Did you know that it’s illegal to tie your pet dog to the roof of your car in Alaska? I didn’t either. I was stunned when I found that out. Mind you, I don’t live in Alaska, but if I did, one of the first things that would occur to me would be the convenience of tying my Chihuahua Scooter to the roof of my car so I could free up my hands to fetch from the back seat the whale blubber I plan on eating for dinner that night.
Did you also know that it’s illegal to fish off a giraffe’s back in Idaho? Well, it is. Sorry about that. I know I’ve just crushed the hearts of many of Idaho’s most dedicated giraffe-mounting ice fishermen. But don’t despair, my friends. You can still fish from the back of a camel. That isn’t illegal. Yet.
How about this one? Did you have the slightest clue that it’s illegal to bite off another person’s leg in Rhode Island? Can you believe that? I just found out myself. I’m pissed off about it too, because I planned on going to the Providence Femur Festival next summer, but now I have to change all of my plans. I really don’t want to risk being taken down in a raid as I’m chomping through some screaming dude’s hamstring.
Has it ever occurred to anybody how utterly ridiculous some of the laws are in this country? Were you even aware of the fact that you can’t let your pig run free through the streets of Detroit unless it has a ring in its nose? I’m fairly sure that’s a new one to just about everybody, except for the fine people of Detroit, of course. But I digress. We are supposedly a nation full of intelligent, law making and law-abiding citizens. But when you chew a little fat off the femur, it should be blatantly obvious that “intelligent” is simply the wrong word to use when describing both the people who make these laws, and the people who exit the polls with a cute little “I Voted” sticker on their shirts.
Who makes this shit up, and why? If you haven’t figured that out yet, let me tell you. It’s a bunch of stupid people who sit around a conference table and try to figure out how to control other stupid people who are ready and willing to abide by stupid laws. It’s that simple. When one group of people in Kansas says it’s illegal to use mules to hunt ducks, and another group of people sell off all their German Longhaired Pointer mules at the announcement of said law, how can you NOT see how stupid some of the laws and people in this country can be?
Here’s something else to think about. Why is the legal age of adulthood in this country 18? Why isn’t it 17, or 16, or 19? Why is the legal age to drink 21, instead of 20, or 19, or 23? Is there something magical about the day I turned 18 that made my voting opinion more valid than it was 10 or 13 months earlier? Is there some mystifying energy in the universe that dictates I’m ready to drive a car on my own the day I turn 16, as opposed to the moment I reach the age of 19 years, 8 months, and 2 weeks?
The answer is an equivocal “of course not”. These numbers are nothing more that arbitrary figures that were made up by a group of stupid people. Somewhere down the road, these people got together and picked random numbers to tell me who I can be, and when. How ridiculous is that? According to these people, you can’t legally drink an alcoholic beverage until you’re 21, but you can vote on issues pertaining to alcohol when your 18. I find that to be nothing short of stupid, especially when you consider that a glass of wine at dinner is just as common in many European countries as a glass of water is in America, and many of those glasses of wine are put in front of 8 year old kids who will probably live to be 94.
Here’s something else about this whole “numbers thing” that has my wand in a knot. If the intelligent lawmaking people in this country are willing to allow a kid who isn’t quite 16 years-old drive a car…as long as he’s with a licensed adult…then why can’t a 16 year-old girl have sex with her 18 year-old boyfriend as long as they have sex under parental supervision? Seriously.
What is so special about these arbitrary numbers that have been chiseled into law? If an irresponsible and violent child at the age of 16 can be tried and convicted of murder as an adult, then why can’t a responsible and intelligent child of the same age be given the right to dip his or her toes into the world of adulthood if they feel they’re ready, especially if their upbringing has put them in a position to accept such a challenge?
This train of thought does not require a degree in “Smartology” people. All you have to do is open your eyes, and you will see. Give it a shot. You might be surprised by what you discover. Oh, and just in case you live in Oklahoma, you can’t go whaling, so put down the harpoon. You can, however, take a bath between October and March, which the intelligent lawmaking people of Indiana seem to frown upon.
Now that I think about it, EVERY day of the year lies somewhere between October and March. I think I’ll ditch my plans to attend the Mistletoe Extravaganza in French Lick this year. That would be me doing what few others do…being smart.
C
Friday, November 6, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
It’s true what they say…smoking will kill you.
So anyway, I come to you today in somewhat of a daze. I’ve seen some things lately that have simply blown my mind and sent my brain spinning, namely stupid people doing stupid things as they tailgate at a baseball game. It never ceases to amaze me what stupid people do. I know I shouldn’t be too surprised. They are, after all, stupid people, and only stupid people would spend their pre-game festivities at a baseball game holding a beer in one hand and a tennis racket in the other, slopping beer all over themselves as they volley a PENN back and forth.
Yes…tennis…while tailgating at a baseball game. I shit you not.
What could possibly inspire a couple of retards to head out to a baseball game to play tennis to the radio cadence of the Cleveland Indians scouting report (other than the fact that they’re retards)? FUCKING TENNIS!!! It’s already bad enough that some guys will toss a football back and forth. I’ve seen this on several occasions. Who the hell tosses a football around at a baseball game? You don’t see tailgaters at Raider games playing catch with a baseball do you? First of all, you can’t have a mitt on one hand, a baseball in the other, and hold a beer (or a knife) all at the same time. It’s physically impossible. Oh sure, I suppose we could challenge the “physically impossible” theory and discuss all realms of possibility to debunk said claim, but I’d rather not go there. Second, it’s a football game lest you forget, and football venues play host to a completely different crowd altogether. Sticking with the example above, if a couple of morons were caught playing catch with a baseball at a Raider game, they would be killed on the spot most grievously by a conclave of other morons who feel it’s necessary to dress up for Halloween in December and cheer their team to an eventual season record of 3-13. These are the same people who yearn to quench their desire to stab somebody (hence the knife) before the day is done (most likely set on by the fact that their pitiful team is destined to finish the season with a record of 3-13). Can you imagine the carnage that would be left behind if a couple of dweebs decided to amp themselves up for a Raider game by playing tennis in the parking lot before the game? I shudder to conjure the scene.
So anyway, there I was walking through the parking lot of Angel Stadium recently, looking forward to watching my team rack up some runs, hits, and RBIs, and I see these two idiots trying to break Deuce with no net between them. It was pretty sad. So then I started thinking. Can tailgating possibly get any worse than a couple of guys playing tennis just minutes before a kid yells “PLAY BALL”? Perhaps. Imagine getting out of your car and heading for the gates. Off to your left you see a group of adults and kids decked out in the home-team colors, complete with foam fingers and banners. Straight ahead, you see a small contingent of tailgaters 4-cars wide, donning the colors of their favorite teams as they enjoy drinks and hot food right off the grill. To your right you see a couple of stupid fuckers playing jai alai off the side of a Winnebago.
Brace yourself for the utterly ridiculous sight of a couple of stupid fuckers playing jai alai off the side of a Winnebago while tailgating at a baseball game, because I’m convinced it’s bound to happen sooner or later.
So now I have to ask if it could get even more unconscionable. I mean, if it’s possible to see people playing tennis at the ballpark, would it be a surprise to anyone to see a group of liquored up pre-gamers standing on either side of a mocked-up net strung between two cars playing badminton? I don’t think so. After all, badminton and tennis are basically the same game in principal anyway, and we already know the tennis thing has been done.
What about a couple of dudes sitting on the ground with a chalk-circle between them shooting marbles? Wouldn’t that be fun to see? I can hear the 4th inning radio announcement now: “Hey fans, don’t forget that tomorrow is ‘Bring Your Steely To The Ballpark’ night. All tailgaters who successfully ‘Keepsies’ a Steely from an opponent will receive a coupon for Uncle Knuckle-Down Marble, good for 20% off your next purchase, valid at participating stores only. See the official rules for details as some restrictions do apply…here’s the 2-1 pitch to Hunter”.
Tennis. Jai Alai. Marbles. Badminton. These are not the activities you’d expect to see from intelligent sports fans at tailgate parties. This is the sort of brainless shit you’d expect to see from fans that go to a game wearing the jersey of their favorite player when that same player is now on a different team. You know the type. There he is, some dumb-ass who claims to be a huge Red Sox fan, wearing his old Manny Ramirez jersey to a home game at Fenway Park, as roid-soaked Ma’amRam strikes out 3,000 miles away in his Dodger blue. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be at a game. Whenever I see some dude gallivanting around the mall in his ridiculously gay open-toed sandals, cargo shorts, and San Francisco 49ers Terrell Owens jersey…some 6 years removed from the 49ers roster…I see somebody who needs to be shot in the badminton while holding onto his marbles with his tailgate between his legs.
I’d be first in line to pull the trigger too, and I would definitely aim as jai alai as possible in order to separate the incongruous New York Jets cap he’s wearing from the top of his empty head.
But let me get back to my original plight. When the hell did this mix-and-match epidemic in the world of sports take place (I bet it happened on a Tuesday, but I digress)? When did getting together to indulge in the joyous favors of friends, family, food, drinks, pre-game excitement, and the anticipation of a great baseball game become joined at the hip by a fraught game of croquet in front of Gate 3? I’m simply at a loss. I suppose it’s possible that I was actually there the day this all took hold, but I may have been distracted when I was forced to dive over a parking barrier in order to avoid being dismembered in turn 4 of that night’s Tailgate 500 NASCAR race.
I’ll probably never know (sigh).
I can’t stand the idea of accepting things as they are, but I guess I’ll just have to deal with it…tailgating has taken a turn for the surreal, and we’re all soaking in the same pot. So gather up your Frisbees, lawn darts, volleyballs, Jacks, chess sets, tetherball poles and squash paddles, and head on out to a baseball game to enjoy the uninhibited pleasures that only a tailgating party can offer. Oh, and one more thing…make sure you take the time between beers and bratwursts to have yourselves a paper airplane throwing contest. What would a tailgate party be without one of those bad boys!!!
C
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
"Young Radicals" (first 8 pages) an original screenplay by Ron Hooker Jr. ©2008
FADE IN:
INT. KODAK THEATER - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
A buzz, not unlike the Academy Awards, electrifies the theater. Men and women dressed in elegant gowns and tuxedos fill the seats. Flash bulbs flicker from the balcony of this magical setting. Beautiful red carpet, somber lighting, music from an orchestra.
A glorious stage. Huge waves of scarlet red satin curtains trimmed in gold serve as the gorgeous backdrop to this magical altar of recognition. Two golden apples as big as cars flank the stage. Curtains part at the center of the stage to reveal an awesome, spiral staircase.
Actress JESSICA ALBA descends the staircase to applause, envelope in hand. Her silver gown, adorned with delicate sequins, glimmers like diamonds. Her long flowing hair and gorgeous smile own the moment. She sleeks across the stage seductively, yet professionally, with class.
INT. KODAK THEATER - CONTINUOUS
WALTER AVAGON, mid-40’s, slightly graying hair, sits in the audience. His tuxedo and bowtie are immaculate. He smiles and rubs his palms together.
WALTER
(to self)
This is it.
The applause fades. Jessica Alba steps up to a microphone that rises up through the stage on a long, slender pole. The orchestra falls silent and all is quiet throughout.
JESSICA ALBA
Teachers. They guide us. They protect us. They inspire us. They become our compass when we lose our way, our disciplinarians when we lose our focus, and our cheerleaders when we get discouraged
and lose confidence in our abilities.
Walter palms his chest with a sigh and a smile
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
(O.S.)
They defy the possible when they stretch our imaginations, and laugh at the impossible as they strive to make our dreams come true.
WALTER
(to self)
Yes I do.
JESSICA ALBA
Most important of all, they become our heroes when we enter the real world and realize that nothing could be possible without them. (BEAT) The nominations for “Teacher Of The Year” are…
Walter closes his eyes with a smile and takes a deep breath.
WALTER
(to self)
Here we go.
JESSICA ALBA
Mrs. Steinakert.
A young woman in the audience sits with a group of children. All are dressed in casual clothing…a stark contrast to the tuxedos and gowns around them. The kids cheer at the announcement of her name. Walter smiles politely and applauds with the rest of the theater’s attendants.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
Mrs. Flint.
MRS. FLINT, a large black woman with a beautiful smile and blonde perm, raises her fists into the air. She and her close entourage of young children wear everyday clothing. She pumps her fists up and down.
MRS. FLINT
WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!
The children around her mimic her actions. They end their fun antics with laughter and applause to match the audience.
JESSICA ALBA
Mr. Beanblossom.
WILLY BEANBLOSSOM, slightly balding, middle-aged, sits rather calmly with a silly, oaf-like grin on his face. He wears shorts and a Spike The Wonderdog T-shirt. The children around him wear clothing similar to the other kids in the theater. They hoot and holler on his behalf. The audience applauds his nomination.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
And (BEAT) MR. AVAGON!
The Kodak Theater erupts into an Earth-shattering, chandelier rattling standing ovation. Silly-String, streamers, red and gold ribbons, balloons and confetti, shower down upon the crowd. Walter stands and takes a bow. He blows kisses to all, near and far. Jessica Alba cries happy tears. She wipes one gently from her cheek.
INT. KODAK THEATER - CONTINUOUS
The noise dies down, audience take their seats. Walter sits down and looks toward the stage with a huge smile. He gives his tux a confident tug. A stray, celebratory gold balloon floats by.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
And the TOTY goes to…
Jessica Alba winks at Walter. He blows her a kiss. She opens the envelope with a smile. Walter’s exited anticipation reveals itself in his wide eyes.
To Walter’s left, a young GIRL in denim shorts and a yellow shirt leans toward him.
GIRL
Mr. Avagon?
SHOCK CUT TO:
INT. SCHOOL AUDITORIUM - DAY
Walter, in a dark blue suit and tie, jumps out of his seat with his hands held high in the air.
WALTER
(shouting)
YEEEESSSS!!!
Hundreds of chairs SQUEAK as students and teachers turn to address the outburst that has interrupted the school assembly. The startled girl in denim shorts and yellow shirt stares at Walter oddly and leans as far away from him as possible.
The other “nominees” and their students, dressed and seated as they were in Walter’s fantasy, stare at Walter in utter confusion. Scattered giggles. Walter’s eyes dart left and right. Obviously embarrassed, he lowers his arms and smiles nervously as he sits down.
Jessica Alba is gone. In her place is a frumpy looking WOMAN with long, unkempt hair and coke bottle glasses. She wears light-gray sweats and holds a folded piece of paper. The stage décor resembles the Kodak Theater, but pales in grandeur. She clears her throat.
WOMAN
Yes, we’re all excited aren’t we?
Her pathetic laugh resembles a machine gun.
WOMAN (cont.)
Anyway, as I was about to announce, the winner of this year’s TOTY Award is…
She fumbles with the paper. It fights to be unfolded. She prevails.
WOMAN (cont.)
MR. BEANBLOSSOM!!!
Every seat empties in an uproar of cheers. Willy sits with the same silly, oaf-like smile on his face as he did in the Kodak Theater. His students erupt at the announcement of his name. They hug, pat, and otherwise mob him. Willy’s goofy demeanor never changes.
Walter is the only person in the auditorium who sits. He stares angrily and painfully into empty space, as his moment of glory eludes him.
COLLAGE:
-SUPER: “The Following Year”. Same auditorium. Same ceremony. Willy, in shorts and a Ren and Stimpy t-shirt, wins the TOTY again. Walter, in a brown suit and tie, squirms angrily in his chair when Willy’s name is announced. The ovation is deafening.
-SUPER: “And The Year After That”. Once again, this time in shorts and a Snoopy shirt, Willy wins the TOTY. The students erupt in an avalanche of cheers. Walter, in a gray suit, angrily yanks the silver tie from around his neck.
END COLLAGE
INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY
Walter, still in his gray suit, exits a classroom, closes the door angrily. He walks quickly, with purpose, briefcase and silver tie held in one hand. A man enters the far end of the hallway behind Walter. He sees Walter and begins to hustle toward him.
This is PRINCIPAL WARD, a man in his sixties with thick gray hair. He has the beard and moustache to match. His dark slacks and maroon polo shirt look quite comfortable.
PRINCIPAL WARD
Walter, wait up.
Walter stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t turn. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, stressfully. Principal Ward reaches Walter and greets him with a smile. Walter is bland, listless.
PRINCIPAL WARD
I’m glad I caught you before you left. I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things.
WALTER
Hmm.
PRINCIPAL WARD
(sigh)
Oh Walter, I’m sorry you didn’t win the TOTY. I know how much it means to you. All these years and you’re still trying to get your hands on the brass.
WALTER
(stale)
Thanks for reminding me.
PRINCIPAL WARD
You know, if it were totally up to me I’d give it to you right now. You deserve it.
Principal Ward becomes excited.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
But anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something else that just might cheer you up. I have good news.
WALTER
Good news?
PRINCIPAL WARD
The district is setting us up with the RAD program next year!
WALTER
Rad program?
PRINCIPAL WARD
The Rapid Aptitude Development program. It’s for really bright kids who are WAY ahead of the normal curriculum. These kids will probably be taking college courses in high school!
WALTER
And you’re telling me this because…
PRINCIPAL WARD
We have a small group of eight remarkable students committed to the program for next year. And “next year” is only three months away. I don’t want to hash this out over the summer. I want everything to be in place before the last day of school.
WALTER
In place?
PRINCIPAL WARD
Yes! I need to move a teacher into the RAD program!
Walter’s bland, stiff expression softens. He even cracks a small smile.
WALTER
Really!
PRINCIPAL WARD
This is the last week of school, and I really don’t want to spend the summer calling teachers, leaving messages, trying to set the staff, so on and so forth.
WALTER
Of course not!
PRINCIPAL WARD
Of course not!
Principal Ward begins to pace back and forth.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need a good teacher. A strong teacher. A teacher who knows the inner workings of the child’s mind like no one else.
Walter smiles and nods bashfully.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need somebody who can give these kids the wings to soar, yet keep them grounded and down to Earth at the same time. A teacher with the skills to tap into their potential every day and build a strong foundation for their futures.
Walter’s bashfulness intensifies. He giggles. Principal Ward stops pacing and addresses Walter with a smile.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need a man with a plan! Know what I mean?
Walter sighs with a huge smile. He nods.
WALTER
Yeah.
PRINCIPAL WARD
I knew you would. That’s why I’m asking you to take over Mr. Beanblossom’s sixth grade class next year. What do you say?
Walter stares intently at the man before him. The smile never leaves his face.
WALTER
What?
PRINCIPAL WARD
Willy has accepted to take the reigns over the RAD class, so I have a vacancy in sixth grade. It’s all yours! That is, if you want it.
Walter struggles to hold his smile.
WALTER
What?
Principal Ward chuckles and slaps Walter on the arm.
PRINCIPAL WARD
You crack me up Walter. I know a “yes” when I hear one. I can’t tell you how much this helps me out. Sixth grade will be in good hands next year.
One more slap to Walter’s shoulder sends Principal Ward away. Several moments pass. The smile on Walter’s face turns to an expression of excruciatingly painful anger. He wants to scream.
He moves back and forth across the hall very quickly. He turns the knobs of one locked door after another. Walter finds the unlocked door he’s been looking for. His face is red with rage.
INT. CLASSROOM - SAME
Inside the classroom, Walter spots a cardboard box labeled “lost and found”. He runs to the box and pulls out an article of clothing. He buries his face deep into the pink sweatshirt. He jerks violently up, down, and side to side. He screams as loud as he can.
END SCENE
INT. KODAK THEATER - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
A buzz, not unlike the Academy Awards, electrifies the theater. Men and women dressed in elegant gowns and tuxedos fill the seats. Flash bulbs flicker from the balcony of this magical setting. Beautiful red carpet, somber lighting, music from an orchestra.
A glorious stage. Huge waves of scarlet red satin curtains trimmed in gold serve as the gorgeous backdrop to this magical altar of recognition. Two golden apples as big as cars flank the stage. Curtains part at the center of the stage to reveal an awesome, spiral staircase.
Actress JESSICA ALBA descends the staircase to applause, envelope in hand. Her silver gown, adorned with delicate sequins, glimmers like diamonds. Her long flowing hair and gorgeous smile own the moment. She sleeks across the stage seductively, yet professionally, with class.
INT. KODAK THEATER - CONTINUOUS
WALTER AVAGON, mid-40’s, slightly graying hair, sits in the audience. His tuxedo and bowtie are immaculate. He smiles and rubs his palms together.
WALTER
(to self)
This is it.
The applause fades. Jessica Alba steps up to a microphone that rises up through the stage on a long, slender pole. The orchestra falls silent and all is quiet throughout.
JESSICA ALBA
Teachers. They guide us. They protect us. They inspire us. They become our compass when we lose our way, our disciplinarians when we lose our focus, and our cheerleaders when we get discouraged
and lose confidence in our abilities.
Walter palms his chest with a sigh and a smile
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
(O.S.)
They defy the possible when they stretch our imaginations, and laugh at the impossible as they strive to make our dreams come true.
WALTER
(to self)
Yes I do.
JESSICA ALBA
Most important of all, they become our heroes when we enter the real world and realize that nothing could be possible without them. (BEAT) The nominations for “Teacher Of The Year” are…
Walter closes his eyes with a smile and takes a deep breath.
WALTER
(to self)
Here we go.
JESSICA ALBA
Mrs. Steinakert.
A young woman in the audience sits with a group of children. All are dressed in casual clothing…a stark contrast to the tuxedos and gowns around them. The kids cheer at the announcement of her name. Walter smiles politely and applauds with the rest of the theater’s attendants.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
Mrs. Flint.
MRS. FLINT, a large black woman with a beautiful smile and blonde perm, raises her fists into the air. She and her close entourage of young children wear everyday clothing. She pumps her fists up and down.
MRS. FLINT
WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!
The children around her mimic her actions. They end their fun antics with laughter and applause to match the audience.
JESSICA ALBA
Mr. Beanblossom.
WILLY BEANBLOSSOM, slightly balding, middle-aged, sits rather calmly with a silly, oaf-like grin on his face. He wears shorts and a Spike The Wonderdog T-shirt. The children around him wear clothing similar to the other kids in the theater. They hoot and holler on his behalf. The audience applauds his nomination.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
And (BEAT) MR. AVAGON!
The Kodak Theater erupts into an Earth-shattering, chandelier rattling standing ovation. Silly-String, streamers, red and gold ribbons, balloons and confetti, shower down upon the crowd. Walter stands and takes a bow. He blows kisses to all, near and far. Jessica Alba cries happy tears. She wipes one gently from her cheek.
INT. KODAK THEATER - CONTINUOUS
The noise dies down, audience take their seats. Walter sits down and looks toward the stage with a huge smile. He gives his tux a confident tug. A stray, celebratory gold balloon floats by.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
And the TOTY goes to…
Jessica Alba winks at Walter. He blows her a kiss. She opens the envelope with a smile. Walter’s exited anticipation reveals itself in his wide eyes.
To Walter’s left, a young GIRL in denim shorts and a yellow shirt leans toward him.
GIRL
Mr. Avagon?
SHOCK CUT TO:
INT. SCHOOL AUDITORIUM - DAY
Walter, in a dark blue suit and tie, jumps out of his seat with his hands held high in the air.
WALTER
(shouting)
YEEEESSSS!!!
Hundreds of chairs SQUEAK as students and teachers turn to address the outburst that has interrupted the school assembly. The startled girl in denim shorts and yellow shirt stares at Walter oddly and leans as far away from him as possible.
The other “nominees” and their students, dressed and seated as they were in Walter’s fantasy, stare at Walter in utter confusion. Scattered giggles. Walter’s eyes dart left and right. Obviously embarrassed, he lowers his arms and smiles nervously as he sits down.
Jessica Alba is gone. In her place is a frumpy looking WOMAN with long, unkempt hair and coke bottle glasses. She wears light-gray sweats and holds a folded piece of paper. The stage décor resembles the Kodak Theater, but pales in grandeur. She clears her throat.
WOMAN
Yes, we’re all excited aren’t we?
Her pathetic laugh resembles a machine gun.
WOMAN (cont.)
Anyway, as I was about to announce, the winner of this year’s TOTY Award is…
She fumbles with the paper. It fights to be unfolded. She prevails.
WOMAN (cont.)
MR. BEANBLOSSOM!!!
Every seat empties in an uproar of cheers. Willy sits with the same silly, oaf-like smile on his face as he did in the Kodak Theater. His students erupt at the announcement of his name. They hug, pat, and otherwise mob him. Willy’s goofy demeanor never changes.
Walter is the only person in the auditorium who sits. He stares angrily and painfully into empty space, as his moment of glory eludes him.
COLLAGE:
-SUPER: “The Following Year”. Same auditorium. Same ceremony. Willy, in shorts and a Ren and Stimpy t-shirt, wins the TOTY again. Walter, in a brown suit and tie, squirms angrily in his chair when Willy’s name is announced. The ovation is deafening.
-SUPER: “And The Year After That”. Once again, this time in shorts and a Snoopy shirt, Willy wins the TOTY. The students erupt in an avalanche of cheers. Walter, in a gray suit, angrily yanks the silver tie from around his neck.
END COLLAGE
INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY
Walter, still in his gray suit, exits a classroom, closes the door angrily. He walks quickly, with purpose, briefcase and silver tie held in one hand. A man enters the far end of the hallway behind Walter. He sees Walter and begins to hustle toward him.
This is PRINCIPAL WARD, a man in his sixties with thick gray hair. He has the beard and moustache to match. His dark slacks and maroon polo shirt look quite comfortable.
PRINCIPAL WARD
Walter, wait up.
Walter stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t turn. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, stressfully. Principal Ward reaches Walter and greets him with a smile. Walter is bland, listless.
PRINCIPAL WARD
I’m glad I caught you before you left. I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things.
WALTER
Hmm.
PRINCIPAL WARD
(sigh)
Oh Walter, I’m sorry you didn’t win the TOTY. I know how much it means to you. All these years and you’re still trying to get your hands on the brass.
WALTER
(stale)
Thanks for reminding me.
PRINCIPAL WARD
You know, if it were totally up to me I’d give it to you right now. You deserve it.
Principal Ward becomes excited.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
But anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something else that just might cheer you up. I have good news.
WALTER
Good news?
PRINCIPAL WARD
The district is setting us up with the RAD program next year!
WALTER
Rad program?
PRINCIPAL WARD
The Rapid Aptitude Development program. It’s for really bright kids who are WAY ahead of the normal curriculum. These kids will probably be taking college courses in high school!
WALTER
And you’re telling me this because…
PRINCIPAL WARD
We have a small group of eight remarkable students committed to the program for next year. And “next year” is only three months away. I don’t want to hash this out over the summer. I want everything to be in place before the last day of school.
WALTER
In place?
PRINCIPAL WARD
Yes! I need to move a teacher into the RAD program!
Walter’s bland, stiff expression softens. He even cracks a small smile.
WALTER
Really!
PRINCIPAL WARD
This is the last week of school, and I really don’t want to spend the summer calling teachers, leaving messages, trying to set the staff, so on and so forth.
WALTER
Of course not!
PRINCIPAL WARD
Of course not!
Principal Ward begins to pace back and forth.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need a good teacher. A strong teacher. A teacher who knows the inner workings of the child’s mind like no one else.
Walter smiles and nods bashfully.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need somebody who can give these kids the wings to soar, yet keep them grounded and down to Earth at the same time. A teacher with the skills to tap into their potential every day and build a strong foundation for their futures.
Walter’s bashfulness intensifies. He giggles. Principal Ward stops pacing and addresses Walter with a smile.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need a man with a plan! Know what I mean?
Walter sighs with a huge smile. He nods.
WALTER
Yeah.
PRINCIPAL WARD
I knew you would. That’s why I’m asking you to take over Mr. Beanblossom’s sixth grade class next year. What do you say?
Walter stares intently at the man before him. The smile never leaves his face.
WALTER
What?
PRINCIPAL WARD
Willy has accepted to take the reigns over the RAD class, so I have a vacancy in sixth grade. It’s all yours! That is, if you want it.
Walter struggles to hold his smile.
WALTER
What?
Principal Ward chuckles and slaps Walter on the arm.
PRINCIPAL WARD
You crack me up Walter. I know a “yes” when I hear one. I can’t tell you how much this helps me out. Sixth grade will be in good hands next year.
One more slap to Walter’s shoulder sends Principal Ward away. Several moments pass. The smile on Walter’s face turns to an expression of excruciatingly painful anger. He wants to scream.
He moves back and forth across the hall very quickly. He turns the knobs of one locked door after another. Walter finds the unlocked door he’s been looking for. His face is red with rage.
INT. CLASSROOM - SAME
Inside the classroom, Walter spots a cardboard box labeled “lost and found”. He runs to the box and pulls out an article of clothing. He buries his face deep into the pink sweatshirt. He jerks violently up, down, and side to side. He screams as loud as he can.
END SCENE
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
"Here Comes The Pitch" an original short film by Ron Hooker Jr. ©2009
FADE IN:
EXT. PORCH - DAY
Two very old men, pushing 100 years of age, sit on a porch. They are WALTER, a bald white man with glasses, and CHARLIE, a black man with white hair and beard. A small table with a radio and two glasses of lemonade sits between them. The radio plays a baseball game as the men stare off at nothing in particular, intently listening to the action. Exciting plays send them into animated pleasure or disdain as a NARRATOR speaks.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Meet Charlie and Walter, a couple of old-timers...and I mean OLD-timers. They've been best friends since they met at the age of 5 back in 1916. All their lives, they've shared a passion for baseball. Between the two of them, they've collected more autographs and memorabilia from the major leagues, the negro leagues, the minor leagues, and pretty much any other league there is, than just about the rest of the world combined. They've been to every ballpark, several World Series games, seen every famous baseball player over the past century take the field, and for the last 35 years...their golden years of retirement...they've religiously spent their time sitting right here, listening to as many games as they possibly can.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here's the 1-1 pitch to Mathis…right down the middle for a strike.
WALTER
(angrily)
Aw, come on you bum! Swing the pine!
CHARLIE
Ain't no surprise why his average is only .198 this year. All he do is watch d’ball go by.
WALTER
They need to send him back down. Send him back down, I say.
CHARLIE
Sho’ thing.
WALTER
He’s barely good enough to be the bat-boy.
CHARLIE
Know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Aw yes. Charlie and Walter know so much about baseball, you'd think they invented the game themselves. They have the solution to just about everything, and anybody who knows anything about baseball would be crazy not to listen to them. At least, that's what they'd tell you.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here’s the 1-2 pitch to Mathis…It’s BELTED HIGH AND DEEP.
Charlie and Walter react with excitement as the play is announced.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (cont, V.O.)
DAVIS AND DENORFIA RACE BACK TO THE WALL…THEY LOOK UP…IT’S GONE! MATHIS HAS HIT IT OUT!
Charlie and Walter join the radio’s audience in cheers and applause.
WALTER
I just KNEW he’d come through! What have I been saying about that boy!
CHARLIE
He be a natural.
WALTER
He's a shoe-in to make the all-star team!
CHARLIE
Know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
Charlie and Walter continue to cheer and applaud with excitement and laughter.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
That’s right. Charlie and Walter are verifiable encyclopedias when it comes to baseball, and nobody can tell them otherwise. They know everything there is to know about the game. Absolutely everything.
CUT TO BLACK
NARRATOR (cont., V.O.)
Except for one thing.
EXT. PORCH – DAY
It’s a new day. Charlie and Walter sit on the porch as they did before. An announcer calls a game over the radio that sits on the table between them.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here’s the 2-1 pitch to Varitek…high and outside, so the count goes to 3-1. Rory, getting back to what you were talking about a moment ago in regards to the Commissioner's…
Walter reaches over to the radio and turns down the volume. Charlie gives Walter a confusing look.
CHARLIE
What da hell you turn dat down for, man? I was listenin’.
WALTER
I want to ask you a question.
CHARLIE
What?
WALTER
Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven, Charlie?
CHARLIE
Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout?
WALTER
What do you think I’m talking about? Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven?
CHARLIE
We both gon be in Heaven 'fore we know who win dis game if you don’t turn it back up right now.
WALTER
Just answer the question, dag nabbit. Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven or not?
CHARLIE
How d’hell am I s'pposed to know? I ain't never been there befo'.
WALTER
I think there’s baseball in Heaven. There has to be.
CHARLIE
Howz you figgya?
WALTER
Nothing is as great as the game of baseball. It’s God’s greatest creation.
CHARLIE
Well I definitely ‘gree with you there. Now turn up the damn radio ‘fore we miss any mo’ of da game.
WALTER
You know what Charlie? You and I are working on borrowed time. We won’t be around much longer. One of us is fixin’ to kick the bucket sometime soon.
CHARLIE
(exasperated)
And I hope we can finish dis game ‘fore that happens.
WALTER
Here’s what I was thinking. Whichever one of us dies first will come back down to Earth and tell the other if there’s baseball in Heaven. What do you say?
Charlie gives in to Walter’s requests to finish the conversation. He’s even intrigued about Walter’s latest idea.
CHARLIE
You know what? Dat’s a great idea. Whoever go first come back to share da news.
WALTER
Agreed.
CHARLIE
Now will you please turn da game back on?
Walter turns the volume back up on the radio.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
One hit, no runs, no errors, and a man left on base. We go to the top of the 5th inning when we return. No score between the Angels and Red Sox. You're listening...
FADE TO BLACK
SUPER: 3 MONTHS LATER
EXT. PORCH – DAY
Walter sits by himself and listens to a baseball game. A glass of lemonade sits on the table beside the radio.
NARRATOR
As it turned out, Charlie passed away just two weeks after their discussion about baseball in heaven. Walter mourned the loss of this friend for a couple of months, spending most of his time reflecting on the past. But it wouldn’t be long before Walter was right back out there on that porch, sipping his lemonade and listening to a ballgame. He knew that’s exactly how Charlie would have wanted it to be.
Walter stares blankly, despite the exciting play being announced over the radio. His demeanor begins to change however, as a strange, ghostly premonition presents itself over the lawn in front of the porch. Walter watches it carefully.
The ghostly premonition gets larger and brighter. Walter’s curiosity grows.
CHARLIE (V.O.)
(slowly, ghostly)
Walterrrrrrrrr. Walterrrrrrrrr.
Walter sits up excitedly.
WALTER
Son of a one-eyed caterwauler! Charlie! Is that you?
The ghostly premonition turns into Charlie, who smiles ear to ear. He’s bright, dressed in white, and looks much younger than before.
CHARLIE
Yes my friend. It's me.
WALTER
Charlie, I can't believe my eyes! It really IS you! What are you doing here?
CHARLIE
Well Walter, I come back to answer yo’ question ‘bout baseball in Heaven, just like we ‘greed.
Walter jumps to his feet in an instant. He fidgets nervously, afraid to ask.
WALTER
And? Is there baseball in Heaven Charlie? Oh Betsey, tell me now before I burst!
CHARLIE
Walter, I got good news, and I got betta' news. Da good news is there’s baseball in Heaven, my friend. There is baseball in Heaven.
Walter laughs out loud. He begins to dance as if he were a teenager again. He claps his hands and slaps his knees the whole while. Charlie smiles at his friend’s elation.
WALTER
I knew it Charlie! I just knew it! I just knew there was baseball in Heaven!
CHARLIE
It gets even betta' my friend. It get's even betta'.
WALTER
It gets better? How could anything be better than baseball in Heaven?
CHARLIE
(excited)
Well, you da startin’ pitcha' tomorrow night!
Walter’s elation drops cold. He stares at his dead friend with deep concern.
WALTER
Say again?
CUT TO BLACK
EXT. PORCH - DAY
Two very old men, pushing 100 years of age, sit on a porch. They are WALTER, a bald white man with glasses, and CHARLIE, a black man with white hair and beard. A small table with a radio and two glasses of lemonade sits between them. The radio plays a baseball game as the men stare off at nothing in particular, intently listening to the action. Exciting plays send them into animated pleasure or disdain as a NARRATOR speaks.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Meet Charlie and Walter, a couple of old-timers...and I mean OLD-timers. They've been best friends since they met at the age of 5 back in 1916. All their lives, they've shared a passion for baseball. Between the two of them, they've collected more autographs and memorabilia from the major leagues, the negro leagues, the minor leagues, and pretty much any other league there is, than just about the rest of the world combined. They've been to every ballpark, several World Series games, seen every famous baseball player over the past century take the field, and for the last 35 years...their golden years of retirement...they've religiously spent their time sitting right here, listening to as many games as they possibly can.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here's the 1-1 pitch to Mathis…right down the middle for a strike.
WALTER
(angrily)
Aw, come on you bum! Swing the pine!
CHARLIE
Ain't no surprise why his average is only .198 this year. All he do is watch d’ball go by.
WALTER
They need to send him back down. Send him back down, I say.
CHARLIE
Sho’ thing.
WALTER
He’s barely good enough to be the bat-boy.
CHARLIE
Know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Aw yes. Charlie and Walter know so much about baseball, you'd think they invented the game themselves. They have the solution to just about everything, and anybody who knows anything about baseball would be crazy not to listen to them. At least, that's what they'd tell you.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here’s the 1-2 pitch to Mathis…It’s BELTED HIGH AND DEEP.
Charlie and Walter react with excitement as the play is announced.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (cont, V.O.)
DAVIS AND DENORFIA RACE BACK TO THE WALL…THEY LOOK UP…IT’S GONE! MATHIS HAS HIT IT OUT!
Charlie and Walter join the radio’s audience in cheers and applause.
WALTER
I just KNEW he’d come through! What have I been saying about that boy!
CHARLIE
He be a natural.
WALTER
He's a shoe-in to make the all-star team!
CHARLIE
Know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
Charlie and Walter continue to cheer and applaud with excitement and laughter.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
That’s right. Charlie and Walter are verifiable encyclopedias when it comes to baseball, and nobody can tell them otherwise. They know everything there is to know about the game. Absolutely everything.
CUT TO BLACK
NARRATOR (cont., V.O.)
Except for one thing.
EXT. PORCH – DAY
It’s a new day. Charlie and Walter sit on the porch as they did before. An announcer calls a game over the radio that sits on the table between them.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here’s the 2-1 pitch to Varitek…high and outside, so the count goes to 3-1. Rory, getting back to what you were talking about a moment ago in regards to the Commissioner's…
Walter reaches over to the radio and turns down the volume. Charlie gives Walter a confusing look.
CHARLIE
What da hell you turn dat down for, man? I was listenin’.
WALTER
I want to ask you a question.
CHARLIE
What?
WALTER
Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven, Charlie?
CHARLIE
Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout?
WALTER
What do you think I’m talking about? Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven?
CHARLIE
We both gon be in Heaven 'fore we know who win dis game if you don’t turn it back up right now.
WALTER
Just answer the question, dag nabbit. Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven or not?
CHARLIE
How d’hell am I s'pposed to know? I ain't never been there befo'.
WALTER
I think there’s baseball in Heaven. There has to be.
CHARLIE
Howz you figgya?
WALTER
Nothing is as great as the game of baseball. It’s God’s greatest creation.
CHARLIE
Well I definitely ‘gree with you there. Now turn up the damn radio ‘fore we miss any mo’ of da game.
WALTER
You know what Charlie? You and I are working on borrowed time. We won’t be around much longer. One of us is fixin’ to kick the bucket sometime soon.
CHARLIE
(exasperated)
And I hope we can finish dis game ‘fore that happens.
WALTER
Here’s what I was thinking. Whichever one of us dies first will come back down to Earth and tell the other if there’s baseball in Heaven. What do you say?
Charlie gives in to Walter’s requests to finish the conversation. He’s even intrigued about Walter’s latest idea.
CHARLIE
You know what? Dat’s a great idea. Whoever go first come back to share da news.
WALTER
Agreed.
CHARLIE
Now will you please turn da game back on?
Walter turns the volume back up on the radio.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
One hit, no runs, no errors, and a man left on base. We go to the top of the 5th inning when we return. No score between the Angels and Red Sox. You're listening...
FADE TO BLACK
SUPER: 3 MONTHS LATER
EXT. PORCH – DAY
Walter sits by himself and listens to a baseball game. A glass of lemonade sits on the table beside the radio.
NARRATOR
As it turned out, Charlie passed away just two weeks after their discussion about baseball in heaven. Walter mourned the loss of this friend for a couple of months, spending most of his time reflecting on the past. But it wouldn’t be long before Walter was right back out there on that porch, sipping his lemonade and listening to a ballgame. He knew that’s exactly how Charlie would have wanted it to be.
Walter stares blankly, despite the exciting play being announced over the radio. His demeanor begins to change however, as a strange, ghostly premonition presents itself over the lawn in front of the porch. Walter watches it carefully.
The ghostly premonition gets larger and brighter. Walter’s curiosity grows.
CHARLIE (V.O.)
(slowly, ghostly)
Walterrrrrrrrr. Walterrrrrrrrr.
Walter sits up excitedly.
WALTER
Son of a one-eyed caterwauler! Charlie! Is that you?
The ghostly premonition turns into Charlie, who smiles ear to ear. He’s bright, dressed in white, and looks much younger than before.
CHARLIE
Yes my friend. It's me.
WALTER
Charlie, I can't believe my eyes! It really IS you! What are you doing here?
CHARLIE
Well Walter, I come back to answer yo’ question ‘bout baseball in Heaven, just like we ‘greed.
Walter jumps to his feet in an instant. He fidgets nervously, afraid to ask.
WALTER
And? Is there baseball in Heaven Charlie? Oh Betsey, tell me now before I burst!
CHARLIE
Walter, I got good news, and I got betta' news. Da good news is there’s baseball in Heaven, my friend. There is baseball in Heaven.
Walter laughs out loud. He begins to dance as if he were a teenager again. He claps his hands and slaps his knees the whole while. Charlie smiles at his friend’s elation.
WALTER
I knew it Charlie! I just knew it! I just knew there was baseball in Heaven!
CHARLIE
It gets even betta' my friend. It get's even betta'.
WALTER
It gets better? How could anything be better than baseball in Heaven?
CHARLIE
(excited)
Well, you da startin’ pitcha' tomorrow night!
Walter’s elation drops cold. He stares at his dead friend with deep concern.
WALTER
Say again?
CUT TO BLACK
Monday, February 23, 2009
"Colorblind" an original short film by Ron Hooker Jr. ©2009
FADE IN:
EXT. MARKETPLACE - DAY
The town square is abuzz with excitement. It feels like a party under the sun as merchants sell their goods to obliging customers and children frolic in the street.
All of these people have bright, colorful skin. Some people are yellow, others orange. Red, blue, green, purple, pink, and every other bright color imaginable is represented by the skin color of the happy people in this rainbow of festivities.
Balloons, streamers, banners, and decorations of similar colors abound. Music plays as a group of yellow, green, and blue performers dance on a stage in front of a group of applauding, multicolored children and adults. Booths for playing games are surrounded by colorful people.
A BLUE MAN selling apples catches the attention of a Yellow woman as she passes by. He holds up two large red apples.
BLUE MAN
Apples. Get your apples. (to lady) Try one of my apples miss. You won't be disappointed.
The Yellow woman takes a bite and smiles.
At a gaming booth, a Blue man throws a ball at a stack of bottles and knocks them down. His Red wife and Purple children cheer. A CRIMSON WOMAN in the booth hands him a large stuffed animal.
CRIMSON WOMAN
Congratulations sir.
Over a fiery grill, an ORANGE MAN flips burgers and hot dogs as PEOPLE of every color of the rainbow line up to place their orders. A Green lady beside the grill takes money as nearby people dress their food with condiments.
ORANGE MAN
Who wants a burger?
PEOPLE
“Over here.” “I’ll take one.” “I want a hotdog.”
The fun and festivities continue throughout the marketplace. Children laugh and sing. Customers, merchants and game players show off their colors as music plays and smoke from cooking stations billows into the sky.
EXT. MARKETPLACE – CONTINUOUS
A PINK WOMAN and a man of Sky Blue look into a jewelry case.
PINK WOMAN
(pointing)
That one’s beautiful.
She and the man beside her continue to gaze at the jewelry as the Lime-Green merchant smiles. The merchant slowly trains his eyes to something OFF SCREEN. His smile subsides slowly to an expression of grim concern. He’s not the only one who’s distracted.
COLLAGE:
-A Lavender merchant trains his angry eyes to a random point.
-A Yellow customer stops just before biting his hotdog to stare with surprise.
-A Red man on a stage stops talking into his microphone to observe something angrily.
-The colorful dancers stop dancing and fix their gazes over the heads of the audience. The audience slowly turns to see what they’re looking at.
-A Purple man steps out from a booth puffing his cigar with purpose.
END COLLAGE
The music stops playing. All eyes are fixed upon the same point OFF SCREEN. A concerned INDIGO WOMAN near a game booth grabs the hand of her GREEN CHILD and walks away with purpose.
INDIGO WOMAN
Let’s go.
GREEN CHILD
But mommy?
INDIGO WOMAN
I said we’re leaving.
The staring continues in stark silence. An ORANGE MAN standing in the crowd breaks the silence.
ORANGE MAN
The nerve of some people.
EXT. MARKETPLACE – CONTINUOUS
Standing in the middle of the street, hand in hand, are a WHITE MAN and BLACK WOMAN. They scan their surroundings slowly and deliberately. An uneasy ambience fills the air. Every eye in the marketplace is fixed upon the unwanted intruders.
BLACK WOMAN
I get the feeling we’re not welcome here.
WHITE MAN
So do I.
PAN OUT to reveal the lonely couple, as they stand motionless in the center of the silent marketplace being stared at by hundreds of colorful eyes. They are the only things black or white in the entire SHOT.
END
EXT. MARKETPLACE - DAY
The town square is abuzz with excitement. It feels like a party under the sun as merchants sell their goods to obliging customers and children frolic in the street.
All of these people have bright, colorful skin. Some people are yellow, others orange. Red, blue, green, purple, pink, and every other bright color imaginable is represented by the skin color of the happy people in this rainbow of festivities.
Balloons, streamers, banners, and decorations of similar colors abound. Music plays as a group of yellow, green, and blue performers dance on a stage in front of a group of applauding, multicolored children and adults. Booths for playing games are surrounded by colorful people.
A BLUE MAN selling apples catches the attention of a Yellow woman as she passes by. He holds up two large red apples.
BLUE MAN
Apples. Get your apples. (to lady) Try one of my apples miss. You won't be disappointed.
The Yellow woman takes a bite and smiles.
At a gaming booth, a Blue man throws a ball at a stack of bottles and knocks them down. His Red wife and Purple children cheer. A CRIMSON WOMAN in the booth hands him a large stuffed animal.
CRIMSON WOMAN
Congratulations sir.
Over a fiery grill, an ORANGE MAN flips burgers and hot dogs as PEOPLE of every color of the rainbow line up to place their orders. A Green lady beside the grill takes money as nearby people dress their food with condiments.
ORANGE MAN
Who wants a burger?
PEOPLE
“Over here.” “I’ll take one.” “I want a hotdog.”
The fun and festivities continue throughout the marketplace. Children laugh and sing. Customers, merchants and game players show off their colors as music plays and smoke from cooking stations billows into the sky.
EXT. MARKETPLACE – CONTINUOUS
A PINK WOMAN and a man of Sky Blue look into a jewelry case.
PINK WOMAN
(pointing)
That one’s beautiful.
She and the man beside her continue to gaze at the jewelry as the Lime-Green merchant smiles. The merchant slowly trains his eyes to something OFF SCREEN. His smile subsides slowly to an expression of grim concern. He’s not the only one who’s distracted.
COLLAGE:
-A Lavender merchant trains his angry eyes to a random point.
-A Yellow customer stops just before biting his hotdog to stare with surprise.
-A Red man on a stage stops talking into his microphone to observe something angrily.
-The colorful dancers stop dancing and fix their gazes over the heads of the audience. The audience slowly turns to see what they’re looking at.
-A Purple man steps out from a booth puffing his cigar with purpose.
END COLLAGE
The music stops playing. All eyes are fixed upon the same point OFF SCREEN. A concerned INDIGO WOMAN near a game booth grabs the hand of her GREEN CHILD and walks away with purpose.
INDIGO WOMAN
Let’s go.
GREEN CHILD
But mommy?
INDIGO WOMAN
I said we’re leaving.
The staring continues in stark silence. An ORANGE MAN standing in the crowd breaks the silence.
ORANGE MAN
The nerve of some people.
EXT. MARKETPLACE – CONTINUOUS
Standing in the middle of the street, hand in hand, are a WHITE MAN and BLACK WOMAN. They scan their surroundings slowly and deliberately. An uneasy ambience fills the air. Every eye in the marketplace is fixed upon the unwanted intruders.
BLACK WOMAN
I get the feeling we’re not welcome here.
WHITE MAN
So do I.
PAN OUT to reveal the lonely couple, as they stand motionless in the center of the silent marketplace being stared at by hundreds of colorful eyes. They are the only things black or white in the entire SHOT.
END
"Checkmate" an original short film by Ron Hooker Jr. ©2008
FADE IN:
INT. HOUSE LIVINGROOM – NIGHT
PETER, a twenty-something white male of average build and physical features, sits on the floor with his back against the wall. His knees are propped up and his arms rest upon them. One of his hands massages a pair of stress balls.
One of Peter's eyes is bruised. A cut that has yet to heal discolors his upper lip. He stares blankly, but his face could not be more determined in its otherwise emotionless expression. PAN IN on Peter slowly.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Hello?
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
I have the money. It's time.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Are you sure?
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Yeah. I just have to buy a few things first.
FLASHBACK:
The setting is blurry and uncertain. Voices echo as Peter is getting the shit kicked out of him. MIKE, a tall and lanky man in his mid to late twenties, dons a cowboy hat and moustache. He stands over Peter, who writhes in pain on the floor. Mike lands a hard blow with his boot to Peter's stomach. Peter curls up in agony.
MIKE
How did that feel you FAGGOT!
From his position on the floor, Peter looks up to see Mike and ANGIE out of focus. Angie is a short, heavy-set girl in her twenties, with curly blonde hair. She and Mike look at Peter with big smiles. Angie belts out the loudest, most obnoxious, manufactured, wicked laugh ever heard. They walk away laughing with their arms around each other.
(Back to Peter)
The camera continues to PAN IN on Peter slowly as he massages the stress balls.
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Is that basement still available?
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
It is.
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Perfect.
FLASHBACK:
The setting is blurry and uncertain. Peter backs himself up against a wall. Mike bears down on him with Angie watching from behind.
MIKE
Did you hear what I said you brainless piece of shit?
PETER
(desperate)
Just leave me alone!
MIKE
WHAT?
Mike strikes Peter to the floor. Peter's mouth is a bloody mess.
ANGIE
Kick his ass Mike!
MIKE (cont)
Don't you ever tell me what to do, you fucking FAGGOT!
Mike smiles triumphantly. Angie lets out the same wicked, manufactured laugh as before.
(Back to Peter)
Continue to PAN IN on Peter. His demeanor hasn't changed.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
What do you want to do about the boy?
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Bring him along for the ride.
FLASHBACK:
The setting is blurry and uncertain. Peter stands beside his red car, keys in hand. An old green pick-up truck, badly rusted and in serious need of a new paint job, drives up quickly and screeches to a halt.
Mike exits the truck and quickly approaches Peter. KEVIN, Mike's 13 year-old blonde-headed brother, exits the other side of the truck and stands by the door. Angie, also in the front seat of the truck, watches through the windshield.
MIKE
Where do you think you're going, you brainless piece of shit?
PETER
(afraid)
Get the fuck away from me.
Peter steps away from his car. He prepares to defend himself, but to no avail. Mike lands a swift punch to Peter's face, and Peter falls to the ground.
MIKE
You called the fucking cops on me, didn’t you.
PETER
(sincere)
NO I DIDN'T!
MIKE
You lying piece of shit!
Mike kicks Peter brutally in the face. Peter flails in pain.
KEVIN
Mike, let's get out of here.
MIKE
SHUT UP KEVIN!
Mike kneels down and grabs a handful of Peter's hair. Peter is in agony, and completely defenseless.
MIKE (cont)
You're nothing but a faggot and a weak, brainless piece of shit.
Peter tries to release himself from Mike's grip with a retort (AD LIB), but Mike's grip intensifies. Peter hollers painfully.
KEVIN
Mike. Let's get the hell out of here.
MIKE
GET BACK IN THE FUCKING TRUCK!
Mike returns his attention to his captive.
MIKE (cont)
If I ever smell a cop coming my way, I'll shove my boot straight up your queer ass. I bet you'd like that wouldn't you, you fucking FAGGOT!!!
Mike stands up and kicks Peter in the face once more. Peter flails, goes limp.
(Back to Peter)
Continue to PAN IN. Peter's eyes are lost in deep thought. His transfixed face is now CLOSE UP.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Just give me forty-eight hours notice.
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Consider it given.
CUT TO BLACK
SUPER: 2 NIGHTS LATER
EXT. BAR – NIGHT
Mike and Angie exit the bar. They're obviously drunk. They walk arm-in-arm, staggering as they go. They sing a Country-Western song grotesquely out of tune. They begin to laugh lethargically as they reach an old, rusty green pickup truck and fall lazily against it.
Without notice, four large strangers emerge from out of nowhere and mob them. Mike and Angie are subdued quickly and quietly, despite their attempted struggles to get free.
EXT. HOUSE – SAME
Kevin rides up to the house on his bike. He sets it down and walks toward the door. He never gets there. A figure steps out of the shadows and grabs him, making sure he makes no sound.
CUT TO BLACK
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
You've done your part. I'll take it from here.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Enjoy your game.
INT. SMALL ROOM – NIGHT
The lighting in the room is dim. A snifter of liquor and a burning cigarette in an ashtray sit side by side on a table. A hand picks up the cigarette. An extreme CLOSE UP of the mouth shows a man take a drag from his smoke very slowly and deliberately. The cigarette is extinguished in the ashtray.
INT. HALLWAY – NIGHT
The sound of WALKING echos down the hallway. Our point of view PANS toward a door at the far end until it is reached. A hand turns the knob and pushes the door open.
INT. ROOM – CONTINUOUS
The room is spacious and made completely out of concrete. Old pipes leak from the corners and ceiling. We get the sense that the room is deep underground.
Three metal chairs, bolted to the floor, sit at the far end of the spacious, musty room. Each chair holds a captive. Mike, Angie, and Kevin sit in the chairs, pinned by thick leather straps, with duct tape over their mouths. They've been bound to their chairs with such deliberate detail, that all they can move are their heads and hands.
Mike sits centered to the back wall. Angie and Kevin sit slightly closer to the door, facing each other from opposite sides of the room. They all look at the door when it opens.
A man stands at the door with his eyes at his feet. He wears a 30's-vintage burnt orange suit with white pinstripes, and a perfectly creased fedora to match. His captives try to move, or otherwise make noise, but not much is happening. Angie and Mike seem defiant. Kevin is terrified.
With a hand in his pocket and his eyes still looking down, the man walks forward slowly and diligently. He stops a short distance away from the others. Mike sits a few feet in front of him. Angie and Kevin are seated directly to the man's left and right.
He reaches into his jacket and produces a pack of cigarettes. He methodically removes a cig from the pack and lights it. After one drag, he cocks his head up slightly sideways and just high enough to peer at Mike from under the brim of his fedora. Mike becomes enraged at the sight of the wounded face of...
Peter. Mike tries again to free himself from his bindings. Nothing gives. Peter scoffs and shakes his head. He takes another drag from his smoke. He chuckles with another shake of his head.
PETER
This is fucking beautiful.
Peter's constrained victims wrestle against their bindings as he takes another triumphant drag of his smoke.
PETER
How is it possible?
Peter scoffs with a smile, a shake of his head. Another deliberate drag from his smoke.
PETER
How is it possible, Mike, that you could ever find yourself completely at the mercy of…how did you put it…a brainless piece of shit? A faggot?
Mike squirms out of rage, desperate to free himself.
PETER
It makes me wonder how somebody like you could apparently think he's the shit, yet turn out to be nothing more than a weak, ignorant fuck.
All of Peter's captives are highly animated. Their efforts only tire them to the point of defeated exhaustion. Peter takes a slow drag of his cigarette.
PETER
There's something you need to be aware of Mike, in case you don't already know.
Mike breathes hard as he stares loathingly at Peter.
PETER
You…are in a world…of FUCK!
They stare loathingly at each other for several moments. The energy between them is monumental.
PETER
I'll get back to that in a second. But first...
Peter turns his head toward Angie before stepping in front of her. He finishes off his cigarette with one more long drag then flicks the butt away. He stares at her momentarily, then lets out a very loud and wicked, obnoxious and manufactured laugh, emulating Angie's laugh from before.
PETER
Sound familiar bitch!
For the first time, Angie's look of rage and anger turns to one of fear. Peter turns away and walks toward Kevin.
PETER
You and I will talk again later Angie. But first I need to talk to this young man.
Kevin is terrified as Peter approaches him. Peter stops when he reaches Kevin. He holds his hands in prayer position upon his lips. He takes a deep breath. He kneels down, places his hands on Kevin's knees, and tries to calm the young boy's nerves.
PETER
(sincere)
I want you to know that I'm not going to hurt you, okay? The only reason you're here is because of him.
Peter points toward Mike, and sends him a scathing glare. Mike responds with an equally loathsome gaze. Peter looks back at Kevin and pats his knees.
PETER
(sincere)
None of this is your fault.
Peter stands and calmly walks behind Kevin's chair. He places his hands on Kevin's shoulders and bends forward to his ear.
PETER
(sincere)
There's no reason for you to be afraid, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong, and I promise I'm not going to hurt you. Alright?
Kevin takes a deep breath of relief and exhales with a nod.
PETER
(sincere)
Good boy.
With a pat of Kevin's shoulders, Peter takes a step back. In one motion, he reaches behind his back, produces a pistol, locks and loads, and points it at the back of Kevin's head. A shatteringly loud explosion from the gun throws Kevin's head forward violently. His brains paint the concrete floor.
Mike and Angie scream as loud as their taped mouths will allow. Mike stares at his brother in disbelief. His face turns red and his eyes well up with tears as he struggles to free himself. Peter returns the pistol to his belt.
PETER
You have to give me credit for one thing Mike. I kept my word about not hurting him. He didn't feel a fucking thing.
A mixture of sadness and passionate rage overcomes Mike's face. At that moment, Peter RUNS to Mike, places his hands on Mike's bound arms, and puts his nose mere inches from Mike's face.
PETER
(calm and slow)
Does it hurt yet…you brainless piece of shit?
Their eyes meet as no eyes have ever met before. They stare hatefully at each other for several moments.
PETER
I'll let you think about that for a while.
Peter turns on a heel and walks toward the door briskly. Mike's breathing never eases. Angie cries hard. Peter exits with a loud SLAM of the door.
CUT TO BLACK
SUPER: 24 HOURS LATER
INT. ROOM – NIGHT
The door opens. Peter enters slowly. He holds a roll of duct tape. He wears a similar suit and fedora as the night before, but this time he's in blue. Mike and Angie look up at him. Emotionally exhausted from being bound for so many hours, Mike and Angie are a disheveled mess.
The discolored body of Kevin, his cranial contents on the concrete floor, is a disturbing reminder to Mike and Angie that their situation is not good.
Peter walks toward his captives. Along the way, he grabs a nearby wooden chair that sits against the wall. He turns it backwards and places it in front of Angie, setting the tape on the seat.
Calmly and very confidently, Peter steps to the center of the floor. He stains the bottoms of his shoes with Kevin's expunged brains. He tugs on his coat and sleeves a few times.
PETER
I look good, don't you think? I'm so…"of the moment".
Peter continues to prune himself without a care in the world.
PETER
I always knew the money from by granddads estate would come in handy somehow. (chuckle) Who would have guessed it would be suits?
Mike and Angie stare almost lifelessly at Peter, though it's obvious they hear every word he says. Peter returns to the moment, cool and collected as ever.
PETER
Anyway.
Peter looks over at Kevin's corpse and shakes his head while clicking his tongue.
PETER
What a shame. He was so young. He was so…full of life.
Peter turns his attention to Mike, making sure their eyes meet.
PETER
I'm sure he thanks you.
Either out of defiance or exhaustion, Mike looks away from Peter, but the stress on his face tells the whole story. Peter turns and walks up to the chair he previously set before Angie.
PETER
But today isn't about you, Mike.
Peter grabs the roll of tape from the chair and sits down. He stares into Angie's scared eyes with a smirk on his face. Angie is a mess. Her tear-stained face and sweaty hair reek of fear.
Peter looks at Mike for a brief moment, again making sure their eyes meet. Mike's defeated demeanor changes to one of animated anger, panic. Peter returns his gaze to Angie.
PETER
(very slow and deliberate)
Angie. Have you ever heard the old Chinese proverb, "Revenge is a dish best served cold"?
Angie whimpers and shakes her head.
PETER
What a pity.
Peter looks away with disappointment. He shakes his head with a deep sigh, returns his attention to Angie's eyes.
PETER
I was hoping you'd be familiar with what I'm about to serve you.
Angie's fear erupts instantly. Her face is a mess of tears.
PETER
(angry)
I hope you're hungry bitch.
Peter stands up and tosses the chair aside. Angie stirs in a fit of panic as Peter tears off a foot-long piece of duct tape. He pitches the roll over his shoulder. He stretches the piece of tape he holds between his hands and steps up to Angie.
Angie tries to avoid Peter, but it's no use. He pins her head against the back of her chair by forcing the strip of tape over her nose. With no way to breath, Angie goes silent.
Peter takes a step back and puts his hands in his pant pockets. He watches Angie struggle for her life. Her face turns red and her eyes nearly pop out of her skull. She tosses her head violently back and forth, side to side.
Mike tries to scream and come to the aid of his girlfriend. He has no choice but to watch her die. Peter looks at Mike with a smile.
PETER
Are you as entertained as I am?
A wink and a grin is the only other message Mike gets from Peter. Mike continues to try freeing himself. Peter returns his attention to Angie.
Her hands clench into fists tight enough to break the very bones in her hands. Her violent motions intensify. Her eyes turn to crimson. A stream of blood trickles from her ear. A sinister sound emanates from her bowels. Her life is being snuffed away.
Peter takes his pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lights one up. His eyes never leave Angie as he takes a long drag. Angie's violent motions become subdued. Her eyes soften slightly. Her head slowly falls forward before jerking desperately one more time. She goes limp with death.
Mission accomplished, Peter turns his eyes toward Mike. The agony in Mike's face is worth a thousand words. A mixture of sadness, fear, rage, and desperation flows from Mike's exhausted eyes as he fixates his contempt hatred upon Peter.
PETER
How about now Mike? Does it hurt yet…you fucking FAGGOT?
Mike seems to be at a complete loss of strength. His eyes show total defeat for the first time. He turns his eyes away from Peter and stares blankly at the floor, tears streaming down his face.
PETER
I'll let you think about that for a while.
Peter turns and walks toward the door. Mike lifts his head and stares pleadingly at Peter. He shakes his head and tries to scream, apparently for mercy. The contrast between his pale face and red eyes exposes his terror and devastation.
Peter exits through the door with a loud SLAM.
CUT TO BLACK
SUPER: 24 HOURS LATER
INT. ROOM – NIGHT
The door opens slowly. Nobody is there. The creaking of the door gets Mike's attention. His head is slumped down when he stirs. He struggles to lift his head with obvious excruciation. Finally, his head high enough to see the door, his grotesque condition reveals itself.
His eyes are red and small, sunk deep into his skull. His nostrils are chapped and crusty. Days worth of sweat, tears, and malnourishment have stained his face a deathly yellow-gray. His fingers are black and blue from the bindings of the leather straps.
In the doorway, Peter immerges with a smoke in hand. Dressed in green attire similar to his previous appearances, he props himself against the door jam, hand in pocket, one foot over the other, and takes a long and triumphant drag. Mike amazingly finds the strength to send Peter the iciest gaze he can muster.
Peter reaches somewhere out of sight. He returns holding a large bag, consistent with those that might hold a birthday present. The bag even has a large green bow on it.
PETER
I come bearing gifts.
He walks smoothly and confidently toward Mike, flicking his cigarette away. Along the way, he grabs the chair he previously threw aside before killing Angie.
Directly in front of Mike, Peter sets the bag down and turns the chair backwards. He sits down and folds his arms across the back of the chair, then rests his chin on his arms. Peter and Mike stare at each other for what seems an eternity.
Peter lifts his head and looks at Kevin. His already decomposing body is a horrid sight; his bloody head a putrid blue and gray. Peter looks at Angie next. The open eyes and furrowed brow of her discolored corpse reveal the chilling image of her last living moments. Peter returns his gaze to Mike, whose face refuses to concede defeat.
PETER
So….does it hurt yet? You know…pain…suffering…misery? (angry) Like what I felt, each and every time you punked me like your little bitch?
Mike's breathing intensifies. His gaze becomes icier. Somewhere within him he finds the strength to hate Peter even more than ever before.
PETER
I don't think it does.
Peter rests his chin on his arms once more. He stares blankly toward the floor for several long seconds. His eyes reconnect with Mike's icy gaze.
PETER
But it will soon.
The staring contest continues. Their thoughts practically speak out loud as they contemplate the levity of the moment.
PETER
What are you thinking about right now, Mike?
Mike makes no attempt to humor Peter. Peter cocks his head to the side a smiles wide.
PETER
Come on. Be honest.
He squares his eyes up to Mike as he reaches into his coat for another cigarette.
PETER
You still think I'm nothing more than a brainless piece of shit, don't you?
Mike's visible hatred proves he agrees. Peter lights a cigarette with a long drag and again braces his arms across the top of the chair.
PETER
That's where you fucked up Mike. Don't you get it? You're all brawn, no brains, and you know nothing about respect. That must be your fucking motto or something, because it's the only thing you've ever been good at.
Peter takes a long drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke into Mike's loathsome face. Mike turns his face away, but quickly returns his glare. Peter taps the ashes from his smoke, complete with a small grin, almost as if he's accepting an award.
Peter takes a few moments to scratch his earlobe and compose his thoughts.
PETER
Do you like history Mike? You know, famous battles and shit like that?
Mike never takes his hateful eyes off of Peter as their eyes do battle themselves. Peter prepares his thoughts with another drag from his smoke.
PETER
You remind me of the Spanish Armada back in 1588. They had the most formidable navy in the world back then, and nobody wanted to fuck with 'em…nobody. They apparently had no weaknesses and simply couldn't be beaten.
Peter takes one last drag from his smoke before extinguishing it on Mike's knee. Mike cringes momentarily.
PETER
Then they sailed right into the teeth of the English Navy, and held their nuts out in the open to be cut off. Why? Because they were all about brawn and had no respect for a smarter enemy. An enemy who did in fact find their weakness.
The gaze between Peter and Mike reaches the apex of contempt.
PETER
You did the exact same thing, and I find that to be an epic embarrassment of the most passionate hilarity.
Mike tries again, with all of his might, to free himself from his trap of death. Nothing could be more impossible.
PETER
Don't feel too bad though, Mike. The same thing happens to other ignorant fucks everyday, so you're not alone. Countless others play the same shitty game of chess that you play. You fuck around, you fuck around, you fuck around some more, thinking you’re hot shit, and before you have a chance to realize what's just happened, you're trapped and you've lost the game.
Mike and Peter share one more long moment of eye-to-eye hatred. Peter calmly stands and sets the chair off to the side. He just as calmly walks back over to Mike. He places his hands on Mike's wrists. Mike whimpers painfully through the tape over his mouth. Peter leans down to stare him square in the eyes.
PETER
(whisper)
I win.
Peter steps back. He reaches into his festive bag and pulls out a red 2-gallon container of gasoline. The hateful eyes of his soon-to-be victim open wide with fear. He becomes animated with terror, as his attempt to escape proves useless.
Peter pops open the small pressure cap on the gasoline container and removes the spout. He tosses the spout away and stares at Mike for several moments. Peter then slowly looks up and away as if contemplating something in deep thought.
PETER
I wonder if the Spaniards played chess. Hmm. I’ll have to look that up.
Peter steps up to Mike and douses him head-to-toe with every drop of gasoline. Mike has no way of avoiding his death bath, but not for a lack of trying. His animations are wilder than ever, even though his head and hands are all that move.
The eerie, yet unmistakable sound of a bone breaking echoes throughout the room. Mike's face surges into an expression of the grotesque pain he's caused himself while trying to break free.
The empty gasoline container gets tossed away. Peter takes a few steps away from Mike, then turns to face him. He reaches into the breast pocked of his coat and dons a pair of sunglasses. Extreme CLOSE UP of Peter's glasses.
Mike, as well as Angie and Kevin, can be seen in the reflection of the glasses. Mike continues his desperate attempt to escape. The undeniable SOUND of the "click and flick" of a Zippo lighter takes control of the moment.
PETER
(calmly)
Checkmate.
In the reflection of Peter's glasses, the lit Zippo sails delicately into Mike's lap. He instantaneously BURSTS into a roaring blaze of flames. Death takes on a new meaning as Mike explodes into a display of immeasurable torture. Though his mouth is taped, his cries of agony are clearly heard.
Peter stands perfectly still and consumes the triumphant moment of his work for what seems to be an eternity. As Mike's agony rages on, slowly FADE OUT his audible cries of pain. Through Peter's glasses, Mike now burns in SILENCE.
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
You've done your part. I'll take it from here.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Enjoy your game.
END
INT. HOUSE LIVINGROOM – NIGHT
PETER, a twenty-something white male of average build and physical features, sits on the floor with his back against the wall. His knees are propped up and his arms rest upon them. One of his hands massages a pair of stress balls.
One of Peter's eyes is bruised. A cut that has yet to heal discolors his upper lip. He stares blankly, but his face could not be more determined in its otherwise emotionless expression. PAN IN on Peter slowly.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Hello?
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
I have the money. It's time.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Are you sure?
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Yeah. I just have to buy a few things first.
FLASHBACK:
The setting is blurry and uncertain. Voices echo as Peter is getting the shit kicked out of him. MIKE, a tall and lanky man in his mid to late twenties, dons a cowboy hat and moustache. He stands over Peter, who writhes in pain on the floor. Mike lands a hard blow with his boot to Peter's stomach. Peter curls up in agony.
MIKE
How did that feel you FAGGOT!
From his position on the floor, Peter looks up to see Mike and ANGIE out of focus. Angie is a short, heavy-set girl in her twenties, with curly blonde hair. She and Mike look at Peter with big smiles. Angie belts out the loudest, most obnoxious, manufactured, wicked laugh ever heard. They walk away laughing with their arms around each other.
(Back to Peter)
The camera continues to PAN IN on Peter slowly as he massages the stress balls.
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Is that basement still available?
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
It is.
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Perfect.
FLASHBACK:
The setting is blurry and uncertain. Peter backs himself up against a wall. Mike bears down on him with Angie watching from behind.
MIKE
Did you hear what I said you brainless piece of shit?
PETER
(desperate)
Just leave me alone!
MIKE
WHAT?
Mike strikes Peter to the floor. Peter's mouth is a bloody mess.
ANGIE
Kick his ass Mike!
MIKE (cont)
Don't you ever tell me what to do, you fucking FAGGOT!
Mike smiles triumphantly. Angie lets out the same wicked, manufactured laugh as before.
(Back to Peter)
Continue to PAN IN on Peter. His demeanor hasn't changed.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
What do you want to do about the boy?
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Bring him along for the ride.
FLASHBACK:
The setting is blurry and uncertain. Peter stands beside his red car, keys in hand. An old green pick-up truck, badly rusted and in serious need of a new paint job, drives up quickly and screeches to a halt.
Mike exits the truck and quickly approaches Peter. KEVIN, Mike's 13 year-old blonde-headed brother, exits the other side of the truck and stands by the door. Angie, also in the front seat of the truck, watches through the windshield.
MIKE
Where do you think you're going, you brainless piece of shit?
PETER
(afraid)
Get the fuck away from me.
Peter steps away from his car. He prepares to defend himself, but to no avail. Mike lands a swift punch to Peter's face, and Peter falls to the ground.
MIKE
You called the fucking cops on me, didn’t you.
PETER
(sincere)
NO I DIDN'T!
MIKE
You lying piece of shit!
Mike kicks Peter brutally in the face. Peter flails in pain.
KEVIN
Mike, let's get out of here.
MIKE
SHUT UP KEVIN!
Mike kneels down and grabs a handful of Peter's hair. Peter is in agony, and completely defenseless.
MIKE (cont)
You're nothing but a faggot and a weak, brainless piece of shit.
Peter tries to release himself from Mike's grip with a retort (AD LIB), but Mike's grip intensifies. Peter hollers painfully.
KEVIN
Mike. Let's get the hell out of here.
MIKE
GET BACK IN THE FUCKING TRUCK!
Mike returns his attention to his captive.
MIKE (cont)
If I ever smell a cop coming my way, I'll shove my boot straight up your queer ass. I bet you'd like that wouldn't you, you fucking FAGGOT!!!
Mike stands up and kicks Peter in the face once more. Peter flails, goes limp.
(Back to Peter)
Continue to PAN IN. Peter's eyes are lost in deep thought. His transfixed face is now CLOSE UP.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Just give me forty-eight hours notice.
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
Consider it given.
CUT TO BLACK
SUPER: 2 NIGHTS LATER
EXT. BAR – NIGHT
Mike and Angie exit the bar. They're obviously drunk. They walk arm-in-arm, staggering as they go. They sing a Country-Western song grotesquely out of tune. They begin to laugh lethargically as they reach an old, rusty green pickup truck and fall lazily against it.
Without notice, four large strangers emerge from out of nowhere and mob them. Mike and Angie are subdued quickly and quietly, despite their attempted struggles to get free.
EXT. HOUSE – SAME
Kevin rides up to the house on his bike. He sets it down and walks toward the door. He never gets there. A figure steps out of the shadows and grabs him, making sure he makes no sound.
CUT TO BLACK
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
You've done your part. I'll take it from here.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Enjoy your game.
INT. SMALL ROOM – NIGHT
The lighting in the room is dim. A snifter of liquor and a burning cigarette in an ashtray sit side by side on a table. A hand picks up the cigarette. An extreme CLOSE UP of the mouth shows a man take a drag from his smoke very slowly and deliberately. The cigarette is extinguished in the ashtray.
INT. HALLWAY – NIGHT
The sound of WALKING echos down the hallway. Our point of view PANS toward a door at the far end until it is reached. A hand turns the knob and pushes the door open.
INT. ROOM – CONTINUOUS
The room is spacious and made completely out of concrete. Old pipes leak from the corners and ceiling. We get the sense that the room is deep underground.
Three metal chairs, bolted to the floor, sit at the far end of the spacious, musty room. Each chair holds a captive. Mike, Angie, and Kevin sit in the chairs, pinned by thick leather straps, with duct tape over their mouths. They've been bound to their chairs with such deliberate detail, that all they can move are their heads and hands.
Mike sits centered to the back wall. Angie and Kevin sit slightly closer to the door, facing each other from opposite sides of the room. They all look at the door when it opens.
A man stands at the door with his eyes at his feet. He wears a 30's-vintage burnt orange suit with white pinstripes, and a perfectly creased fedora to match. His captives try to move, or otherwise make noise, but not much is happening. Angie and Mike seem defiant. Kevin is terrified.
With a hand in his pocket and his eyes still looking down, the man walks forward slowly and diligently. He stops a short distance away from the others. Mike sits a few feet in front of him. Angie and Kevin are seated directly to the man's left and right.
He reaches into his jacket and produces a pack of cigarettes. He methodically removes a cig from the pack and lights it. After one drag, he cocks his head up slightly sideways and just high enough to peer at Mike from under the brim of his fedora. Mike becomes enraged at the sight of the wounded face of...
Peter. Mike tries again to free himself from his bindings. Nothing gives. Peter scoffs and shakes his head. He takes another drag from his smoke. He chuckles with another shake of his head.
PETER
This is fucking beautiful.
Peter's constrained victims wrestle against their bindings as he takes another triumphant drag of his smoke.
PETER
How is it possible?
Peter scoffs with a smile, a shake of his head. Another deliberate drag from his smoke.
PETER
How is it possible, Mike, that you could ever find yourself completely at the mercy of…how did you put it…a brainless piece of shit? A faggot?
Mike squirms out of rage, desperate to free himself.
PETER
It makes me wonder how somebody like you could apparently think he's the shit, yet turn out to be nothing more than a weak, ignorant fuck.
All of Peter's captives are highly animated. Their efforts only tire them to the point of defeated exhaustion. Peter takes a slow drag of his cigarette.
PETER
There's something you need to be aware of Mike, in case you don't already know.
Mike breathes hard as he stares loathingly at Peter.
PETER
You…are in a world…of FUCK!
They stare loathingly at each other for several moments. The energy between them is monumental.
PETER
I'll get back to that in a second. But first...
Peter turns his head toward Angie before stepping in front of her. He finishes off his cigarette with one more long drag then flicks the butt away. He stares at her momentarily, then lets out a very loud and wicked, obnoxious and manufactured laugh, emulating Angie's laugh from before.
PETER
Sound familiar bitch!
For the first time, Angie's look of rage and anger turns to one of fear. Peter turns away and walks toward Kevin.
PETER
You and I will talk again later Angie. But first I need to talk to this young man.
Kevin is terrified as Peter approaches him. Peter stops when he reaches Kevin. He holds his hands in prayer position upon his lips. He takes a deep breath. He kneels down, places his hands on Kevin's knees, and tries to calm the young boy's nerves.
PETER
(sincere)
I want you to know that I'm not going to hurt you, okay? The only reason you're here is because of him.
Peter points toward Mike, and sends him a scathing glare. Mike responds with an equally loathsome gaze. Peter looks back at Kevin and pats his knees.
PETER
(sincere)
None of this is your fault.
Peter stands and calmly walks behind Kevin's chair. He places his hands on Kevin's shoulders and bends forward to his ear.
PETER
(sincere)
There's no reason for you to be afraid, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong, and I promise I'm not going to hurt you. Alright?
Kevin takes a deep breath of relief and exhales with a nod.
PETER
(sincere)
Good boy.
With a pat of Kevin's shoulders, Peter takes a step back. In one motion, he reaches behind his back, produces a pistol, locks and loads, and points it at the back of Kevin's head. A shatteringly loud explosion from the gun throws Kevin's head forward violently. His brains paint the concrete floor.
Mike and Angie scream as loud as their taped mouths will allow. Mike stares at his brother in disbelief. His face turns red and his eyes well up with tears as he struggles to free himself. Peter returns the pistol to his belt.
PETER
You have to give me credit for one thing Mike. I kept my word about not hurting him. He didn't feel a fucking thing.
A mixture of sadness and passionate rage overcomes Mike's face. At that moment, Peter RUNS to Mike, places his hands on Mike's bound arms, and puts his nose mere inches from Mike's face.
PETER
(calm and slow)
Does it hurt yet…you brainless piece of shit?
Their eyes meet as no eyes have ever met before. They stare hatefully at each other for several moments.
PETER
I'll let you think about that for a while.
Peter turns on a heel and walks toward the door briskly. Mike's breathing never eases. Angie cries hard. Peter exits with a loud SLAM of the door.
CUT TO BLACK
SUPER: 24 HOURS LATER
INT. ROOM – NIGHT
The door opens. Peter enters slowly. He holds a roll of duct tape. He wears a similar suit and fedora as the night before, but this time he's in blue. Mike and Angie look up at him. Emotionally exhausted from being bound for so many hours, Mike and Angie are a disheveled mess.
The discolored body of Kevin, his cranial contents on the concrete floor, is a disturbing reminder to Mike and Angie that their situation is not good.
Peter walks toward his captives. Along the way, he grabs a nearby wooden chair that sits against the wall. He turns it backwards and places it in front of Angie, setting the tape on the seat.
Calmly and very confidently, Peter steps to the center of the floor. He stains the bottoms of his shoes with Kevin's expunged brains. He tugs on his coat and sleeves a few times.
PETER
I look good, don't you think? I'm so…"of the moment".
Peter continues to prune himself without a care in the world.
PETER
I always knew the money from by granddads estate would come in handy somehow. (chuckle) Who would have guessed it would be suits?
Mike and Angie stare almost lifelessly at Peter, though it's obvious they hear every word he says. Peter returns to the moment, cool and collected as ever.
PETER
Anyway.
Peter looks over at Kevin's corpse and shakes his head while clicking his tongue.
PETER
What a shame. He was so young. He was so…full of life.
Peter turns his attention to Mike, making sure their eyes meet.
PETER
I'm sure he thanks you.
Either out of defiance or exhaustion, Mike looks away from Peter, but the stress on his face tells the whole story. Peter turns and walks up to the chair he previously set before Angie.
PETER
But today isn't about you, Mike.
Peter grabs the roll of tape from the chair and sits down. He stares into Angie's scared eyes with a smirk on his face. Angie is a mess. Her tear-stained face and sweaty hair reek of fear.
Peter looks at Mike for a brief moment, again making sure their eyes meet. Mike's defeated demeanor changes to one of animated anger, panic. Peter returns his gaze to Angie.
PETER
(very slow and deliberate)
Angie. Have you ever heard the old Chinese proverb, "Revenge is a dish best served cold"?
Angie whimpers and shakes her head.
PETER
What a pity.
Peter looks away with disappointment. He shakes his head with a deep sigh, returns his attention to Angie's eyes.
PETER
I was hoping you'd be familiar with what I'm about to serve you.
Angie's fear erupts instantly. Her face is a mess of tears.
PETER
(angry)
I hope you're hungry bitch.
Peter stands up and tosses the chair aside. Angie stirs in a fit of panic as Peter tears off a foot-long piece of duct tape. He pitches the roll over his shoulder. He stretches the piece of tape he holds between his hands and steps up to Angie.
Angie tries to avoid Peter, but it's no use. He pins her head against the back of her chair by forcing the strip of tape over her nose. With no way to breath, Angie goes silent.
Peter takes a step back and puts his hands in his pant pockets. He watches Angie struggle for her life. Her face turns red and her eyes nearly pop out of her skull. She tosses her head violently back and forth, side to side.
Mike tries to scream and come to the aid of his girlfriend. He has no choice but to watch her die. Peter looks at Mike with a smile.
PETER
Are you as entertained as I am?
A wink and a grin is the only other message Mike gets from Peter. Mike continues to try freeing himself. Peter returns his attention to Angie.
Her hands clench into fists tight enough to break the very bones in her hands. Her violent motions intensify. Her eyes turn to crimson. A stream of blood trickles from her ear. A sinister sound emanates from her bowels. Her life is being snuffed away.
Peter takes his pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lights one up. His eyes never leave Angie as he takes a long drag. Angie's violent motions become subdued. Her eyes soften slightly. Her head slowly falls forward before jerking desperately one more time. She goes limp with death.
Mission accomplished, Peter turns his eyes toward Mike. The agony in Mike's face is worth a thousand words. A mixture of sadness, fear, rage, and desperation flows from Mike's exhausted eyes as he fixates his contempt hatred upon Peter.
PETER
How about now Mike? Does it hurt yet…you fucking FAGGOT?
Mike seems to be at a complete loss of strength. His eyes show total defeat for the first time. He turns his eyes away from Peter and stares blankly at the floor, tears streaming down his face.
PETER
I'll let you think about that for a while.
Peter turns and walks toward the door. Mike lifts his head and stares pleadingly at Peter. He shakes his head and tries to scream, apparently for mercy. The contrast between his pale face and red eyes exposes his terror and devastation.
Peter exits through the door with a loud SLAM.
CUT TO BLACK
SUPER: 24 HOURS LATER
INT. ROOM – NIGHT
The door opens slowly. Nobody is there. The creaking of the door gets Mike's attention. His head is slumped down when he stirs. He struggles to lift his head with obvious excruciation. Finally, his head high enough to see the door, his grotesque condition reveals itself.
His eyes are red and small, sunk deep into his skull. His nostrils are chapped and crusty. Days worth of sweat, tears, and malnourishment have stained his face a deathly yellow-gray. His fingers are black and blue from the bindings of the leather straps.
In the doorway, Peter immerges with a smoke in hand. Dressed in green attire similar to his previous appearances, he props himself against the door jam, hand in pocket, one foot over the other, and takes a long and triumphant drag. Mike amazingly finds the strength to send Peter the iciest gaze he can muster.
Peter reaches somewhere out of sight. He returns holding a large bag, consistent with those that might hold a birthday present. The bag even has a large green bow on it.
PETER
I come bearing gifts.
He walks smoothly and confidently toward Mike, flicking his cigarette away. Along the way, he grabs the chair he previously threw aside before killing Angie.
Directly in front of Mike, Peter sets the bag down and turns the chair backwards. He sits down and folds his arms across the back of the chair, then rests his chin on his arms. Peter and Mike stare at each other for what seems an eternity.
Peter lifts his head and looks at Kevin. His already decomposing body is a horrid sight; his bloody head a putrid blue and gray. Peter looks at Angie next. The open eyes and furrowed brow of her discolored corpse reveal the chilling image of her last living moments. Peter returns his gaze to Mike, whose face refuses to concede defeat.
PETER
So….does it hurt yet? You know…pain…suffering…misery? (angry) Like what I felt, each and every time you punked me like your little bitch?
Mike's breathing intensifies. His gaze becomes icier. Somewhere within him he finds the strength to hate Peter even more than ever before.
PETER
I don't think it does.
Peter rests his chin on his arms once more. He stares blankly toward the floor for several long seconds. His eyes reconnect with Mike's icy gaze.
PETER
But it will soon.
The staring contest continues. Their thoughts practically speak out loud as they contemplate the levity of the moment.
PETER
What are you thinking about right now, Mike?
Mike makes no attempt to humor Peter. Peter cocks his head to the side a smiles wide.
PETER
Come on. Be honest.
He squares his eyes up to Mike as he reaches into his coat for another cigarette.
PETER
You still think I'm nothing more than a brainless piece of shit, don't you?
Mike's visible hatred proves he agrees. Peter lights a cigarette with a long drag and again braces his arms across the top of the chair.
PETER
That's where you fucked up Mike. Don't you get it? You're all brawn, no brains, and you know nothing about respect. That must be your fucking motto or something, because it's the only thing you've ever been good at.
Peter takes a long drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke into Mike's loathsome face. Mike turns his face away, but quickly returns his glare. Peter taps the ashes from his smoke, complete with a small grin, almost as if he's accepting an award.
Peter takes a few moments to scratch his earlobe and compose his thoughts.
PETER
Do you like history Mike? You know, famous battles and shit like that?
Mike never takes his hateful eyes off of Peter as their eyes do battle themselves. Peter prepares his thoughts with another drag from his smoke.
PETER
You remind me of the Spanish Armada back in 1588. They had the most formidable navy in the world back then, and nobody wanted to fuck with 'em…nobody. They apparently had no weaknesses and simply couldn't be beaten.
Peter takes one last drag from his smoke before extinguishing it on Mike's knee. Mike cringes momentarily.
PETER
Then they sailed right into the teeth of the English Navy, and held their nuts out in the open to be cut off. Why? Because they were all about brawn and had no respect for a smarter enemy. An enemy who did in fact find their weakness.
The gaze between Peter and Mike reaches the apex of contempt.
PETER
You did the exact same thing, and I find that to be an epic embarrassment of the most passionate hilarity.
Mike tries again, with all of his might, to free himself from his trap of death. Nothing could be more impossible.
PETER
Don't feel too bad though, Mike. The same thing happens to other ignorant fucks everyday, so you're not alone. Countless others play the same shitty game of chess that you play. You fuck around, you fuck around, you fuck around some more, thinking you’re hot shit, and before you have a chance to realize what's just happened, you're trapped and you've lost the game.
Mike and Peter share one more long moment of eye-to-eye hatred. Peter calmly stands and sets the chair off to the side. He just as calmly walks back over to Mike. He places his hands on Mike's wrists. Mike whimpers painfully through the tape over his mouth. Peter leans down to stare him square in the eyes.
PETER
(whisper)
I win.
Peter steps back. He reaches into his festive bag and pulls out a red 2-gallon container of gasoline. The hateful eyes of his soon-to-be victim open wide with fear. He becomes animated with terror, as his attempt to escape proves useless.
Peter pops open the small pressure cap on the gasoline container and removes the spout. He tosses the spout away and stares at Mike for several moments. Peter then slowly looks up and away as if contemplating something in deep thought.
PETER
I wonder if the Spaniards played chess. Hmm. I’ll have to look that up.
Peter steps up to Mike and douses him head-to-toe with every drop of gasoline. Mike has no way of avoiding his death bath, but not for a lack of trying. His animations are wilder than ever, even though his head and hands are all that move.
The eerie, yet unmistakable sound of a bone breaking echoes throughout the room. Mike's face surges into an expression of the grotesque pain he's caused himself while trying to break free.
The empty gasoline container gets tossed away. Peter takes a few steps away from Mike, then turns to face him. He reaches into the breast pocked of his coat and dons a pair of sunglasses. Extreme CLOSE UP of Peter's glasses.
Mike, as well as Angie and Kevin, can be seen in the reflection of the glasses. Mike continues his desperate attempt to escape. The undeniable SOUND of the "click and flick" of a Zippo lighter takes control of the moment.
PETER
(calmly)
Checkmate.
In the reflection of Peter's glasses, the lit Zippo sails delicately into Mike's lap. He instantaneously BURSTS into a roaring blaze of flames. Death takes on a new meaning as Mike explodes into a display of immeasurable torture. Though his mouth is taped, his cries of agony are clearly heard.
Peter stands perfectly still and consumes the triumphant moment of his work for what seems to be an eternity. As Mike's agony rages on, slowly FADE OUT his audible cries of pain. Through Peter's glasses, Mike now burns in SILENCE.
PETER (V.O.)
(echo)
You've done your part. I'll take it from here.
MAN (V.O.)
(echo)
Enjoy your game.
END
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