I’ll Do Anything For You (American Aboriginals)

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

Aerial Writer, 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)

Terror in Del Mar? But, why?

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 Asian and German tourists stand behind police tape, posting photos from cell phones.

SUSAN

Any leads or suspects?

Line of type identifies “S.D. County Sheriff Public Affairs, Sgt. Loretta Ito”.

DEPUTY

We don’t know anything yet.

EXT. DEL MAR BEACH – SAME

On the beach, face and chest of the WRITER,40, running,disoriented…

EXT. DEL MAR CITY HALL SITE – SUNNY DAY

SUSAN

A city truck exploded here this morning, leveling city hall and maybe taking the lives of Mayor Elmore Draker and city council and city attorney, Brenda Perquist.

Cops in hazard gear scroung through rubble emerge with a dazed little dog shaking dust off its fur and yapping.

SUSAN

A small dog… so far, the only survivor.

EXT. DEL MAR BEACH – SAME

Writer meandering, slowing down…

SUSAN VO (CONT)

Corgy? No? Corgy-poo.

He staggers into the surf, collapses forward into the sea. Body floats, lifeless.

INT. KPBS 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. In other news…

Peter Caliban’s (PC’s) grinning face. He wears prison clothes that don’t hide his massive shoulders. His eyes are steely blue and their smile is sinister. Tattoos on his shaved head are NYSE corporate symbols.

SUSAN VO

Prison authorities say that Pedro or Peter Calibano, this man, a prisoner, at Atascadero State Hospital for the criminally insane, was released seven years by accident due to a communication error. Pedro, who is also known as PC  is suspected of shooting three police officers in Los Angeles and is heading for the border.

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 WRITER, 48, male, 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’s is it then, a coming of age flick?

WRITER

Why didn’t you trust me?

SUSAN

You only think of yourself. Is it a tragedy?

WRITER

What? The movie? No, not a tragedy. I was afraid.

SUSAN

Look, I didn’t mean to use you. Does the hero die or not?

WRITER

He doesn’t want to. Me neither.

SUSAN

What do you want from me?

INT. LCD INTERNET WEBCAM CHATROOM BROWSER WINDOW – DAY

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. Suddenly, her body spasms in orgasm, after which relaxing back against the bed, she turns off the vibrator.

INT. SUMMER’S BEDROOM – SAME

She smiles, stretches and speaks with quiet 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 – DAY

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 it but he recognizes nothing they see as they follow the flight of the gull past homes along the bluff. Recognition occurs upon as his eyes sweep past and then return to a small round window in the home of a woman he admires. In a fast sequence of images and sounds beginning with the window, as the sound of thundering surf swells in his hearing it is as if his life tumbled through the sky and lands with a thud in his head.

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 as cuckold, dildo

or if you can afford the vanity, a  client.

Past 50, you’re a ghost. A

          kind of zombie but invisible. I

made a deal with death. Just a

movie. The devil offered me a piece

of the gross but I’m not stupid.

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

          You’re not Woody Allen! Do you know you’re a narcissist?

                    WRITER

          Woody Allen? I detested Bob Hope.

                    SUSAN

          Do you know you’re a narcissist!

                    WRITER

          Because I publish my fantasies?

Make movies out of them? I’m a writer.

                    SUSAN

          Do you know you’re a narcissist!

                    WRITER

          You mean in the sexual sense. Yes.

I just want to be near you.

                    SUSAN

          Is that why you’re doing this?

WRITER

No.

                    SUSAN

          Yes it is! It’s hopeless! Why?

                    WRITER

          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

                    OTHER FACE (cont’d)

          lose your home and your fiance is

over there…

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)

          …fucking a guy in the restroom.

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

fiance 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! Damn it! Breathe! This is

not 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!

Black fades to pink, pounding heart, sound of an agonizingly

painful breath.

SURGEON

Ok, thanks. Get her out of here

before we lose him again.

INT. LORNA’S RESTAURANT – SAME

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

Gray shawl. Same, same.

SUSAN

You’re going to make this movie?

WRITER

Three versions.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: (2)

11.

SUSAN

Three virgins?

WRITER

Versions. Versions.

SUSAN

Sorry. Virgins seems commercial.

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

(MORE)

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: (3)

12.

WRITER (cont’d)

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, resembles a young Woody Allen, leaps out

of a canvas chair, gestures like a baseball umpire,

TONY

Safe!

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