dshrode | TheFilmSchool

~Rome Wasn’t Built~

Written by – Duane Shrode

This is the comedic story of three friends, each possessing special gifts and talents but have been relegated to other vocations (coincidentally, each others) by no choice of their own due to social status, perpetuation of a legacy, and/or lack of courage. The story is set in an ancient Roman-like culture and the whole community is preparing for the upcoming games which are the biggest events in the area. As the scenes progress we actually discover the gifts that each of the three possess, and find out the area’s in which they are definitely not gifted as well. The first two scenes are included in this treatment. The scenes in their entirety are as follows:

“The Workshop of the Sculptor”

“The Worksite of the Mason”

“The Field of the Athlete”

“The Discovery of gifts”

“The Games”

The Workshop of the sculptor (scene 1/5)

INT. SCULPTORS WORKSHOP – DAY

The sculptor has received a commission, via a good word from his father to the king, to create all of the sculptures for the upcoming games. The only problem is… the sculptor lacks the skill to create such masterpieces. Open on the sculptor putting the finishing touches on one of his sculptures, but an errant chisel strike brought about by a knock at the door sends one of the statues arms crashing to the floor. Fearing the visitor may be his father, the sculptor quickly throws a cloth over the ruined statue. Enter Athlete

ATHLETE

Bro, how’s the latest masterpiece coming along?

SCULPTOR

Masterpiece… pfft, tell me what YOU think. (Lifting the sheet from the broken statue)

ATHLETE

Yikes, hey, well if this doesn’t pan out for you, maybe you should consider practicing medicine (motions downward to the clean chisel slice that amputated the statues arm)

SCULPTOR

Uh, thanks? So… how’d you do at the tournament, another trophy for the mantelpiece?

ATHLETE

Athlete – Yeah, you know, I came in second… but it was close.

SCULPTOR

Second!?! Wow, great, how many contestants were there?

ATHLETE

Well… two, but the other contestant, she was blazin’ fast, incredibly strong, wicked quick, huge rippling musc… well you get the idea.

SCULPTOR

Ouch, uh, sorry to hear it bro. Better luck next time?

ATHLETE

To be honest, I really don’t like competing in the games, I would rather lay on my back and find shapes in clouds, or… or sew a really dapper cape together, e-even whip up a fresh batch of Baklava, from scratch!

SCULPTOR

Well, You’re not the only one that feels out of their element. My dad got me this commission for the king, but I think I’m cut out to be a sculptor. I need a break. Hey! Let’s see how Mason is doing, they should be nearly half way done with that new building they’ve been constructing. Come on.

ATHLETE

Yeah, good idea, I could use a change of scenery.(eying a nearby statue-in-progress)

Exit Sculptor. Athlete lingers a little and in examining one of the statues in the room, grabs a chisel and makes a quick modification – striking a perfect blow. He places the tools down on a nearby workbench and quickly scurries out of the room.

EXT. MONUMENT BUILD – DAY

The scene is a bustling construction site of a classic Greek style building. People are shouting, directing others, and moving building materials. Mason is a brick layer, but not a great one. His real gift is evident in the beginning of this scene. Sculptor and Athlete are walking up to the site in search of their friend.

SCULPTOR

Now I know I saw him around here somewhere. He’s always near the quarrying area.

(No sooner does Sculptor get his words out before a large block of stone crashes between them.)

ATHLETE

Whoa, what the?!?

MASON

(Shouting) Heya fellas! You two just site seein’ or you gonna give me some help over here?

Mason is a good distance away from the two, clearly too far to have thrown that block of stone, or is he? The two walk over to Mason who is consolidating some of the spoils of blocks that were laying around after construction of a section of the building being erected.

SCULPTOR

Coming along nicely eh? (shielding his eyes from the sun as he surveys the building)

MASON

Ah I donno, seems like it’s takin’ forever. (he throws another brick onto the pile)

Just then a commotion behind the three grabs their attention. A very petit woman is being carried around the streets on the shoulders of adoring fans, obviously the winner of the contest in which Athlete competed… taking 2nd place. (Athlete quickly hides his face and shrinks into the group of three.)

ATHLETE

Did she see me?

SCULPTOR

Who?

ATHLETE

You know, the Hermes-Hercules hybrid over there.

SCULPTOR

That’s her? (weaving his head for a better look)

ATHLETE

Don’t remind me.

MASON

Why so glum guy?

ATHLETE

Ah you wouldn’t understand. Ya see, I come from a family of celebrated athletes, heroes of the games, legends in their own time. My father as a matter of fact won the games 15 years in a row, you see, (pointing up to one of the busts on the newly erected building) there he is… ever scowling down at me. His face haunts every street corner, and every aqueduct. You don’t know what it’s like having to live up to the expectations of a champion, especially posthumous ones. On his death bed, my father made my mother swear that I would be a champion some day. Every day has been preparation for these upcoming games, I just don’t know what I am going to do. I am going to be an epic disappointment to my mother and a disservice to the memory of my father.

MASON

Hey pal, don’t let it get you down. Tell you what, I’m not exactly God’s gift to masonry. Foreman’s always got me on cleanup duty, stacking shovels, throwing brick, not exactly glamorous my friend.

(Mason takes a couple steps over to a retaining wall next to an embankment and points to it.)

MASON

I’m not exactly the pride of the brick laying community, check it out.

The wall is very shabbily built, with mortar slopped everywhere and uneven bricks, some sticking out further than others. A group of masons is looking over the other end of the wall – in the background of the scene. One of the masons grabs a sledge hammer and begins beating on the wall, but the slop of mortar has turned the wall into an indestructible abomination.

SCULPTOR

It’s not so bad. (tongue in cheek)

MASON

Well, thanks anyway. Hey, I told my wife I’d pick up some stuff for the games before I went home. You guys wanna tag along?

MASON & SCULPTOR

Yeah. Sure.

Mason and Athlete start to wander off the construction site. Sculptor is looking contemplatively at the poorly constructed wall. He reaches forward and slightly leans into one of the bricks. Just then, the whole structure collapses, sending the masons that were working at its demolition scrambling to avoid falling debris. Sculpture quickly snatches his hand back, then puts both hands behind him while whistling a nervous tune. He glances over at the demolition workers that are still gathering themselves and then he quickly exits the scene, reuniting with his two friends.

END

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

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.

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