NYC Midnight challenge round 3

Somehow, I managed to land in the middle of my group last round, and squeak by into the next one.

Of course, I thought it was going to be this coming weekend - and Yahoo glitched and held my mail from Thursday night through Saturday night... so I didn't even read that I had made it until Sunday am. I had to think of an idea at work, and come home and write it in a couple of hours.

Though, really, 2-3 hours seems to be par for this course. I always end up writing the script in about that time.

This one went more smoothly, as it was a more comfortable genre and setting for me: Fantasy in a Cemetery. The object was a first aid kit.

I uploaded to Google docs, since some folks find the Scrippets format hard to read for more than a few lines.

I had fun. Let me know what you think. Cemetery Lanterns

NYC Midnight challenge round 2

Genre: Comedy
Setting: The North Pole
Object: Crutches



Pole to Pole

FADE IN

INT. TV STUDIO - DAY

CHRISTINE, a perfectly coifed Asian woman in a tropical print dress addresses the camera.

CHRISTINE

They've made it to the finals. Our Pole-to-Pole contestants have traveled for hours, and now arrive at their secret destination.

Behind her, a huge screen shows brightly a painted helicopter landing on a vast expanse of ice. A CREW MEMBER opens the door, and helps 4 CONTESTANTS step out. They wear blindfolds.

EXT. THE NORTH POLE - DAY

CAMERA OPERATORS, MIC OPERATORS and CREW swirl around the helicopters.

The 4 blindfolded contestants, 2 men, 2 women, are taken by the hand and walked to a flag stuck in the ice.

They stand there, attempting to look heroic.

In the background, a head in a pointed cap pops up from a crack in the ice. No one sees it, and it ducks away again.

Trucks and generators are all on one side, leaving the view behind the contestants empty and imposing.

THE DP walks out from one of the trucks, and shouts

THE DP

And...cut. Keep your blindfolds on. Stay in place, OK.

The contestants are bundled up in fashionable gear.

TOM, late-30s, square-jawed and not much over 5'2", flaps his arms across his chest.

TOM

Fuck it's colder than a witch's tit out here.

BRANDI, 21, with blonde braids and cocoa skin, tilts her head, and puts her hands on her hips.

BRANDI

Are you for real? Who says that?

TOM

Hey, can you fucking guys get it together? Are we ready to proceed here already?

The camera operators huddle together. They ignore Tom.

CHAD, mid-20s, tall with dark hair, is shifting back and forth, and tugging at the neck of his coat.

CHAD

Where are we? I didn't think anyplace was this cold in July.

STEPHANIE, late-20s, perks up.

STEPHANIE

Actually, the seasons in the southern hemisphere are reversed. They must have brought us south of the equator.

She tilts her head back, trying to see under her blindfold.

INT. TV STUDIO - DAY

CHRISTINE

Unbeknownst to our finalists, one camera has continued to film them.

On the video screen:

TOM

All I know is this [beep]-ing place is [beep]-ing cold and I'm [beep] [beep] that this is taking so [beep]-ing long.

BRANDI

What is it with you and that mouth?

CHAD

I just hope this doesn't chap my skin. I don't want my cheeks to be all red.

EXT. THE NORTH POLE - DAY

The DP approaches, camera and crew move back in place.

THE DP

All right, folks, we're going again. And five, four, three

He motions 2 and 1.

The contestants put on their game faces again.

One of the boom operaters seems to have shrunk in size. And... are his ears pointed?

The contestants pull off their blindfolds with clumsy, frozen fingers. They look around.

TOM

Well, I'll be f....

He looks at the camera a moment.

TOM

...a monkey's uncle.

BRANDI

You have a serious problem. I don't know what kind, but you got it.

CHAD

We're...nowhere.

He spins in a circle.

Stephanie pulls a compass out of a pocket.

She excitedly steps up and down, and starts bouncing around.

STEPHANIE

This is so cool! Do you know where we are?

The others just look at her.

STEPHANIE

The North Pole!

CHAD

Where are the elves?

Brandi rolls her eyes.

The tiny boom operator slowly backs away, and slips away from the crew. An ASSISTANT carrying coffee sees him, and his jaw drops.

INT. TV STUDIO - DAY

Christine walks over to a stage with a stripper pole, and the logo "Pole to Pole".

CHRISTINE

They've danced all over the world. Now, our contestants must dance in freezing temperatures, on a pole at the North Pole.

INT. LARGE YURT - DAY

The floor is ice. Chairs are set up in front of a small stage with a stripper pole. Heaters are set around the stage.

The contestants stand in front of it staring.

STEPHANIE

I suppose the pole might be warm enough once the heaters get going.

TOM

Fuck this.

He stops out of the tent.

CHAD

I never understood how that troll made it this far.

EXT. THE NORTH POLE - DAY

Tom stomps past the crew trucks, muttering. Something catches his eye. He goes to a crack in the ice, and suddenly the elf reaches up, grabs his ankle, and pulls him down.

He gets stuck a moment at chest height, struggling to pull himself back out. Then stops.

TOM

Fuck me.

He disappears from sight.

INT. LARGE YURT - DAY

The other three contestants are at a sound board, getting their songs ready to go.

The elf darts out, holding a pot, and runs to the stage. He smears something greasy on the pole.

INT. LARGE YURT - LATER

A small audience hoots and hollers, while music plays.

Chad stretches, to the side of the stage, with big movements designed to draw attention. Stephanie hobbles on crutches.

Brandi, in a sexy dress, tries to dance, but can't get any friction on the pole. Every time she tries to climb up it, she slips down fast.

The audience boos.

She makes one last desperate attempt, flinging her legs upward, and wrapping them around the pole - only to slide down and land hard on her butt.

BRANDI

Someone greased this pole.

She hobbles off the stage, fuming.

Chad steps up, rips open his coat, and flings himself at the pole, trying to swing around it. His hand slips off, and he ends up falling off the other side of the stage.

CHAD

Ow. Not fair.

Suddenly, Tom walks in, wearing shades. But...he's even shorter. And his clothes are baggy. It's the elf.

The other contestants stare.

ELF

Fucking cue my goddamn music, bitches.

A moment of dead silence, and then a song starts.

The elf hops onto the stage, and whips off his scarf. He wraps it around the pole, and shimmies as he rubs it up and down, cleaning the pole.

Off come the hat and sunglasses. The audience gasps.

INT. TV STUDIO - DAY

On the big screen behind Christine, Tom, Brandi, and Stephanie sit in the yurt, bandaged. Stephanie's crutches are beside her.

CHRISTINE

And now, based on your votes from all across the nation, our first Pole-to-Pole champion!

The elf comes out, wearing nothing but a tiny thong and shades. He looks like a male model - shrunk in the wash, with pointy ears.

ELF

Thank you! Ever since the workshop branched out into adult toys, this has been my dream.

He takes a bow.

FADE OUT

The Lie that Tells

Art is a lie but a lie that tells the truth.
- Pablo Picasso

In real life, how often do we address the truth directly? Do we discuss what personal history makes us act as we do? Do we bare our feelings? Do we admit our wrongdoings? How often do we even stop to examine these things? And does not examining them usually require a stop from the movement and action of our lives?

OK, yes - as artists, most of us probably engage in far more examination of truth, history, and motive than the average person. But most people (I have come to realize from the blank stares I sometimes get in attempting to start conversations on such matters) rarely think, much less speak, about such things.

In fact, I've dated men who act like the question, "Why?" was not even in their vocabulary, and who genuinely had never in their lives thought to question their motivations.

This is vitally important to understand when you are writing a screenplay. We must know the truth behind our story, the history of our characters, their feelings and wrongdoings... but they must rarely, if ever, speak of these things directly. Instead, they inform the choices and actions our characters take.

To discuss these truths too openly will make your story ring false.

I was reminded of this during last week's episode of NCIS. The team had a man in interrogation. At first, he lied, to avoid the consequences of his actions. His ranged from tone was matter-of-fact and casual to offended and outraged. Then, after further questioning - his tone changed and became more urgent. One of the observing characters noted that he was probably telling the truth because he was not pausing before answering, his answers were not overly elaborated.

This made me think: to communicate a believable truth in my writing, I need the character to have a sense of urgency, to act without hesitation, and to show things simply without excessive elaboration. (Think action movie)

And, to the opposite effect, if I want to communicate avoidance of truth (which is sometimes the whole point of a story) I should slow down the pace, add hesitation, and elaborate at length - particularly over irrelevant details. (Think drawing room drama)

In either case, however, the characters show or avoid the truth through their behavior and the tone of the dialogue - not through specifically speaking about it. Speaking about truth quickly becomes either pedantic and preachy or like watching a video of someone's therapy session.

There is an excellent post here examining some specific cases.


I will add, finally, that there can be times in a screenplay to reverse the rule and have a character directly speak a truth that's been only implied up to that point.

One use is comedy. Highlighting an aspect of a relationship or action that the characters involved have been avoiding. "Get a room already, you two." Best done by a tertiary or minor character (so as not to disrupt the primary relationships). A good example was also this last episode of NCIS, when a someone referred to one of the characters as a sidekick. This then played out through the rest of the episode in small comedic actions as this character attempted to step out of that role...but was not addressed directly again. Some screenplays even have a "fool" character whose role is primarily to say that thing that everyone is thinking but won't address.

Another use is the turning point, especially the mid-point. When the character is at their wit's end, and cannot figure out what else to do, they might have a moment of reflection in which they examine, find, and possibly even articulate their real motivations. The "a-ha" moment that gets them moving again and gives them the strength to face the rest of the challenges the story will throw at them. Just... keep it brief. Like the soldier being interrogated, they should speak the truth simply and with urgency.

Not to say there is no place in art for lengthy internal examination. Novels are an excellent medium for this. Film, however, is an external art. Moving pictures are most engaging when they are, well, moving.

Lemons: A Love Story

FADE IN

EXT. CORNER OF HILLTOP AND GROVE - DAY

Hilltop and Grove, the intersection of two streets that cut through open fields of tall grass and wild sunflowers. On one side perches a small bench, protected from the sun by a shingled hutch. A small metal sign marks it as a bus stop.

Across the street is a smug ranch home with a neat green lawn, tight beds of primroses and pansies, and a lemon tree bearing small yellow-green fruit. An short, open lattice fence defines the little patch of civilization.

Across one of the fields, a boy and a girl come running. MELISSA, in denim cutoffs and a red gingham shirt, is in the lead. TOM, in baggy overalls, closes the gap as they reach the bus stop. The pair are about ten years old.

MELISSA

I dare you to go pick lemons off that tree.

She twirls one of her short braids, adorned with gingham ribbons, in awkward imitation of a flirtatious older girl.

TOM

They aren't hardly even ripe, Mel.

MELISSA

Tommy Morgan, I think you're afraid of old Grumps.

TOM

Yeah, well, you think right.

MELISSA

He's just one old man.

She saunters into the road, heading for the yard.

TOM

Mel, don't. Are you crazy?

MELISSA

I was gonna make you lemonade, but now I will jus hafta keep it all for myself.

He runs toward her, but she's already scrambled over the fence. He stops at the barrier.

Melissa jumps up and grabs a lemon off the tree.

From the shadowed front stoop emerges the barrel of a shotgun followed closely by old MR. SIMMONS.

MR. SIMMONS

I told you damn kids, stay offa my property.

Tom freezes. The blood runs out of his face.

Melissa passes him, waving the purloined lemon in his face. One of her hair ribbons falls to the ground.

MR. SIMMONS

Thieves!

He fires the shotgun into the air.

Tom snaps back to himself. Starts to run, but turns back and reaches through the lattice to pick up the lost ribbon, then runs past the bus stop, back across the fields.

EXT. CORNER OF HILLTOP AND GROVE - DAY

Same corner, but a few of the fields have been replaced with homes. Long ranch-style homes mostly, with expansive lawns.

The bus stop shed is weathered and grey.

Tom, now 17, sits on the bench reading a book. His clothes still look too big on his skinny frame.

Melissa walks up, her hair cut like Farrah Fawcett. A TEENAGE BOY hangs out the door of an orange Pinto that rolls past.

TEENAGE BOY

Who woulda thought Mel would grow up into Mel-iss-a.

MELISSA

Oh, shush.

She flips her hair, flirtatiously. The car revs its engine and zooms away.

TOM

Hello, Melissa.

MELISSA

Oh, hi Tom.

She barely looks his way, watching the Pinto as it does doughnuts in an empty lot.

A bee lands in her hair.

TOM

Um, Melissa.

She waves him off, without turning to look at him.

He pulls a red gingham ribbon from the back of the book, and marks his place.

TOM

Mel, there's a...

He stands, and reaches up to wave the bee away, but before he can, she runs a hand through her hair.

Her eyes get very wide.

MELISSA

Oooh, CRAP. Oh shit.

TOM

I'm sorry, I tried to... there was a bee.

She waves her hand, and the sting swells up.

TOM

I know something that can help.

He looks across to the lemon tree in Mr. Simmon's yard, now just visible over a tall whitewashed fence.

He gets a running start, and manages to get over it, leaving black scuffs on the paint.

A dog barks when he lands on the other side. The tree rustles.

Tom's head pops over the fence. He loses his grip and falls.

The dog growls, and there are sounds of a scuffle.

Tom scrambles back across, his pant leg now torn at the hem.

MELISSA

Tom, are you OK?

She blows on her bee sting, and winces.

He holds up a lemon.

TOM

These can help relieve a bee sting.

He pulls out a Swiss army knife, and cuts the lemon.

Gently lifting her hand, he rubs the juice onto the sting.

MELISSA

When did you get so brave, Tom Morgan?

Melissa beams at him.

EXT. CORNER OF HILLTOP AND GROVE - DAY

The wood hutch at the bus stop has been replaced by a concrete shelter. The fields are now entirely replaced by houses, small and close. The paint on Mr. Simmon's fence is worn.

Tom, 24, carries a briefcase as he waits on the bus. His clothes not only finally fit, but are a little tight across his muscular arms and thighs.

A car pulls up, a LITTLE GIRL in the passenger side.

Melissa gets out of the car, and smacks the roof. Her Farrah hair has been replaced with a poodle perm and bandanna.

MELISSA

Is that you, Tom Morgan?

Tom cocks his head, and takes her in.

TOM

Melissa? Well, it's been...I haven't seen you went to college.

MELISSA

Yeah. Just visiting the folks. Had no idea you were back here.

TOM

Never left.

Melissa takes him in a long moment, then nods to the child.

MELISSA

Came to show my daughter my favorite lemon tree.

The little girl is climbing through the car window.

TOM

Oh? Well, hello. What's your name?

LITTLE GIRL

Jessica. I'm this many.

She holds 6 fingers in front of her face.

TOM

Wow, you're 6.

He looks at Melissa, and back at the little girl.

A car screeches around the corner.

Tom grabs Jessica and pulls her from the car as it crumples from the impact. Melissa is knocked back and out of sight.

The girl's scream pierces the air.

EXT. CORNER OF HILLTOP AND GROVE - DAY

Trees are grown tall, and the bus stop has been spray-painted by gangs. The bench is missing a plank.

Beside the concrete shelter a cross is in the ground, tied with a worn gingham ribbon.

A middle-aged Tom, bends down, takes off the old ribbon, and replaces it with a fresh one. He steps back a few paces, wipes sweat from his brow, and looks up at the sun.

A car pulls up. It idles a moment, then stops. A YOUNG WOMAN steps out, wearing a dark suit.

She goes to the cross, and sets a candle at the base.

Tom watches her light it.

TOM

Jessica?

She turns slowly, and nods.

YOUNG WOMAN/JESSICA

Tom Morgan?

Tom nods yes.

JESSICA

You were there.

TOM

Yes, I was.

JESSICA

I was going through old papers, and. Mom never told me, but I think you may be... might be my...

Tom nods.

TOM

Tell you what. Why don't you come inside for some lemonade, and we can talk.

He gestures across the street, where a new mailbox is labelled "MORGAN". They cross, he opens the gate, and they disappear into the yard.

FADE OUT

Done!

Well, I did it.
Stuck with the micro-epic screenplay idea.


Very interested in the feedback on this one. I enjoyed writing it, but is it any good?

Will post it as soon as I get confirmation from the contest organizers that it's good to go.

An Epic in 5 Pages (or less)??

I must be crazy, but I am actually attempting to write a story that spans 35 years and two generations in my short screenplay challenge.

AND (the crazy part is) I think it will work.

Surfacing - Second Life, Role Playing Games, a new (old) challenge

Sometimes I just need to shut off for a while. Sometimes that while is several months. So I've been engaging in hours of mindless and sometimes downright filthy activity through various avatars in Second Life.

What I learned there is that even the most detailed carefully constructed characters (some of my avatars ROCK), set in the most fascinating and detailed environments (some the the SIMs are very well imagined and meticulously designed) are still boring if nothing happens to them.

You can go out and try to make things happen, but initiating action only goes so far if the responses are uninventive or poorly executed. Really, very few people can get the hang of role playing when the animation isn't doing all the work.

So, I return now to writing one month before my 40th birthday (when the fuck did I get that old??) and just in time for the NYC Midnight screenwriting challenge.

I got open genre for my first assignment, with a bus stop for the setting, and "a lemon" for the object. Ya know, I've sat at many bus stops, in multiple countries over the years, because I didn't learn to drive until I was 32. Yet there is one particular stop that comes to mind above all with three or four others close behind.

Well, I have an idea... off to create enough conflict to make my 5 pages or less sing!