By Michael Winn©
A screenplay, working title, Dances With Kayaks (or I’ll Do Anything For You) also, American Aboriginals.
(Formatting to be corrected when software arrives.)
Logline 1: A writer stumbles on desire.
Logline 2: Three men escape from Atascadro.
INT. SUN – BEGINNING OF TIME
Sound of a distant seismic event moving toward us as reverse out of interior of the sun to the sound of raging parrots.
INT. REHEARSAL ROOM – DAWN
Summer (20s), wearing sweat pants and top, hair tucked in to a knit cap, sits in semi-lotus on a wooden chair. She holds a cup of hot tea and pages of a script from which she takes her lines.
Glenn (40s), sits opposite her.
GLENN
You look like someone I want to know.
Summer smiles.
FADE TO BLACK:
Piano theme from PRI “World” program.
FADE IN:
AERIAL OF DEL MAR BEACH
Aerialist, 40, bathing suit and running shoes, jogging north on beach, sweep up to reveal town, pan over to city hall site in smoking ruins.
Sound of news helicopter arriving overhead.
SUSAN (VO) (news anchor voice)
But, why Del Mar?… Why not, I don’t know, Ventura?
DEPUTY (VO)
We just don’t know.
EXT. DEL MAR CITY HALL SITE – SUNNY DAY
Helicopter arrives over SUSAN, 36, brunette, gray/blue eyes, enunciated eyebrows, slender, poised, descendant of a Blackfoot-Crow native and a Norsk-Irish orphan, tightly
Tucked into a Banana Republic skirt, sandals that reveal maroon toe nails, white cotton blouse, standing in the rubble that was Del Mar’s City Hall with a Sheriff’s deputy in an impeccable khaki uniform.
Behind the two women, a small crowd of mostly Asian and a few German tourists are standing behind the police tape, where the Sun Diego tour bus has stopped, and are posting photos with iphones.
SUSAN
Any leads or suspects?
Line of type identifies “S.D. County Sheriff Sgt. Lorettalito Gonsalvez, Public Affairs.
DEPUTY
(under his breath) No (darling) We don’t know anything yet.
EXT. DEL MAR BEACH – SAME
On the beach CU face of Aerialist, 40, apparently disoriented and running, then a long shot from above and behind looking down on a man teetering into and collpsing facefirst into the surf…
EXT. DEL MAR CITY HALL SITE – SUNNY DAY
Police in hazmat suits search through the rubble in the background while Susan addresses camera a few meters nearbye.
SUSAN (on camera)
A city truck exploded here this morning, leveling the city hall and the Mayor and city attorney can’t be located.
A man in a hazmat suit emerges from the smoke holding a fuzzy little dog that is trying to skake the noise of an explosion out of its little ears.
SUSAN
A small dog. (pensively) So far, the only survivor.
EXT. DEL MAR BEACH – SAME DAY
Aerialist meandering down the beach, slowing down.
SUSAN VO (CONT)
Corgy? No? Corgy-poo.
He staggers into the surf, collapses forward into the sea. Body floats, lifeless.
INT. TV STUDIO – LATER
Susan sits behind desk on the news set reading the evening news from a teleprompter.
SUSAN
People on Honshu Island, Japan,
left their homes near Fukushima
today in a show of support for
North Korea whose declaration of
war on General Electric and
Halliburton marks the first time a
nation declared war on a secular
corporation…?
Susan looks at the copy she’s reading in puzzlement.
SUSAN VO
Prison authorities say that Pedro or Peter Calibano,
Caliban’s (PC’s) grinning face. He wears prison clothes over massive shoulders.
a prisoner, at Atascadero State Hospital
for the criminally insane,
Caliban’s (PC’s) grinning face.
was released by accident due to a communication error.
Pedro, who is also known as PC
Dark, steel blue eyes and a sinister smile.
is suspected of shooting three police officers in Los Angeles and is heading for the border.
FTX is tattoed on top of his shaved head.
Clip of DETECTIVE and Susan in the field.
DETECTIVE
You don’t want to meet this man. If you see him call 911. That is all.
EXT. LORNA’S RESTAURANT – LATER
Susan and Aerialist, identifies as straight male with tendencies, horn-rimmed glasses, expensive haircut, picking at antipasta at a table outside a restaurant across from Sparkles’ a strip club.
Harmonica blues wafts from the door of the club.
SUSAN
What is it then, a coming of age flick?
WRITER
The Pantheon!
SUSAN
You’re thinking about yourself again. Is it a tragedy this time?
WRITER
A a comedy, yes, it is tragic. I feel tragic! But that’s not tragedy.
SUSAN
Look, I don’t mean to use you. Does the hero die? Or what?
WRITER
We don’t want to consciously.
SUSAN
What do you want from me?
INT. LCD INTERNET WEBCAM CHATROOM BROWSER WINDOW
Blues harp segue into rap heard through tinny laptop computer speakers.
SUMMER, 28. Long strawberry blond hair falls to her waist, elaborate tattoo wings the color of her eyes on either side of her torso from hips to breasts. She sits on the floor of her bedroom in front of a red satin covered queen bed, masturbating before the laptop web cam.
A rhythmic vibration is heard in the browser window open on an LCD monitor in which, Summer is seen responding to the touch of her hand and a realistically articulated clear plastic vibrating sex toy, her hips undulate as she moves to the rhythm of a popular rap song. In a corner of the screen, there a much smaller image of Matthew under which in a small banner is his screen name, HARRYGOB. Her body jerks as she experiences orgasm and then relaxes back into the comforters on the bed and extinguishes the vibrator.
INT. SUMMER’S BEDROOM – SAME
She smiles and stretches, speaking in tones of gratitude and authentic appreciation,
SUMMER
Wow. That was nice, Harry. Thank you. You’re amazing.
HARRYGOB
No, you’re amazing!
SUMMER
You made that happen, Harry.
HARRYGOB
All my life, I’ve wanted to be someone a girl like you wants.
SUMMER
All your life?
HARRYGOB
You know what I mean.
SUMMER
Yeah, I guess so. Thanks.
HARRYGOB
I mean it. I really do.
SUMMER
I get it. I do. Listen. You want to feel that I want you to fuck me.
HARRYGOB
Grab your hair.
Summer laughs, turns and kneels on the chair, tosses her head throwing her hair back over her shoulder, reaches under her belly to insert the toy.
SUMMER
Like this?
HARRYGOB
Yes. God. Yes. You are beautiful.
INT. LCD INTERNET WEBCAM CHATROOM BROWSER WINDOW
SUMMER
Give it to me, Harry. Fuck me.
Hard. Please.
EXT. DEL MAR BEACH – SAME
Seagull screams over sound of waves breaking on the beach. Seagull skims over surf, passing over Writer who has risen to his hands and knees in the surf. Water drains his face, hair, mouth and nose.
His eyes follow the shadow of gull sweeping overhead but he recognizes nothing his eyes see except as images that contained charges as they look up and refocus on the shoreline and the bluffs, while now nearly standing, and he distinguishes objects as buildings. His eyes sweep past and then return to a large, round window in the home of a woman that fascinates him. With the sound of thundering surf returns in his hearing, it feels to hims as if his entire life had just returned to him through that circular window.
Downbeat for Busted.
TITLE CARD: SHOW ME A ROSE
(First verse of Harlan Howard’s song, Busted, under)
HARLAN VO
Even when I was a kid, I liked the sad songs…
EXT. AERIAL HELICOPTER FLYOVER – BRIGHT SUNNY DAY
FLYOVER of middle class suburban development in San Diego
north of the Mason-Dixon line popularly called, “the I-8”.
INTER-CUT STILLS, zoomed or swish-zoomed NPR conceit, to
establish San Diego location, contemporary time and culture.
HARLAN VO
…songs that talked about true
life. I recognized this music as a
simple plea. It beckoned me.
EXT. GOVT. ISLAND – DAY
Writer not young but not particularly defined by age, sits
in a Director’s Chair. “Acme Film Rental Co.” printed on
back of chair and brim of his baseball cap.
WRITER
You’ve heard that life begins at
40, when you accept your sexual
role with women is that you’re a high maintenance dildo
and if you can afford the best, a treasured client. A
kind of zombie but invisible. I
made a deal on a movie.
The devil offered me a piece
of the gross. Fifteen weeks to write the movie
seemed like a good deal. Golden
Horde swimming in cash, actors
collecting disability, plenty of
cheap talent available.
Grip carrying lighting gear walks in front of the camera.
GRIP
God, are you rolling? God, I’m sorry.
EXT. AERIAL HELICOPTER FLYOVER – SAME Busted swells
Aerial, passing over crucifix on Mt. Soledad, Mission Bay comes into view.
EXT. LORNA’S RESTAURANT – SAME
Susan nudges Gorgonzola onto a crust. At a table next to them, a young Asian couple fidgets as Susan grows louder.
SUSAN
Why are there so many Asians as backgrounds in these scenes. You can’t channel Woody Allen ’til after their dead. On principle. Do you know you’re a narcissist?
WRITER
I never liked Bob Hope, I admit he doesn’t offend me now. Youth!
SUSAN
Do you know you’re a narcissist!
WRITER
Not so, I publish my fantasies. I’m a professional.
SUSAN
Do you know you’re a narcissist!
WRITER
I like being near you. I’m like the dog.
Nothing wakes you up like heart
surgery. Your body attacks you.
INT. SURGICAL RECOVERY ROOM – DAY
Patient connected to monitors. Doctor and assistants stand
around the bed.
Patient’s view, looking up at faces that are mostly hidden
by caps and masks, patient sees only their eyes.
DOCTOR
It’s out of our hands.
Patient’s (Writer’s) eyes widen.
Patient’s view over oxygen mask as faces lean closer.
DOCTOR
Blink if you want us to unplug you.
Blink twice if you don’t.
Patient’s eyes express horror as he tries not to blink.
NURSE VO
I think you’ve confused him, doctor.
DOCTOR
We’re losing him…
Patient’s view, OTHER FACE, masked like the others leans in.
OTHER FACE
Your mother will die, your partner
is stealing everything, you will
lose your home and your fiance is
fucking…
INT. RESTROOM IN HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM – SAME
Man, with his pants around his ankles pounds Susan, perched
on the sink, her ankles resting on his shoulders.
OTHER FACE VO (CONT)
…a guy she met in the waiting room outside that door.
INT. SURGICAL RECOVERY ROOM – SAME
Surgical team around gurney starting writer’s heart.
Monitor shows weak heart beat.
SURGEON
He’s not breathing yet. Bring his
friend in here. Hurry!
Susan disheveled not clear why she’s there.
SURGEON
He’s not breathing. Try to wake…
Blackness
SURGEON
He’s unconscious. We can’t put him
back on the heart lung machine.
He’ll die. He’s got to breathe or
he dies. Try to wake him up.
SUSAN
Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
SUSAN VO
Can you hear me? I love you,
please, please, wake up. Can you
hear me?
Him. What?
SUSAN
She turns to physician, unemotional, matter of fact.
SUSAN
He’s dead.
Surgeon points to scope showing his heart rate. Susan nods
and leans close to Writer’s head and shouts in his ear.
Black
SUSAN (CONT)
Breathe! God Damn it! Breathe! This is
not friffing fair!
SUSAN VO REVERB
Wake up, dammit! I didn’t come here
for this. I don’t want to call to
tell your mother I let you die! You
can’t do this to me! Breathe dammit! Breathe!
Black fades to pink, pounding heart an agonizingly
painful shallow breath.
SURGEON
Oh, good, Thank you, miss. Great. Get her out of here
before we lose him again.
INT. LORNA’S RESTAURANT
WRITER
I was really pissed at you. What
troubles me most is why I thought I
was sane. I’m running out of time.
CHESS PLAY SCENE FROM 7TH SEAL
INT. LORNA’S RESTAURANT – SAME
SUSAN
How is death dressing these days?
WRITER
Grays
SUSAN
You’re going to make this movie?
WRITER
Three versions.
SUSAN
Three virgins?
WRITER
Versions. Versions.
SUSAN
Virgins is more provocative.
WRITER
Like Rashomon. One version is
making the film, one is a sexy
story for hormonally challenged
viewers about a cuckold, the shell
is Hawaii fifty.
SUSAN
Five Oh. Hormonally challenged.
WRITER
Sex negative. Confused.
SUSAN
You want to fuck me.
WRITER
You read the script.
SUSAN
Yes.
WRITER
You’re an actor.
SUSAN
I do rom com, not porno.
WRITER Satisfying Susan?
SUSAN
That’s not porn.
WRITER
Probably, why it flopped.
SUSAN Satisfying is romantic. Skin,
nipples, butt, not explicit.
WRITER
Back-wrapped legs, biting of the
lower lip, curling upper lip, red
hand prints on butt cheeks, curling
toes…
SUSAN
How many times did you see it?
WRITER
Don’t you think everyone should
have videos of their former lovers.
SUSAN
No. And I wouldn’t do a film like
that for you. Nothing personal. My
husband wouldn’t let me.
Camera crew in street facing Susan and Writer.
TONY, 12, prodigy director, leaps from a canvas chair, gesturing like a baseball umpire calling a play,
TONY
Safe!