D) Hey, Joe sit by me!

JOE looks at Mike. Squeezes in between Mike and a panel signifying the end of the bench. Mike scoots closer to Female.

2.

Female wakes up, glares at Mike (oblivious to it) and moves to add inches between them. Resumes sleep.

Mike reaches down to his satchel. He takes out a BULB OF GARLIC.

Female sniffs. Sniff. Sniff. SNEEZE! It’s explosive. She looks at Mike as he…

…TAKES A HUGE BITE OF GARLIC! Female looks horrified.

Mike reaches back to his satchel. Takes a gallon of water from it. Hands his garlic to Joe, who holds it in his open palm.

Mike pops the top off. Drinks nearly half. Water dribbles down his chin.

Lid goes back on. Finishes his garlic. Mike returns the water to his satchel. Faces Female.

MIKE Haven’t seen you new to the area?

Female continues to sleep.

(CONT’D) around before. You

Mike leans close to her ear.

(CONT’D)

MIKE GOOOOOOD MORNING!

Female jumps, barely missing a head collision with Mike.

MIKE (CONT’D) I was saying that I’ve never seen

you before. What’s your name? FEMALE

H–

MIKE I’m Mike. Not much of a talker are

you? That’s okay. People normally say I do enough talking for three people. You do okay ‘memberin’ names? My dad always taught me the best way to remember a name was to get real close to the person’s face–

He leans in to Female, almost touching noses.

MIKE (CONT’D) –Like this. You meet their eye–

3. He tilts his head a little, focusing on Female’s right eye.

With each breath.

Mike, Female pulls back, repulsed

MIKE (CONT’D) Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike.

by the stinky

MIKE (CONT’D) –Like this. You keep that gaze.

Then, in a monotone, you repeat their name twenty times. No more, no less. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike.

He pulls back.

MIKE (CONT’D) See? Now you know I’m Mike. And

you’ll never forget it. Female wipes spit from her face.

MIKE (CONT’D) I’d ask you where you work, but I

can tell from your doctor garb that you work at…Mayo Clinic. Me too. Yup, ride this number 510 bus every morning and night. Never miss it, either, on account that I bring my breakfast along.

Quickly reaches into his satchel. Mike pulls another garlic out.

MIKE (CONT’D) Garlic! 61 natural acids kill all bodily ailments.

Mike kicks off his shoes.

known to

MIKE (CONT’D) One morning I looked on my foot.

He lifts his bare foot up, putting in on Female’s lap. His toenails are in bad need of a pedicure.

MIKE (CONT’D) MOLD. A patch the size of a quarter.

Doctors said it was just athlete’s foot, but I’m no athlete. I knew what it was.

Mike drops his foot to the floor.

sickness. He hands the garlic

I insist!

MIKE (CONT’D) Cancer. So I’ll tell you what I

did. I went to the supermarket and bought twenty bulbs of garlic. I ate one that night, with a full gallon of water, of course for the burning.

The next morning the mold Ever since, haven’t had a

was gone. single to try?

pushes it away.

Would you like to Female. She MIKE (CONT’D)

He pushes it back. falls from his hand. Hits the floor.

MIKE (CONT’D) Darn! Oh well. There’s always

tomorrow.

Female returns to her sleep. Mike reaches into his satchel. Out comes a walkman, probably first generation. It’s thicker than a stack of cards.

Mike sets it on his lap. Reaches back to the satchel. Takes out head phones. He tugs on the cord. A foot-long length comes out.

He keeps tugging, and tugging, and tugging. Soon, he has a pile of cord stretching fifteen foot on his lap. He plugs it into his walkman.

MUSIC begins blaring and… MIKE BEGINS FLAILING A TRAPSET SOLO!

He’s all arms, smashing on invisible cymbals and banging on invisible drums. His foot kicks at a bass drum.

Female glares at him.

MIKE (CONT’D) (screams)

DON’T LIKE ROCK?! HOW ABOUT CLASSICAL?

Mike clicks a button on his walkman. Music changes to something softer.

AND MIKE BEGINS PLAYING A RAPID CELLO SOLO!

He leans forwards and begins sawing back and forth against invisible strings.

The bus hits a pothole and the garlic

4.

His elbow continuously hits Female’s knee.

MIKE (CONT’D) NO?! HOW ABOUT JAZZ?

Song switch. Upbeat jazz.

AND MIKE BEGINS PLAYING A PEPPY TRUMPET SOLO!

It’s complete with a mute, of course.

Mike’s fingers dance on invisible valves, his other hand busy working a mute.

Female glares.

MIKE (CONT’D) YOU SURE ARE HARD TO PLEASE! I BET

I HAVE SOMETHING YOU LIKE!! Mike changes the song again. A light, whimsical song. AND MIKE BEGINS PLAYING A QUICK PAN FLUTE SOLO!

His lips curl like he’s whistling. His hands move an invisible pan flute back and forth across his lips. He hits a high note! It holds.

And holds.

And holds.

Then…

…the bus HISSES!

Female grabs her stuff and rockets from the bus before Mike knows what’s happening.

Mike looks to Joe.

MIKE (CONT’D) I hope she’s not working in the DNA

testing lab. I didn’t find her very likeable.

FADE OUT:

THE SWORD BRIDGE

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THE SWORD BRIDGE

by

Virginia Shepherd

FADE IN:

EXT. A DESERT PLATEAU — DAY

LANCELOT, a young medieval knight, is pacing the edge of the plateau and staring at a lush jungle across the abyss.

LANCELOT
Bollox!

In the jungle, a beautiful woman, GUINEVERE, dressed in white chiffon, is hiding and  watching Lancelot. 

GUINEVERE
Lancelot, the greatest knight in Christendom, is having a bad day. Dear Lance has been following his heart’s desire. And when one does that, things usually go from bad to worse. Or not. Lancelot simply must find a way over here. Because I am here. Guinevere. His heart’s desire. But poor Lance cannot reach me. It’s impossible. Look.
(indicating the abyss)
Raging waters swallowing up everything in fear and desire. Simply dreadful. The truth is, this abyss can’t be crossed with a single leap of faith. It is too vast; too full of empty promises and dreams unfulfilled that even the most courageous heart in Christendom can’t ignore.
(to Lancelot)
Oh, do not dream of the impossible, my love. It will only make you weep.

LANCELOT
(staring across the abyss)
Gwen….?

Lancelot dejectedly strips off his amour and flings his sword across the gorge. It miraculously bridges the abyss.

LANCELOT
Wonderful. Bloody damn wonderful. I’m not going to do it.

He prepares to dive into the gorge.

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
Lance.

LANCELOT
Gwen…?

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
It’s impossible, you know.

LANCELOT
Well, I haven’t much choice, have I? What? That? A balancing act? No. I’d rather dive in and drown.

GUINEVERE (V.O)
Oh, ye of little faith.

Lancelot turns to jump.

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
I love you, Lance.

LANCELOT
Bloody good that does me.

Across the abyss a scantily-clad Guinevere files her nails. Lancelot sees her.

LANCELOT
Guinevere.

GUINEVERE
Yes?

LANCELOT
Stop it.

GUINEVERE
What?

LANCELOT
I’m perfectly prepared to sacrifice myself for you. But please. Allow me to do so without…falling head over heels over you.

GUINEVERE
Oh, Lance. Please. Just give it a try.

LANCELOT
No. It’s impossible.

GUINEVERE
(indicating the abyss)
And that isn’t?

LANCELOT
I’m diving in.

GUINEVERE
You’ll just come back.

LANCELOT
What? Bloody hell. I’ve done this before? How many times, exactly?

GUINEVERE
(checking a notebook)
Umm…Five thousand, three hundred and seventy-two times. Precisely.

LANCELOT
Right. I’m jumping…again.

He jumps. 

GUINEVERE
Oh, dear.

Guinevere makes a check in her notebook.

EXT. A DESERT PLATEAU — MORNING

Lancelot, with a shaved head and garbed as a yogi, sits chanting.

GUINEVERE (O.S.)
Lance? LANCE!

Lancelot’s eyes snap open. Guinevere stands across the abyss.

GUINEVERE
It is I. Guinevere. The love of your life. Do you not remember?

Smiling, Lancelot resumes his chanting.

GUINEVERE
He’s dreaming of me again. Now this could be a very long wait.

Seasons and lifetimes pass.

EXT. A DESERT PLATEAU — MORNING

Lancelot, now a bearded and aged yogi, sits meditating.

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
Lance?

LANCELOT
Yes, my love?

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
Do you dream still?

LANCELOT
I am awake.
(looking at the bridge)
Not a problem.

Guinevere appears across the abyss.

GUINEVERE
Lance?

LANCELOT
My love?

GUINEVERE
You will never make it to the other side if you are not yourself. The way is too full of empty promises; of dreams unfulfilled.

LANCELOT
I am myself.

Clamoring onto the bridge, he gets tangled in his robes and with a laugh tumbles into the abyss.

EXT. A DESERT PLATEAU — MORNING

A middle-aged LANCELOT in full amour snaps open his visor, stares at the sword bridge, shuts his visor and crosses his arms. Guinevere appears across the abyss. A terrible storm is brewing.

GUINEVERE
Lance?

Lancelot’s visor pops open.

LANCELOT
What?

GUINEVERE
Your armour will rust.

LANCELOT
Mind your own business.

His visor snaps shut. The storm breaks.

EXT. A DESERT PLATEAU — LATER

Rain-soaked and clad in his underwear, Lancelot reaches for his armour.

GUINEVERE (O.S.)
Not the armour, dear.

LANCELOT
(pulling on his helmet)
I’ll wear whatever I bloody well choose. My sword, if you please, madam.

From across the abyss, Guinevere points to the bridge.

LANCELOT
My sword?

Guinevere nods.

LANCELOT
Really, Gwen. It’s not my best sword. It could break. What then?

Guinevere shrugs, indicating the abyss.

LANCELOT
Bloody hell.

Two chained lions appear at the other end of the bridge.

LANCELOT
Gwen!! What…?

GUINEVERE
Another adventure?

Lancelot steps on the bridge. His visor suddenly snaps shut.

LANCELOT
Bollux!

GUINEVERE
Lancelot, the greatest knight in Christendom, is having a bad day.

LANCELOT
Oh, shut up!

Groping across the razor-sharp bridge, his hands and feet become terribly bloody. He falters.

GUINEVERE
You’ve got to keep moving, Lance. Will yourself to move forward.

LANCELOT
Can I?

GUINEVERE
Of course. Remember who you are. Steady on, dear. Push your visor up.

LANCELOT
I’ll fall.

GUINEVERE
Don’t…think. And don’t look down–

Lancelot pops his visor, looks down, loses his balance and nearly falls. He dangles upside down on the bridge.

LANCELOT
I need help, Gwen. Give me something!  Anything!

GUINEVERE
You have nothing.

LANCELOT
I should have something. I am the greatest knight in Christendom.

GUINEVERE
Oh, my love. You are a very foolish nobody.

LANCELOT
I need my good sword–and a lance–that’s it! For balance.

GUINEVERE
Wouldn’t work. You’d fall off and drown. It’s happened before.

LANCELOT
Right…I forgot. I’m jumping.

GUINEVERE
Please, Lance. Do try to endure.

LANCELOT
I cannot move forward. 

GUINEVERE
Not even an inch?

LANCELOT
What bloody good would that do?

GUINEVERE
Well. You never know. Do try.

Lancelot recovers and moves an inch. He slumps.

GUINEVERE
Patience, my dear.

LANCELOT
I can do nothing.

GUINEVERE
That is the point, I’m afraid.

Seasons, lifetimes pass.

EXT. THE SWORD BRIDGE — LATER

Motionless on the bridge, a greatly aged Lancelot moves one finger and is propelled nearly across the bridge.

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
Bravo, my darling. Don’t look…

Lancelot raises his head. The chained lions roar.

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
Quick! Close your visor!

LANCELOT
What? And fight blind?

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
Fight from your heart, my dear.

Lancelot’s visor snaps shut. He leaps across the bridge.

EXT. GUINEVERE’S PLATEAU — LATER

LANCELOT lies bloodied on the ground. Guinevere approaches and gently removes his helmet.

GUINEVERE
Lance?

LANCELOT
The lions? What…?

GUINEVERE
I don’t remember.

She pulls out her notebook. Lancelot stops her, shaking his head.

GUINEVERE
No. Quite right.
(cradling his head)
Our revels now are ended my dear…We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

EXT. GUINEVERE’S PLATEAU — LATER

A young 20-year-old Lancelot lies sleeping with an envelope on his chest. He wakes and opens it.

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
I had to leave. Follow me. P.S. You won’t regret it. The greatest knight in Christendom never does. Yours eternally, Guinevere.

LANCELOT
(shouting)
Is it impossible?

GUINEVERE (V.O.)
Of course, my dear. It always is.

FADE OUT:

 

Announcing a New Course for Documentary Filmmakers

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Passionate about documentaries? Get a double-dose of instruction and inspiration at the 2012 Wild Mind Film Camp.

This July TheFilmSchool’s own John Jacobsen will be joining a team of award-winning filmmakers that include Doug Pray (SURFWISE, ART & COPY) to teach at this unique 10-day documentary filmmaking course. As part of the camp, you and a small number of classmates will receive a hands-on, in-depth educational experience that you will not soon forget. Surrounded by the breathtaking beauty of the Cascades (accommodations are in a 70-acre farmhouse with a pool, pond, and river on premises) with a tight-knit community of like-minded artists you will have the opportunity to create your own short film while developing a broad new skillset that will serve you in all aspects of your artistic life … Learn More

How to Submit Your Script to the Comedy Short Contest

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  1. REGISTER TO ENTER
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Alumni News – Spring 2012

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Mark Lundsten’s SO THIS PRIEST WALKS INTO A BAR has been accepted at Ojai and NWFF’s Local Sightings Film Festivals! They also have been granted an Official Best of Fest Award, been given distribution by IndieFlix for web streaming, and accepted into Indie Spirit Film Festival (at Colorado College).

Amie Barrodale has been accepted to Iowa Writers Workshop with a Maytag fellowship, and has been awarded the Plimpton Prize by The Paris Review. 

Sam Graydon has one of his shorts in this year’s SIFF Fly Film Program and screening at New Filmmakers of Los Angeles.

Kate Wharton  and Heather Hughes have also been selected to write for the SIFF Fly Film Program.

Steven Schardt screens yet another picture he produced at this year’s Sundance: YOUR SISTER’S SISTER, filmed on San Juan Island and starring Golden Globe Winner Emily Blunt.

Elena Hartwell adapted Ivan Doig’s Prairie Nocturne for Book-It Repertory Theatre (book-it.org). Her short play, Endless Sea, premieres with MadLab in Columbus, Ohio in May as part of their Theatre Roulette play festival. Elena will lead three workshops at the Whidbey Island Writer’s Conference in March, applying dramatic techniques to fiction. She will also lead the workshop “Write Dialogue Like a Playwright” with the Unicorn Writers Conference in MA in April. She’s currently writing a play for ADWAS, an organization supporting victims of sexual and domestic abuse in the deaf community, which will perform in April in ASL, but voiced over for a hearing audience.

Caleb Slain’s NEW YORK ACCENTS has been accepted by the 2012 South by Southwest Film Festival!

Andrew Iseminger’s latest sitcom has been accepted into the Beverly Hills Film Festival.

Women Support Women To Get Movies Made & Seen

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by Lydia Dean Pilcher

We’re nearing the end of an ambitious Kickstarter campaign for an independent film, “The Sisterhood of Night.” Adapted from a short story by Pulitzer prize-winning author Steven Millhauser, our movie is a modern twist on the Salem witch trials. It deals with teen girls and the wild west of the Internet, its potential for casual, breathtaking cruelty, and its capacity to connect and share – all slippery new challenges to this transitional generation. “The Sisterhood of Night” is about holding close what makes you different, through diversity of thought and culture. It shines a light on the dangers of cyberbullying, but it also suggests that there are ways of using the Internet to find your inner creative spirit and tap into positivity.

But this journey began a few years ago. When my producing partner, Elizabeth Cuthrell, and I first met director Caryn Waechter and screenwriter Marilyn Fu, we fell in love with their irrepressible energy and their quest to find beauty, fun, and meaning in the dark edges of life. We worked for a couple of years with Caryn and Marilyn, further adapting the original material from an 80′s setting to our contemporary digital world.

Despite our passion–having a first time feature director and deeply female material, and a teen cast with no vampires–we found it hard to gain traction with the conventional ways of financing. It’s no surprise that women are more likely to green light women’s pictures, have more confidence in women directors, and be more interested in stories about female characters. The scarcity of women at the top of the business end of the film industry could have a lot to do with the fact that women made up only 5 percent of directors in Hollywood in 2011.  In addition, the issue of entry and retention in our industry for independent filmmakers, women filmmakers, and diverse filmmakers is a very serious matter. It takes someone with real vision in the studio executive’s chair, and strong-minded passionate producers, to push back against the mediocre middle ground, which studios tend to feed.

With crowd funding, audiences now have a vehicle to push back as well. Kickstarter and other crowd funding sites provide an opportunity for individuals to influence the development of independent film projects at the ground level, and give these films the momentum they need to go into or finish production, with or without Hollywood’s consent.

Audiences can vote with their dollars and contribute to the development of projects, rather than just be mere consumers at the end of the line.

Last year saw Dee Rees’ Pariah break out of the pack at Sundance to be picked up by Focus Features, making it the first film in Kickstarter’s two year history to do so. The 2012 Sundance festival unveiled a total of seven out of fourteen Kickstarter narrative and documentary film projects by women directors and co-directors.

Kickstarter has filled a real need in bringing people together to fund the projects they want to create, and the results have been — and continue to be — amazing. Kickstarter is expecting to bring in a total of $150 million in funding this year – more than the $146 million provided by the National Endowment for the Arts.    

Quiet on the Set! Wyatt on the Set! A Day in the Life of an Indie Producer

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On Thursday, March 15, we are scheduled to shoot our film WYATT STEPS OUT on an Argosy cruise ship, the Goodtime III. Call time for crew is 7:30 a.m.; 8:30a.m. for cast. There is no real call time for a producer: you’re either working on the film or obsessed with thinking about it 24/7. In pouring rain and fierce wind, bags of groceries and gear up to my chin, I hurry to get my Zipcar. I really have to pee. I then pick up two extras, my friend May and her 19-month-old daughter Hailey. We head for Pier 55 on the waterfront, and get stuck in awful traffic on Highway 99. Baby starts crying. Her mom feeds her bites of chicken. I feel frantic, and call Amy, the director, to apologize for being late. She says not to worry, and tells me I can park at the lot at Spring and Western all day for $12.

Wyatt

We haul food, baby, stroller, and gear onto the boat, which is rocking like mad in the choppy waters of Elliott Bay. I set up my craft services food, make it orderly and appealing, and promptly have to move it all to clear the way for the boat maintenance crew. I really have to pee. Boat starts rocking harder. Baby starts weaving around the deck like a drunken sailor. We fire up Wyatt (our larger-than-life inflated character in the film—-doesn’t he sound like a movie star?) to see how his height looks on camera. Wyatt whacks several extras with his flailing arms, and they complain about being hit on. I move craft services to the other side of the boat, then have to quickly move the entire table with the food on it to get it out of a shot. Chris, the writer, helps me move the table, then gets trapped on the other side of it and has to crawl out from underneath. This has me laughing so hard I’m crying. I run to the bathroom between takes.

I am the Wyatt wrangler for the next shot, and have to pull him with fishing line across the entrance to the boat and across the floor. To be out of the shot, I do this on my knees, going backwards, on wet carpet. Take one: the fishing line blisters my hands. Take two: the legs of my pants are soaked. Take three: my knees and back really hurt but I keep going. Take four: we get the shot. Next, I run to get my purse, and sacrifice my favorite, best, most expensive Estee Lauder lipstick, in a very dark, wonderful shade called After Party, for an extra’s close-up. We rush to get off the boat by 12:30 because our film’s director is also the cruise director, and has to leave with the ship at 1:00. I clean up craft services, sweep popcorn from the floor, load gear off the boat, gather everyone together for a group photo, return car, mother and baby, and immediately go to work recruiting more extras to play jurors for our courtroom scene. We had a great time on the Goodtime.

What a wonderful, wacky way to spend the day.

Oscar Shorts Night

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Reach For The Stars at
TheFilmSchool’s Oscar Short Film Fest

Be sure to mark your calendar for an event that’s not to be missed.  May 3rd is  the date and The Majestic Theater in Ballard is the only place where you can see *all* of the Live Action Oscar- nominated Short Films of 2012 at one screening. 

Let’s face it, if you were lucky you might have caught one or two of these magnificent short films, but this is probably your only chance to see them all. Some of these films are yet to be released so it could literally take you months to see them all. Plus you’ll be seeing them on the big screen and attending an after-party at Volterra with fellow aficionados.

A Volterra Specialty Cocktail is included in the price!

BUY TICKETS

On-line Ticket Sales have Ended.  You may purchase tickets at the door, cash or card.

**** Savings expire on Wednesday, May 2nd.  Paper Tickets will not be issued, 
instead we’ll add your name to the door list with any purchased “plus-ones”. ***

 All proceeds will benefit TheFilmSchool’s Prodigy Camp scholarship program.

Screening starts at 7pm (doors open @ 6:30pm), after-party at 9pm.  See you there!