Archives
NEAR TO DARKNESS - script pages
INT. STUDY/BATHROOM/OLD HOUSE - NIGHT.
INTERCUT:
A CHILD’S fingers over the ivories of an ancient piano.
ROB (V.O.)
She had carried a torch for him like one might shoulder a burden.
A derelict house, a faded “For Sale” sign in the front garden.
ROB (V.O.)
That crown of thorns wept salty red tears--
Blood spots in an avocado bathroom sink, drop by drop.
ROB (V.O.)
Stinging her eyes, blinding her.
A young girl with haunted eyes, MELISSA, 12, starts, looks up from the piano, shrinks away from something...
ROB
Yet not letting her realise--
A bathroom mirrored cabinet closes - reveals the red eyes of ROB HEYWARD, 22.
ROB
--Could this not be love?
He smiles, rueful, at his own reflection, the self-made marks on his forearm. The tap spurts, washes blood away.
ROB (V.O.)
Love is not only desire, nor is it a meeting of minds, nor is it just The Excuse, but all of it.
Another blade - a large steel kitchen knife. It scrapes, rasps, against a piano lid. A word - HELP.
ROB (V.O.)
Her bitter heart! How she had scorned him, forgotten love like a child forgets fairy tales in its anxiousness to grow up.
A hammer, raised above shoulder height, looms over the piano keys, starts to fall...
ROB (V.O.)
Yet if this hell exists--
The piano board disintegrates under the hammer blow, a cacophony of sound. Keys, wood, fly up in the air...
INT. UNIVERSITY SEMINAR ROOM - DAY.
A circle of chairs, a STUDENT in each - ripped denims, polka dots, perms and pink reveal 1980’s fashion.
ROB
--How cannot love?
Silence. ALL stare at Rob, a would-be member of The Cure. He stands, paper in hand, affects an assured bow, smiles.
A female, middle-aged LECTURER shifts in her chair, uncomfortable. She taps a pencil on her teeth, sighs.
LECTURER
Metering needs some work.
Rob’s face falls.
INT. UNIVERSITY CORRIDOR - DAY.
Rob tramps down the corridor, mutters under his breath, barges his way through congregations of PEOPLE in the way.
Christmas decorations adorn every available wallspace. A GIRL, mistletoe above her head, puckers her lips at Rob.
MISTLETOE GIRL
Hey, Goth! Cheer up! Give us a kiss for Christmas!
ROB
Piss off.
MISTLETOE GIRL
It’s the last day of term!
HOLLY (O.S.)
Rob! Wait up!
HOLLY, 18, a plump puppy dog of a girl, bounds up behind Rob, grabs his shoulder.
HOLLY
Rob! I waited for you. They like your poem?
Rob hangs his head.
HOLLY
Oh Rob! They’re bloody philistines.
ROB
Tell me about it.
HOLLY
I thought it was beautiful. If I was Melissa--
ROB
--Yeah, well. Anyway. You have taste.
HOLLY
Let’s go down The Union, have a few before tonight. I’m buying?
ROB
I can’t, I said I’d help Mum put the bloody tree up--
He watches the Mistletoe Girl accost yet another YOUNG MAN in the corridor, he gives her a smacker on the lips. The CROWD applaud.
ROB
--Actually, yeah. Let’s do it.
INT. INSTORE - DAY.
Melissa, 20, a petite brunette with tinsel in her hair, lolls on a Formica shop counter-top, stares at an over-sized florescent clock.
JENNY, 16, short and ginger with gappy teeth, dumps a box of Christmas decorations on the floor nearby.
JENNY
Not time to go yet.
Melissa starts. Beyond her the store stretches out in chaotic display - an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink outfit.
JENNY
Sorry! Didn’t mean to make you jump.
MELISSA
I didn’t!
JENNY
Alright! Touchy today, aren’t we?
Jenny turns toward the shelf, grabs stuff from the box.
JENNY
(Under her breath)
So what’s new?
INT. MELISSA’S FLAT - NIGHT.
(INTERCUT - FLASHBACK)
The bed shakes. Muffled voices from next door. A baby cries.
Melissa lies back on the bed, Rob on top of her. They kiss, move backwards and forwards, in rhythm. The bed frame squeaks in time with them.
The doorbell rings. Rob stops, leans on his elbows.
ROB
You know, we really ought to get a place of our own.
Suddenly Rob - gone. Only crumpled bed clothes remain.
(END FLASHBACK)
Melissa - across the other side of the room, fully clothed. She stares at the bed.
The doorbell rings again, jolts her from her reverie.
MELISSA
Coming, coming--
She walks through from the bedroom...
INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT.
The door opens, reveals CHRIS, 22, the type of lad you can imagine middle-aged already. He smiles, awkward.
MELISSA
Hi, Chris.
CHRIS
Melissa. You look, er, nice.
MELISSA
Thanks.
Chris steps across the threshold, shuts the door.
CHRIS
You ready yet?
MELISSA
Not quite.
She goes back into the bedroom. Chris lingers in the hallway.
CHRIS
You know, we don’t have to go?
MELISSA (O.S)
I want to.
CHRIS
We could, you know - stay in.
Melissa reappears. Chris grabs her, draws her to him.
CHRIS
In fact, staying in might be just what we need--
Melissa disentangles herself.
MELISSA
You know what they say - good things come to those who wait.
CHRIS
Except I’ve been waiting six sodding weeks Melissa.
MELISSA
Is that meant to make me change my mind?
Chris sighs, opens the door for her.
MELISSA
Thank you.
The door slams shut behind them.
INT. ROB’S PARENTS’ HOUSE - NIGHT.
A needle jumps on a record player, the turntable goes round and round, plays nothing. Morrissey stares, vacant, from one wall. Incense burns.
Rob takes a cigarette from an ashtray, relights it, grabs a half-drunk can of lager.
A picture, next to the ashtray - him and Melissa, arms wrapped round each other, a cliche. He turns it over.
He clumps out of the room, a trail of smoke behind him...
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT.
...Rob vaults over the end of the balconied stairs, lands in the living room - narrowly misses BILL, 50, a veritable suburban Popeye, short and tattooed.
BILL
Jesus Christ!
ROB
Nearly got you then, Bill - I’ll aim more carefully next time.
A Christmas tree in full regalia stands in the corner.
ROB
You got the tree up, then?
AMANDA
No thanks to you.
AMANDA, a tired forty-something, stares at the TV, remote in hand. Bill approaches Rob, recoils.
BILL
You stink of booze already.
ROB
It’s the last day of term! And Christmas!
AMANDA
(Sarcastic)
Oh, didn’t you know Bill, we should be grateful he graced us with his presence at all today by coming back to get changed?
ROB
Don’t be so uptight!
He grabs his leather jacket.
BILL
We’re just going to let him go, are we?
AMANDA
Child psychologists say to ignore this sort of thing. They grow out of it eventually.
BILL
Can I point out he’s not a child?
ROB
Can I point out you’re not my Dad? Chill!
Rob grins, leans down and kisses his mother on the cheek.
BILL
Where are you going?
ROB
Out.
BILL
I can see that! Where?
ROB
You know, the usual - drinking, gambling, dealing drugs, might pick up a few ho’s--
AMANDA
Have a nice time.
The door slams behind Rob.
bang2write at 08:41:00 o'clock GMT Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | 
digg this
-
Hey Lucy:
Your script excerpt is freaking awesome. I love your script excerpt so much that I'm inspired to repost mine. I am going to have to come to terms with my personality idosyncrasies and such.
So my comments for you are *AWESOME* dialogue, characterization, action and story.
The only negative critical feedback is that I find reading the *intercut* scenes terribly difficult. It would be an easier read if you wrote those parts up traditionally, with sluglines, action, and dialogue, which I know is time consuming, but would require less brainwork on the part of the reader.
Smiles, MaGic & Writing FLOW to you,
Hadassah
H. Raven Rose
Ps. Your dialogue makes me incredibly aware of the difference between American and British slang and language, quite interesting. -
Um, thanks... I think! ; )
Intercutting is a useful device in my opinion, it helps get the exposition up and running quickly and efficiently. Also, in this increasingly media literate age it keeps the audience guessing as to significance: why have Melissa and Rob split up? Why is Melissa so uptight? Why is Rob a self indulgent self harmer? Worst thing in the world is watching something which you JUST KNOW is going to pan out in a particular way.
As for the synopsis being convoluted, I can assure you there is a point behind it. It also follows quite a logical pattern if you look at it again: a logline, followed by a comparison (to anchor readers' understanding of what the piece is like - genre, arena, etc), followed by some story information, followed by a summing up of what can be expected from the piece as a whole. This is how I was taught to write synopses and I now teach them this way myself: I think it's a good, efficient formula (for want of a better word!).
Whilst I haven't sold N2D yet (and maybe I never will, but it does remain a trusty "calling card" spec, readers do remember it), I have received praise for this synopsis - lots of people have confessed to liking it even when they haven't liked the draft, like SW Screen in fact (see my posting yesterday!) -
A self-mutilating poet...hm - you don't happen to know a guy by the name of Len Archibald, do you?
I can't really tell by the little bit that's up, but....of the script pages...to be honest, you're doing a lot of intercutting. I wouldn't. I don't 'get' much besides confusion until the last scene you've got up.
As for the synopsis - again, the initial impression is convoluted - more for the sake of it than for genuine complications.
It sounds like I feel right now about KL...:)
I'd be happy to do a read through and comment...for educational purposes (mine).
-
Okay, chick, sent you a review via email.
Thanks for sharing your 80s psycho-rom-drama-com.
20/03/06 09:45
Thanks for the feedback, will check out CHA-CHING just as soon as I get the chance over at WRITING FLOW (as can anyone else, link on the left at the very top of "other journals").
Interesting what you say about the "intercuts" - I never used to write like this until I was advised to do so as it apparently gave a better indication of the time flow of the scene, the traditional one-minute-per-page etc. The fact I like to use so many kind of MTV-style images all in one seems to work with it on the page to me, though opinions seem divided about it being difficult to read, as you say. Interesting! Definitely something I need to reflect on I think - perhaps labelling it as "montage" rather than "intercut" would help, and a bit of re-structuring accordingly...