The Hospital

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FADE IN:  To hallway inside a hospital.

INT. Establish Hospital nurses desk in hallway – Night 

Two nurses running inside a room to the sounds of screaming

INT.  Girl laying inside hospital bed screaming hunched over the rolling tray on side of bed. Girl sweating and delirious. 

Alexis   (Narrating)

So I sat there, on the edge of that hospital bed screaming at the top of my lungs, my upper body leaned over the rolling tray that food is usually on. I had no clue what was going on, all I remember was two nurses running into my room asking me

 Nurse 1 (Woman)  

Honey, Honey, are you alright? 

NURSE 2 (MAN)

Do you know what day it is? 

 ALEXIS 

No response (screaming has stopped)

 NURSE 2

 Do you know where you are? 

ALEXIS 

The hospital. 

 ALEXIS (CONT’D)

 Yes, once again I was in the hospital and coming to my senses. I realized what happened to me. I was stoned out of my mind. High as a kite on the beach in the summer. I had no control over my body. Wait, that was it, I had no control over my body. I don’t remember much of what happened after I came back to my senses, but I knew the hospital was the last place I wanted to be. 

NURSE 1 

Honey, did you realize you were speaking in another language? Do you know what you were saying?  

ALEXIS 

What did she just say, I was speaking in another language?  

ALEXIS (CONT’D)

 Umm, I’ve spoken in tongues once at church. 

NURSE 1(Laughs)

Honey I’ve done that at church and that was not what that was. It’s ok now, just get some sleep. 

 Alexis throws her head back on the pillow. She is wondering what has really been happening to her all this time. It was like waking up from a bad nightmare and having someone tell you all your actions in your sleep. 

 ALEXIS 

(Raises up in her bed to talk) 

I needed the hospital, and the hospital needs me. I needed someone somewhere to decide they care enough about people and medical conditions to help me understand what was happening inside my body. I needed a man or a woman one day to decide they wanted to be a nurse to help me when I was not strong enough to help myself. I needed a janitor to come in and help me change my sweaty bed sheets when the morphine made my body lose control. But what I really needed was for someone to spend the night in the hospital room with me to make me feel less alone. But those days were over.  And there I was alone, with no control over my body, stuck in a hospital bed waiting for someone to tell me my blood levels were high enough so that I could go home. But the truth about where I was in my life was that I was having a horrible divorce. My love affair with the hospital had finally ended. I hated her, and she still wanted me. But I needed her, and she needed me, but I hated her. Which means if I hated her, at some point I had to love her

THE HOSPITAL ROOM NOW CHANGES INTO WHAT IT USED TO LOOK LIKE FOR ALEXIS AS A SMALL CHILD. ALEXIS IS STILL IN THE HOSPITAL ROOM NARRATING HER STORY. SHE IS STANDING WITH A HOSPITAL GOWN AND AN I.V. POLE WATCHING HERSELF AS A CHILD WITH A ROOM SURROUNDED WITH PEOPLE FLOWERS, BALLOONS AND GIFTS.  DAY.

Alexis is in the room watching herself play with a yellow power ranger doll her uncle brought her. 

 ALEXIS

 At some point in my life, I was in love with the hospital. I was in love with how she worked her magic powers and got everyone to come see me and be concerned about me and spend the night with me. She could never cook, but as long as someone brought me food instead, she didn’t mind. But now, something in here had changed. The thought of her made me itch. She had lured me in with gifts, and love, and time, only to find out that she was really a house of horrors. But I needed something that was in her that no one could give me. Medicine. Deadly miraculous medicine. Medicine that stopped the pain, IV fluids that helped me get oxygen to my lifeless blood cells. But the promise of rest, oh she could have kept that lie! Every time I closed my eyes, she was sending someone in my room. Nothing she showed on T.V. was remotely nice, and I got to the point where no amount of entertainment she brought made me happy. I hated her, but I needed her and she needed me.  

Alexis (child) is staring at the yellow power ranger doll and watches as the face of the doll turns into demon. There is screaming again the in the background.  The walls in the room turn black, and all the people disappear. The balloons begin to pop, and the room swivels back into the hospital room Alexis is currently in.

 INT. Scene goes back to the hospital room that Alexis was in at the beginning of the story.  Alexis is back sitting on the bed sweating. Night. 

ALEXIS 

Deep inside I knew, if I wanted to be free from her I could. Maybe if I drank enough water, took my medicine, got enough sleep, maybe just maybe, my blood cells would behave, not sickle, and not cause me to be in so much pain that would have to see her again. But there was another sad sad song playing in the background, something that I did not want to admit. I was addicted to her. This addiction surpassed love, hate, and all forms of godliness. I actually liked going to the hospital, I actually liked being sick. I liked the attention, I liked the medicine, I liked the care however short lived. I liked all the plastic packets that needles and I.V. bags came out of. I liked the rush of morphine flowing through my veins and the slight discomfort I felt when it did. I liked the phone calls, text messages, I liked the times of justifiably feeling sorry for myself.  What I did not like was the tremendous amount of pain sickle cell caused my body. There were times I had crisis so bad, that no matter how much morphine I got the pain was still there.  

 INT. Alexis walking her way into the emergency room of a hospital hunched over and screaming, telling the triage nurse her problems. Alexis is holding her back but can’t sit down. Show faces of people in the e.r. looking at her screaming. Alexis trying to hold her head down to not look.

ALEXIS

And that was it, the reality of the prison cell I was sitting in hit me, I didn’t want her anymore. I did not want her anymore because eventually, everyone was used to me being sick. Everyone knew I was going to get out eventually, and so everyone went on with their lives. Me being sick no longer brought my family together. And that was what made me decide I had had enough of her. But I did not know how to function without her. I had spent so much time being sick, who was I outside of being a sick child? Part of my identity was stuck inside the word Sickle cell patient, and it from birth was stuck inside of me. And so there I was, in the middle of the night screaming from being high off of morphine because of the pain of Sickle cell anemia had me back in her arms, hating and loving her, the hospital at the same time. I hated her, but I needed her, and she needed me. 

 INT. Hospital room.  NIGHT. 

 ALEXIS

 There was nothing I could do for myself to get rid of this disease. Of course I could take my medicine and stop feeling the pains of this disease, but I could not get rid of it. But sadly, I don’t think I wanted to get rid of it. See, sickle cell made me different from all the rest of the world. It gave me a social and political platform to stand on besides being a black woman in the south. It gave me a voice, it gave me a reason to talk. It gave me a reason to talk to people to try and show them how much they should value their health. It gave me a reason to be different.  

Alexis rolls over and looks at the clock. It is 5:45 A.M. 

ALEXIS (CONT’D)

 Pretty soon, someone will be walking in my room to check my blood levels. Then after that, the doctors all dressed in white will come and stand and the top of my bed staring at me. They will either tell me I am staying here another day, or they are ready for me to go home based on my blood levels. Then someone will call me asking for my breakfast lunch and dinner choices. Then my nurse will come in. And next thing I know it is eight o’clock in the morning and I haven’t had any sleep. 

 ALEXIS (CONT’D) 

There was a time in my life where the hospital and I were having frequent one night stands. I would get sick, she would invite me to the e.r. And then I would get treated like a drug addict. I couldn’t believe how inhospitable she was being. It was the first time in my life I got a smack in the face that my disease didn’t make me different. Just because i didn’t come in the door screaming and shouting didn’t mean I wasn’t hurting. I had just learned how to be quiet when I walked in to not draw attention to myself and make my pain any worse. But she kept me in her e.r., on several occasions never to see upstairs like I wanted to. They claimed I couldn’t go up stairs because my blood levels didn’t indicate the severity of my pain. 

 NURSE 1

 What is your pain on a scale from one to ten ?

 ALEXIS

 They would ask. 

But then when they take a look at those blood counts and see they aren’t low enough for them to admit me, I knew I would be having a one night stand in the e.r., never to spend the night.  But somewhere in here, things changed. Sometimes, you have to stop feeling sorry for yourself, no matter how scary change could be.  

Alexis gets up out of the bed and gazes out of the window. She turns to go to the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror.  

ALEXIS (CONT’D)

 So I have decided not to feel sorry for myself anymore, no matter how scary it is for me to imagine myself without sickle cell. The truth is no one really cares anymore, I am no longer a child, and I guess that means I have to change along with everyone else.  

Alexis walks out of the bathroom and walks out of her room into the hallway with the I.V. pole in her hand. The nurses at the desk smile at her. The sign of a healthy patient who is ready to go home is the one who walks down the hall. 

 NURSE 1 

I see you are feeling better today. 

 INT. Alexis is walking down the hallway as it turns into a beacon of light.  END.

Check out Scriptnotes Ep. 32

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John August and Craig Mazin discuss Amazon Studios, spec ideas and specifics, and the movie business

Here’s an idea of what to expect when you listen to the podcast, which you can do here. 

Spurred on by a listener question, the guys dive deep into the history of Amazon Studios.

John: So, Amazon launched this initiative called Amazon Studios which was an attempt to do an end run around the sort of classical studio development, and let anybody in America or the world submit their screenplays to the site, and other users, other readers could read the screenplays, give notes on the screenplays, could rewrite the screenplays if they chose to, and Amazon would sift through this and take the most highly rated, and reviewed, and best liked screenplays and developed them further. Give awards to those people.

Craig and John tear this idea to shreds, citing legal and financial issues. But things have changed.

Craig: And I am very excited to say, even though it is not breaking news. This was reported a few days ago, but Amazon quietly and calmly has become a WGA signatory. So, if you submit your scripts to them, first of all you now have a lovely option of saying, “Actually, I’m submitting my script to you and I don’t want anyone to be able to touch it.” In fact, you have an option that says, “I don’t even want anybody to be able to read it. I just want you to read it, Amazon.”

I think that Amazon has gone from something that I sort of viewed as this toxic repository that was abusing writers, to an excellent new option for professional screenwriters.

Craig raises questions about the future of Amazon Studios and the movie business, but John gets the award for most chilling thought.

Craig: Amazon is going to learn just the way everybody else that first starts in this business learns. There is a learning curve for them as well. And I think that they have a certain hope that there is more talent out there than has yet to be discovered by the traditional method.

Craig Again: To have another legitimate big deep-pocketed MBA signatory — we haven’t had one of those… — You have to understand. You know this. And I’m betting most of our listeners do, too. Fox, Columbia, Universal, Disney, Paramount, Warner Brothers. Those are the big ones, right? I’m not missing any?

John: You got them all.

Finally:

John: Can you imagine Facebook running a studio?

Read the full transcript here. 

via johnaugust.com

 

 

Rome Wasn’t Built…

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~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

Win a Full Scholarship to the Screenwriting Intensive

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We’ve opened up applications to the Summer Session of our 3-week pillar course, The Screenwriting Intensive (Apply Now: DEADLINE: June 29th, 2012). This program will transform how you approach story and ingrain the disciplines necessary to get it made. Some financial aid is available.  

You can also compete for a full scholarship by submitting your best work to the Great American Short Screenplay Contest.  No contest fees, with a unique public voting system powered by the latest and greatest social media platforms.  TheFilmSchool alum (and contest winner in 2010) Kristi Simkins is headed to Cannes this year.  

A seven-page screenplay, 3-week course and two years of hard work can get your work recognized on an international level.  Get your entries in.  Sooner the better.

SUBMIT YOUR ENTRY   OR   Read (& Vote for) Current Entries

First Tuesday: “Constructing Documentaries”

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Learn about building a doc from the ground up. Topics will include: story development, fundraising, grant writing, international production and trans-media distribution. A perfect evening for filmmakers interested in documentaries.  Our panelists of critically acclaimed documentary filmmakers include:

John W. Comerford (Producer: Icons Among Us: Jazz in the Present Tense, AROUND THE FIRE)
Sandy Cioffi (Director: SWEET CRUDE).
John Helde (MADE IN CHINA)

This event is a great warm-up round to the documentary summer program we’re co-sponsoring, Wild Mind Film Camp.  John Helde will also be screening an exclusive clip from his latest doc: FIELD WORK: A Family Farm. 
 

When: May 1st (TONIGHT), 6:30-8:30 pm 
Where: Roy St Coffee and Tea (Capitol Hill), 700 Broadway E., Seattle, WA 98102

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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8

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