necksnappers

An original screenplay by Wentworth Miller

 All rights reserved.

No part of this material may be used or reproduced without

written permission. For information address ICM Partners 10250
Constellation Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90067.

Pub. September 5, 2021. USA.

For Thursday AM.
 necksnappers

by Wentworth Miller
06/17/21

WGA Registration #2122108

Black screen. A VOICE like silk over steel:

BRU (V.O.)
Name’s Bru.

A rasp of a GIGGLE... Womanly yet girlish, inscrutable +

familiar at the same time...

BRU (V.O.)
Short for Brutal.

BLISTER-SHOCK-CUT to City. Night. Sidewalk. We’re DOWN LOW,

bellies to the ground, TRAILING scuffed-to-shit LOUBOUTINS
moving at a STEADY CLIP. Someone’s in a hurry...

BRU (V.O.)
Better keep up. Places to be.

SLOW-STALK-CRAWL-UP the longest pair of legs you’ve ever

seen, landing on an apple of an ass in a slip of a dress...

BRU (V.O.)
Hey. You.

CREEP-PAN-UP past a multicolored CAPELET made of string? fur?

muppets? as BRU finally throws a LOOK BACK TO CAMERA...

BRU
I’m up here.

A WINK and she’s down the street, no time to waste...

BRU (V.O.)
You and me? Places to be.

CAFFEINATED-EDITOR-CUTS OF SKID ROW, downtown LA in the mid-

90s. The place Valley girls don’t come... Until they do.

BRU (V.O.)
I said that already.
(giggling)
Whatevs.

BACK TO BRU... Cut-glass cheekbones + powdered face, cupid

bow mouth painted acid pank. Coco Chanel meets anime meets
Marie Antoinette meets End Of Daze... Hair every which way.
Chunks. Streaks. Weaves. Whatevs.

BRU (V.O.)
In these streets? Anything goes.
(beat)
But I am partial to a high pony.

CHOP-BANG-CUT + Bru’s got a HIGH PONY. Length? Impossible.

Split endz GRAZING the concrete like a horse tail, RAKING
syringes + cigarette butts...
 2.

BRU (V.O.)
Truth? Kinda gets in the way.

Suddenly Bru LEAPS from the sidewalk, LANDS ATOP A MOVING

TAXI! SKKKKRT! SQUEAL! HONK! CU on stilettos pounding INKY
BLACK DOTS across YELLOW METAL, Louboutins STALKING past her
OWN FUCKING FACE on a taxi top ad for a perfume you can’t
afford before she AERIALS into the street, SWIRLS into
ACTION, high pony FLIPPING + FLYING! THE FUCK!?! GIGGLING -

BRU (V.O.)
This is the part where you ask me
what. “In the way of what, Bru?”

SCREAMING-CROW-SHOT DOWN FROM THE DARK CLOUDS ABOVE LA THRU

THE TOWERS, TURDS, DREAMERS AND DEAD-TO-DREAMS, CHUNNELING
ALONG A RAIN-SOAKED STREET PAST STOPPED TRAFFIC PEOPLE
GETTIN’ OUTTA CARS LIKE WHAT’S GOIN’ ON SOMETHIN’ BAD MAN
SOMETHIN’ YOU DON’T WANNA SEE BUT YA KINDA DO... RIGHT ON
THRU A WHIRL OF HAIR, HIGH KICKS AND BODY SLAMS AS BRU COMES
UP NICE ‘N’ TIGHT BEHIND A BALD BADDIE IN A BLACK SUIT AND
GOVERNMENT SHADES... A LOVER’S EMBRACE... ‘CEPT NOT...

Another WINK -

BRU
Snappin’ necks.

SNAPS his FUCKING NECK! CRACK! Drops his body like DOLLARS!

CU on an ELDERLY CABBIE (Black, male) watching in horror...

Bru gives him a look. Dude was A Bad Guy. Let it go, man...
Let. It. Go. Then she’s gone...

Nah. She was never there to begin with...

CUT TO DUBAI/SHREVEPORT. Different nite/same shite. Find Bru

in a plaid skirt + thigh-high leather BOOTS the color of a
summer sky in Hengdian, SPINNING LIKE A TOP IN THE MIDDLE OF
THE FUCKING CAZZ-BAH, HOLDING A GUY OFF WITH A KNUCKLED HAND
TO HIS THROAT, BADDIE NUMBER 2 LOCKED UP TIGHT WITH HIS HEAD
BETWEEN HER THIGHS... LUCKY GUY... ‘CEPT NOT...

BRU (V.O.)
I know you wanna know...

BRU TWISTS HER TORSO JUST SO ‘n’ SCHLINK!!! CU ON SERRATED

STEEL STRIPS SPRINGING UP ON THE SIDE SEAMS OF BOTH BOOTS!!!

BRU (V.O.)
Dyin’ to ask...

CU ON THE BADDIE BETWEEN HER LEGS. UH-OH. NO ROOM AT THE INN!

BRU (V.O.)
Business or pleasure?
 3.

BADDIE
Please... I have three chil-

GIGGLE-SCHLICE ‘N’ SCHLINK!!! BRU REMOVES HIS HEAD FROM HIS

F’KING BODY, WATCHES IT BOUNCE DOWN THE LANE LIKE A BOWLING
BALL, LOCAL COLOR SCATTERING LIKE PINS... SCREAMS. CHAOS.

BRU (V.O.)
Fuck your binary.

BRU grins that gap-toothed GRIN, reaches for her otha LOVAH!

HE BREAKS LOOSE!!! FLEES DOWN AN ALLEY SHITTIN’ HIS PANTS

LIKE AIN’T THIS SOME SHIT!?! HITS A BRICK WALL DUDE GAME
OVER... SPINS, CATCHES SOMETHIN’ FROM THE CORNER OF HIS EYE,
SPINS AGAIN... NUTHIN’... LOOKIN’ LIKE A FOOL BRO WELCOME TO
THE BRU-HAHA... JOKE’S ON YOU!!! DUDE’S SPINNIN’ AND SPITTIN’
LIKE A SPITROAST FINDS BRU UP IN HIS KISSER!!! AS IF!!!

BRU
Peek-a-Bru.

WHAM! BAM! GOTTA-PISS-CLENCH-CUT TO NECK SNAPPIN’!!!

SLOP-SLAP-CUT TO TORONTO’S DANK UNDERBELLY... THIS IS NO

MAN’S LAND, MAN... Dat Place... Dat Place you shoot movies
about zombies + cash checks... No names, no questions...

What is the nature of shame?

WE’RE LOITERING BELOW A RATTY AWNING AS RATS SCURRY, LOOKIN’

FOR TROUBLE AND OUR GIRL BRU... THE FUCK IS SHE!?! Wherever
she is she is white btw. What you pictured? Assumed? Unless
you were told different? BACK TO IT!!!

BRU (V.O.)
Sometimes I fly solo.

WE HEAR HER BEFORE WE SEE HER AS BRU PLUMMETS TO EARTH, TEARS

THRU THE AWNING ‘N’ HITS THE GROUND HARD, FOUR BALD BADDIES
CLINGIN’ LIKE FLEAS!!! USES ONE TO BREAK HER FALL, DEATH
DROPS OVER HIS F’KING BODY!!! SPINE? CRACKED! SKULL? OPEN!

BRU (V.O.)
Sometimes I bring a friend.

BLACK SUITS RUSH IN FROM ALL DIRECTIONS!!! BRU LOOKS TO THE

FIRE ESCAPE ABOVE THEIR HEADS!!! GRINS DAT GRIN!!!

BRU (V.O.)
Or five.

HER POV: FIVE OF THE BADDEST BITCHES I CANNOT BE BOTHERED TO

DESCRIBE EXCEPT 1 IS ASIAN, 2 ARE BLACK/BROWN AND THE FOURTH
COULD BE... WHITE-PASSING? MAYBE? Oops... forgot one!!! “Any
ethnicity” in a straightjacket!!! But make it fashun!!!
 4.

THEY JUMP TO THE GROUND LIKE THE FIVE ANGELS OF THE DEATH OF
THE HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE THAT IS NOW... BRU to CAM-CAM:

BRU
Rude not to share.

MAYHEM AS BITCHES + BADDIES ENGAGE, BRU ROCKETING TO THE TOP

OF THE PILE LIKE A KAMIKAZE TO THE FUCKING MOON!!! FREEZE
FRAME!!! CU on BRU!!! Our girl!!! Still very much a girl...

BRU (V.O.)
People always ask me -

MAN (O.S.)
Hey. What’s all this?

CU on BRU!!! GLEEFUL!!! ALIVE TO THE FIGHT!!!

BRU (V.O.)
People always ask me... how -

MAN (O.S.)
This for a commercial?

Irritated but GLEEFUL!!!

BRU (V.O.)
I said people ALWAYS ask me... how
did I get here? How did -

MAN (O.S.)
They were shooting around the
corner last week. For diapers.

ALIVE TO THE FIGHT!!!

BRU (V.O.)
PEOPLE AL-

MAN (O.S.)
Any idea when you’ll be done? Or
“wrapped?” Parking’s already a
nightmare.

BRU UNFREEZES while the mass beneath her REMAINS MOTIONLESS,

turns her head to look across the street, royally PISSED...

BRU
I’m sorry, would you... can you
NOT? Please?

BRU’S POV: A MAN in a hoodie/jeans combo and generic kicks,

hands in his pockets, observing her...

BRU (CONT’D)
We’re FILMING here. We are trying
to film.
 5.

REVEAL around Bru the apparatus of a GIGANTIC TENTPOLE STUDIO

MOVIE, CAST/CREW FROZEN EXCEPT FOR BRU AND THE MAN WE’LL CALL
KICKS (20s, not white, handsome but not model handsome)...

KICKS
(waving)
Sorry!

BRU
THANK YOU! APPRECIATE YOUR
COOPERATION...
(under her breath)
Idiot.

Bru clears her throat, focuses, CONJURES THE FORCE OF NATURE

THAT IS BRU!!!

BRU (V.O.)
People always ask me -

KICKS (O.S.)
Who?

BREAKING AGAIN, reaching for politeness/professionalism this

idiot does not deserve -

BRU
DO YOU MIND!?!

KICKS
Sorry! It’s just you said, “People
always ask me” and...

BRU
AND?

KICKS
You didn’t specify who.

BRU
People! The people! They always ask
me! How did it come to this? How
did I get here?

KICKS
Where?

BRU
Here! To this! To Bru!

KICKS
Who’s “Bru?”

BRU
Me! I am Bru! This is my movie! My
story!
 6.

KICKS
Oh! Like an origin story.

BRU
Yes! And you are RUINING it...

Bru starts CLIMBING DOWN from the pile of FROZEN BITCHES AND
BADDIES, an awkward, graceless process... It’s all elbows +
armpits then she just starts SHOVING bodies out of the way...

At last Bru is free of the scrum, standing in the middle of

what we now see is a nondescript street in downtown Vancouver
just after 10 on a sunny Wednesday morning, utterly devoid of
atmosphere/mood/movie magic... Taking a deep BREATH -

BRU (CONT’D)
Do I... Look. Okay. Funny story - I
have a thing about men, some men,
who for whatever reason take it
upon themselves to start asking
women questions while we’re, I
dunno, reading? Working?

Light bulb going off -

KICKS
I’m bothering you.

Bru BLINKS. The space men need held.

BRU
Do I know you?

More about Kicks: No snark/banter/hidden undercurrents. Only

curiosity. Engagement. Openness.

KICKS
I am in the palm. In the palm of
the hand.

BRU
You’re in the palm. Okay.

KICKS
Can I ask you a question?

Bru LAUGHS like gears grinding.

BRU
Okay, I am... gonna smoke now.

As she goes thru the comforting ritual of LIGHTING UP -

KICKS
So is this... is this what you
always wanted to do? Like be a...
what are you, like a psychopath?
 7.

BRU
Sociopath.

KICKS
That’s different?

BRU
It’s different. There’s conflicting
theories? Born vs made? It’s a
debate.

KICKS
You researched this.

Jackass. Or is he? Whatevs.

BRU
Sociopaths are more sympathetic.

POINTING to the bitches in the scrum, doing the math -

KICKS
And these women, they are likewise
sociopaths? With origin stories to
which we will be sympathetic?

BRU
I guess? They... they don’t really
have stories. They’re necksnappers.

Kicks looks confused.

BRU (CONT’D)
“Necksnappers.” The name of the
movie.

KICKS
Ah.
(nodding, thoughtful)
Because it is essential we
sympathize with people who snap
necks.

BRU
Excuse me?

KICKS
Sorry - just seems to be the
conversation at the moment.
“Essential,” “nonessential”... I’m
assuming this is essential.

BRU
Yes. It is.

KICKS
People need this movie.
 8.

BRU
Yeah. They do.

KICKS
About necksnappers.

BRU
It’s cathartic. People enjoy
this... (shit). Or they wouldn’t
make them.

KICKS
“Give the people what they want.”

BRU
Exactly.

KICKS
And people want to watch sociopaths
snap necks because... they are also
sociopaths? Who wish to snap necks?

BRU
You know what? Bru? She’s more of -

KICKS
A bad guy?

BRU
An antihero.

KICKS
You’re not the star?

BRU
I am the star.

KICKS
But not the hero.

BRU
Not the traditional hero. No.

KICKS
Because a traditional hero...

BRU
I dunno... What? “Inspires?”

KICKS
Inspires. I like that.

BRU
Great. Good for you.

As Bru BLOWS a long stream (there is no stream long enough) -

 9.

KICKS
But you are inspiring people,
aren’t you? In your way?

BRU
Not really.

KICKS
To snap necks?

BRU
You’re overthinking it.

KICKS
Am I?

BRU
I snap necks but I have a good
heart.

KICKS
You do?

BRU
Yes. I do.

KICKS
But you get off on snapping necks.

BRU
Bru gets off. Not me personally.

KICKS
Bru, antihero, not traditional -

BRU
With a good heart -

KICKS
Gets off snapping necks.

BRU
They had it coming.

KICKS
Who?

BRU
The bad guys. The REAL bad guys.

KICKS
And people who sympathize with Bru -
who enjoy watching Bru snap necks -
they have good hearts too.

BRU
I don’t know what’s true for them.
 10.

KICKS
Unless you’re modeling it.

BRU
Modeling what?

KICKS
Truth - truths - about who we are.
How we are. People.

BRU
People don’t get their truths from
movies.

KICKS
Movies don’t model what a first
date looks like? A funeral? Job
interview? What to wear, drive,
what music to listen to, when to
listen to it -

BRU
People know not to take these
movies -

KICKS
Necksnappers -

BRU
Seriously. It’s eye candy.
Fireworks in the sky.

KICKS
And you’re the eye candy.

“Up in his face” if the actor so chooses -

BRU
This is a story about empowerment.
Little girl - on her own, screwed
over by the system - claws her way
to the top. Kicks ass, takes names,
and zero bullshit. Got it?

KICKS
Got it. You’re empowered now.

BRU
I am.

KICKS
This is empowerment.

BRU
It is.
 11.

KICKS
Little girl -

BRU
Yeah.

KICKS
Little psychopath -

BRU
Sociopath -

KICKS
Little girl gone sociopath -

BRU
They made her -

KICKS
The system -

BRU
Made her snap necks -

KICKS
It’s not her choice -

BRU
It IS her choice -

KICKS
Because she’s empowered. And...
feminist? A feminist?
(holding his hands up)
Don’t hate me.

BRU
Let’s not. Say we did.

KICKS
This. You. Bru. Snapping men’s
necks like a man. Is feminist.
Potentially. And what empowerment
looks like. While wearing... what
is that?

Bru’s wearing what looks like a bathing suit with a belt, and
a BRISTLING sea anemone trench designed by Iris van Herpen if
you could hire her but you cannot.

BRU
None of your business. It’s got
nothing to do with you. Okay? Not
everything is about catering to the
male fucking gaze.
 12.

KICKS
My pronouns are “they/them.” FYI.
You picked that out? That outfit?

BRU
This “outfit?” Wardrobe picked it.
I wore it because I chose to. And I
resent the interrogation. I do not
exist to be reviewed by you. Or
viewed. FYI.

KICKS
You’re not here to be viewed?

BRU
No.

KICKS
I count... 4 cameras? At least? You
never answered my question.

BRU
WHICH question?

KICKS
If you think your character -
characters like yours - inspires
people. To snap necks. Or
sympathize with those that do.

BRU
I think that’d be hard to prove.

KICKS
I agree. Hard to prove the cultural
impact of an endless stream of
ultraviolent comic book-like or
based entertainment targeting young
and/or immature audiences centering
characters - typically white, male,
straight, either moody/broody or
brilliant/obnoxious/snarky -
revealed to be “The Chosen One.”
The guy - it is usually a guy, the
ONLY guy - who can rescue our
collective asses. Every other
character - Black/brown/gay/female -
must tolerate manboy antics, grin
and bear insults/humiliations
and/or missed birthdays and
forgotten anniversaries while
keeping fingers crossed these
jackass princes step into their
kings and save the law firm-slash-
medical practice-slash-planet from
certain destruction.
(MORE)
 13.

KICKS (CONT'D)
It’d be hard to know, for sure, if
Hollywood’s relentless
telling/selling of this specific
narrative - written by straight
white men, directed, produced and
distributed by straight white men -
has helped create in the larger
culture an outrageously permissive,
unsustainably patient space for
unacceptable behavior and/or abuse
perpetrated by straight white men
who’d like the rest of us to accept
excuses must be made and
forgiveness granted because they’re
the only ones who can save humanity
from itself. That’d be difficult to
prove. I think.

Beat.

BRU
I DON’T WRITE THIS SHIT, OKAY?

KICKS
So you think this is shit.

BRU
FUCK YOU. You don’t get to judge
me. No. I won’t allow it.

KICKS
You’re an actor. You’ll allow all
kinds of things.

As Bru stares, they realize (at last) maybe switch gears?

KICKS (CONT’D)
I am too. Or used to be. An actor.
And I’m interested. In what’s true
for you.
(beat)
I care.

Hesitating... Finally -

BRU
If you HAVE to know... I wanted to
direct. Still do.
(steely)
And I will.

KICKS
Tell stories your way. Stories you
want to tell.

BRU
Yes. That.
 14.

KICKS
You want more...

BRU
Control.

KICKS
Control.

Kicks makes a tiny noise. “Hm.”

BRU
What?

KICKS
Nothing.

BRU
Sounds like something.

KICKS
It’s just all actors-turned-
directors say the same thing. They
all want more control.

BRU
That surprises you? Thought you
were an actor.
(slicing)
Used to be.

This isn’t a meet-cute. Still, they don’t appear sliced.

KICKS
When I hear people talk about
wanting more control I’m like,
“Hey. Hold up. Masculine energies
may be percolating...”

BRU
“Masculine energies?”

KICKS
Which I’m not dismissing. Or
slamming. Those can be enjoyable -

BRU
Wait -

KICKS
When they’re not, you know -

BRU
You lost me -

KICKS
Not enjoyable.
 15.

BRU
What are we talking about?

KICKS
“Controlling” the story as opposed
to “fathering” it. For example. But
you’ll do things your way.

BRU
I will.

KICKS
Be a different kind of director.

BRU
Correct.

KICKS
Banish the male gaze.

BRU
Correct.

KICKS
Replace it. With your own.

BRU
Ding ding ding. It’ll be ME
directing. I’ll be the one...

POINTING at the crane, frozen above the battle -

BRU (CONT’D)
Looking thru the lens.

KICKS
Instead of being looked at. What if
the male gaze is IN the lens?

BRU
IN the lens?

KICKS
Like, IN the camera. IS the camera.
Cameras.

Bru looks confused.

KICKS (CONT’D)
The “male gaze” is generally
understood to exist in 3 places -

BRU
The eyes of the male director, male
characters, and the intended male
audience. It manipulates THE CAMERA
to serve its agenda. To look.
 16.

KICKS
Cameras look.

BRU
Yes.

KICKS
Cameras eat.

BRU
No.

KICKS
Same as people. “Eye candy?” “Feast
for the eyes?”

BRU
That’s not -

KICKS
They’re predatory.

BRU
People?

KICKS
Cameras. Also patriarchal?

BRU
Not necessarily.

KICKS
“Hi, I’m the camera. I’m here to
frame you, filter you, seize you.
Capture you and exploit you.
Document you. Penetrate you.” That
doesn’t sound like your standard
colonialist-imperialist “how-to?”

BRU
I don’t want to accept that.

KICKS
Because then we’d have to accept it
may not matter who’s behind the
lens - Black/brown/gay/female - the
moment you put your eye to it
you’re basically Orson Welles.

BRU
Who?

OFF their silence -

BRU (CONT’D)
I’m kidding.
 17.

KICKS
You’re the director. Or will be.
Everything you see through the lens
will be yours to manage and move.
Get your fingerprints on. “Lose the
red table.” “Tell her to say the
line when the car goes by.” All of
it exists for your review. “Thumbs
up, thumbs down, I like it, I don’t
like it, I get it, I don’t get it,
if I don’t get it there’s nothing
to get or it’s not worth getting
and doesn’t make the cut. Snip
snip.” But like you said, you will
be different. You will father -

Bru’s not digging that.

KICKS (CONT’D)
Mother -

Or that.

KICKS (CONT’D)
Birth -

Try again.

KICKS (CONT’D)
Bring the story to life. Not
control it. Because control would
be compensation for previous
sacrifices/compromises and/or
payback for what was done to you.
Is being done to you. You will find
a way to refrain from politely or
not-so-politely fucking people with
your camera. Cameras.

Bru is absolutely in the middle of a second cigarette...

BRU
Yeah. That’s the plan.

KICKS
Good plan. I like it.

The moment lingers as a dog BARKS, a car HONKS. Atmo-y stuff.

Looking over Kicks’s shoulder -

BRU
Shit.

BRU’S POV: 30 ADULT MEN, every race/size/shape, lined up down

the street like a greek chorus... each armed with a LONG LENS
CAMERA currently pointed at the ground... They’ve been silent
until now, patient but alert, eyes on the prize...
 18.

GRINDING her smoke out under one heel -

BRU (CONT’D)
Paps are here.

The men clock Bru clocking them, simultaneously RAISE THEIR

CAMERAS like a row of stiffening cocks...

If that sounds obvious and disgusting it’s because it’s

obvious and disgusting... To Kicks, flat -

BRU (CONT’D)
Smile.

Neither does.

OFF Bru, who we’re leaving to fend for herself (for now)...

CUT TO BLACK

DING-DONG...

WIDE on LA from the Hills looking south, sky a dazzling blue

(it rained yesterday), sightlines uninterrupted...

DING-DONG...

It’s the view you get if you hike up Runyon or can afford to
live somewhere such things are enjoyed with breakfast...

DING-DONG...

Which is precisely where we find ourselves...

DING-DONG... Someone needs to answer that door...

Wearing a chic housecoat, SHE (50s, Black, crowned even when

no crown is present) sits reading the NYT in a minimally but
impeccably appointed Koenig, the aforementioned view her
backdrop...

Next to her, tea STEAMS in a porcelain cup on a matching

saucer on a tiny gilt table that once knew Versailles...

O.S. we hear the front door OPENING...

MAN (O.S.)
Knock-knock! Hello? Hiiii!

Over her shoulder, past the Noguchi (marble, unknowable),

discreet in the BG, are shelves lined with AWARDS...

We see Oscars plural...

MAN (O.S.) (CONT’D)

I’m letting myself in!
 19.

CHUCKS enters in a sweater, jeans, and limited ed. Chucks.

Late 30s, white, nervous energy. Has maximized everything
there is to maximize re: his natural appearance. Still... not
a “10” (by WeHo standards). The guy who’s joking about his
weight every 5 min. You may choose to root for him anyway...

Chucks will not be sitting down, FYI. There is only one chair
and it is currently occupied...

As he approaches, without looking up -

SHE
No.

CHUCKS
I haven’t asked!

SHE
I said no.

CHUCKS
But -

SHE
But no.

CHUCKS
But yes.

SHE
But noooo. Oh no. Don’t even think
it. Do not have the thought.

CHUCKS
Too late.

SHE
Your entire problem. Too many
thoughts. Too few about what is
essential.

CHUCKS
But why?

SHE
You know why.

CHUCKS
But -

SHE
But nothing.

CHUCKS
What if I say “please?”
 20.

SHE
What if you say nothing? For a
change?

CHUCKS
I can write you. For you.

SHE
Don’t you fucking dare.

CHUCKS
I close my eyes, I hear your voice.

SHE
That’s because I am speaking. You
do not put words in my mouth. You
do not assume, you do not presume.

CHUCKS
But -

SHE
You do not do it. No.

CHUCKS
Here’s the thing -

SHE
I am the thing and I instruct you
as to what the thing is and is not.
You understand what it’s like to be
me like you understand what it’s
like to push a baby out of your
vagina. You do not have a baby. Or
a vagina. Unless I missed your last
Tweet? Time gets away. Speaking of
which, perhaps now you will allow
me to return to my paper. It is a
distraction, also tiresome, having
to explain obvious things and play
teacher-preacher-magical-mystery-
tour-director for children.
Dressing you up is unimaginable and
dressing you down is work. I get
paid to work. This work is unpaid.
Or am I mistaken?

CHUCKS
We have the budget.

SHE
You cannot afford me.

CHUCKS
We have the budget.

She cocks an eyebrow. “Here me out” energy -

 21.

CHUCKS (CONT’D)
I write it like they write medical
dramas. “Doctor! Uh medical-medical-
this-needs-to-happen stat!” Then
they farm it out to the medical
supervisor who subs in medical
stuff and makes it sound like they
know what they’re talking about not
pulling it from their asses.

SHE
You’ll write it. You.

CHUCKS
Template shit.

SHE
Then I’ll rewrite it.

CHUCKS
To your satisfaction.

SHE
To my satisfaction.

CHUCKS
Every colon. Every semicolon.

With great deliberation, She folds her paper, sets it down.

SHE
You have two minutes.

CHUCKS
I -

She holds up a finger: “Wait.” Checks her gold watch... A

beat... Chucks is spellbound... WE are spellbound, witness as
the finger becomes a gesture that wins awards in the unspoken
language of gestures invented by earthbound goddesses like
Eartha Kitt... “Begin.”

CHUCKS (CONT’D)
I am a gay man. You? A Black woman.

SHE
Boring.

CHUCKS
And we live in this old art deco
apartment building in LA... Like
Koreatown in the late 90s. A fin-de-
siècle moment. We love each other -

SHE
No.
 22.

CHUCKS
We hate each other.

SHE
No!

CHUCKS
We pass each other in the hallway
in this building that’s kind of a
stand-in for the world as we know
it - knew it - and get this - turns
out we both have a crush on the
building manager, who is hot, lean -

SHE
Hm.

CHUCKS
Hot and thick. Shaggy. Crew God
gone-to-seed because pot. Straight
AND white. Dangerously white.

SHE
Redhead?

CHUCKS
Ginger blonde. Lovable and - low-
key - extremely talented!

SHE
Mm.

CHUCKS
Modestly talented but going nowhere
because people with undefined edges
don’t make it in Hollywood.

SHE
We like those lines clean, hard and
forged in the fire -

CHUCKS
So you can’t take your eyes off
them when they work and why some,
arguably more talented individuals
with softer edges grow increasingly
soft and blurry in the California
sunshine which is delicious but
deadly like the poppy fields in
“The Wizard of Oz” and once you
stop auditioning you’re dead. You
should leave. Go. Move. Do
something else. Put a new pot on
the stove. Put two. This industry
is a bitch goddess -
 23.

SHE
This industry is male.

CHUCKS
A bitch god who will suck the life
from your eyes and leave you to rot
in a rental time forgot behind
Ventura Boulevard and every post is
a “throwbackfriday” or
“throwbacksunday” which is not a
thing but nobody has the heart to
tell you your feed is sad and
depressing a testament to a dream
that died and it’s years later and
you’re still grieving instead of
doing your best to reimagine what
“success” looks like and rise from
the ashes like a goddamn phoenix!

Beat.

SHE
So we both want to fuck the
manager.

CHUCKS
In the worst way! But it’s taboo!
Forbidden. Verboten.

SHE
Because he’s white.

CHUCKS
Because he’s white! And straight!
And it’s such a fucking cliché he
should be so effortlessly at the
top of Hollywood’s desirability
pyramid scheme! Prioritized!
Fetishized! Idolized!

SHE
Which he is not.

CHUCKS
Which he is not except by the
millions worshipping at that
particular altar because they’ve
been conditioned to believe their
gay ideal ISN’T gay.

SHE
He just plays gay.

CHUCKS
Cue the baiting.
 24.

SHE
Oscar?

CHUCKS
Mastur.

SHE
Embarrassing.

CHUCKS
It’s embarrassing, worshipping at
that altar!

SHE
For you.

CHUCKS
For me but for you too if you’d
spent time, wasted valuable fucking
time, kneeling in front of straight
white men, which you have not -

SHE
That you know of.

CHUCKS
That I know of. But for me, for my
character, the conflict is, it all
smacks of “exploitation-slash-
seediness-hashtag-hotbrokehunks”
when it’s in my apartment. When
he’s in my kitchen in cutoffs
pretending like he knows why the
overhead light’s not working.

SHE
Overhead lighting is for children.

CHUCKS
Everyone’s lit from the side. It’s
in the contract. To the point: The
premise of “gay-for-pay” is deeply
disturbing, to me, to my character,
because I have, you have not -

SHE
Says you.

CHUCKS
Watched straight men online who, I
AM LED TO BELIEVE, would not be
performing zoo-level acts on one
another if they had any other way
to pay rent and that is FUCKED UP.
(MORE)
 25.

CHUCKS (CONT'D)
And I happen to know our hothouse
building manager is down-on-his-
luck-hard-up-for-cash at all times
so it’s not inconceivable but it’s
wrong. It’s wrong. Right?

SHE
But you digress.

CHUCKS
I digress.

SHE
And you’ve hypersexualized me. And
yourself.

CHUCKS
Truth? I am hypersexual. I’m
thinking about sex right now.

SHE
With who? Me?

CHUCKS
Well. Yes. Now.

They look. They see. Imagine what is never gonna happen.

SHE
That was an image.

CHUCKS
We get everyone in the audience to
imagine us fucking.

SHE
Focus.

CHUCKS
Right. Scruffy ginge who plays his
battered guitar -

SHE
Only when asked.

CHUCKS
Absolutely. And does NOT do
stripped-down acoustic white boy
covers of classics by Black
artists.

SHE
Because he knows better.
 26.

CHUCKS
He has redeeming qualities! One or
two. But still - straight. And
white. And you and me, our
characters are progressive,
politically-minded -

SHE
Do not say it.

CHUCKS
I am at my most “woke” when I
recognize I am not. But I also
recognize as a gay man I have
struggles and dreams and fears you
will never understand because you
are not a gay man and empathy, like
imagination, as much as we hate to
admit it, has limits, and that is
why I have no right writing YOU
and, if you feel you get to write
me, that you have rights writing
ME, a gay man, that is your work to
unpack.

She stares, assessing.

SHE
Fair enough.

CHUCKS
See it starts out adversarial like
we’re both in competition for this
man we have no business -

SHE
NO business -

CHUCKS
Wanting but then I get hip to you
and you get hip to me and what we
decide, together, the thing to do
is -

SHE
Snap his neck.

CHUCKS
It takes two. The two of us.
Because his neck.

SHE
Thickish.

CHUCKS
Thickish. With the little gold
hairs.
 27.

SHE
We snap it.

CHUCKS
Snap right out of it. Then we get
to be co-managers of this cool deco
building with service entrances in
every apartment and you’re like,
“Why come? These apartments are
small!” But it’s because the
studios built them back in the day -

SHE
With Black and brown labor.

CHUCKS
And the occasional Irishman maybe.

SHE
Maybe.

CHUCKS
Those buildings were built by the
studios to house out-of-town talent
with kitchens in the basement and
meals sent up on trolleys -

SHE
Pushed by dark hands -

CHUCKS
And closeted white ones -

SHE
And dark ones -

CHUCKS
Who were fluent -

SHE
Had to be -

CHUCKS
In the language of Hollywood.

SHE
I.e., whiteness.

CHUCKS
And straightness.

SHE
As we must be fluent in both
languages, now, to survive -

CHUCKS
To survive!
 28.

SHE
In this industry, this country, in
which white people -

CHUCKS
White straight people -

SHE
Needn’t bother learning other
languages because it is not
essential to their survival because
their survival is assured.

CHUCKS
Because that’s the way the system
is set up.

SHE
Because that’s the way the system
WAS set up.

CHUCKS
Until we take over this FUCKING
BUILDING and create a gorgeous,
inclusive, rent-controlled oasis in
the Garden of Evil that is Los
Angeles -

SHE
Via our friendship -

CHUCKS
Our soulmate thing -

SHE
Our platonic friendship -

CHUCKS
In which we redefine what it means
to be soulmates. Then it turns out
we are, in fact, in a kind of love
with each other.

SHE
Love.

CHUCKS
It is a love story. I am confident.

SHE
Hm.
 29.

CHUCKS
And we forget about the moldering
body stuffed in trash bags packed
with lime buried behind the cinder
block wall in the laundry room in
the basement where we sometimes
throw parties.

SHE
And I play this battered guitar I
just happen to have.

CHUCKS
“A gift from me.”

SHE
A gift from you. And you beg me to
play and I act like I need
convincing but really everyone is
waiting for this moment because I
sing beautifully and I play
beautifully.

CHUCKS
So beautifully.

SHE
It’s the suffering.

CHUCKS
Those lines! Sharp. Razor.

SHE
Which you are here to monetize.

CHUCKS
Because you do it so well. You
really can’t blame me.

SHE
I can and I do. Regardless. I am -

CHUCKS
Transcendent.

SHE
Transcendent. This is known.

CHUCKS
We dance in your light!

SHE
And I sing that song...

CHUCKS
Better than he could.
 30.

SHE
Please.

CHUCKS
Please.

SHE
He was cute tho.

CHUCKS
And that worked for him. Until it
got him killed.

SHE
And I sing that song I always sing
and you and I lock eyes because we
need to be careful not to let our
gazes -

CHUCKS
Our Black and gay gazes!

SHE
Stray to the spot behind the third
dryer because no one needs to know.

CHUCKS
And they never will.

SHE
His name will not be remembered.

CHUCKS
Like a million shattered stars...

SHE
Except on nights we catch each
other standing in front of the
third dryer in the basement with
the lights off like, “Hey. You
cool?”

CHUCKS
And you’re like, “SO cool. Keeping
vigil.”

SHE
Keeping watch.

CHUCKS
As we have since time unrecorded.

Beat.

SHE
Then we are in agreement.
 31.

CHUCKS
We are in agreement. Thank you for
this. You have elevated/evolved the
whole simply by being present.

SHE
As you have with me.

CHUCKS
As I have with you.

SHE
In the palm of the hand.

CHUCKS
In the palm of the hand of the
universe.

SHE
Now go. Leave me alone.

CHUCKS
I am leaving you alone. But know
that I am still here with you.

Chucks exits and She picks up her paper to read... Can’t.

That little shit. Now She wants to do this movie...

CUT TO BLACK

INT. SCHOOL LIBRARY - NIGHT

CU on a shelf lined with leather-bound BOOKS, an ancient set

of something-or-other by so-and-so...

A HAND enters frame, PLUCKS a volume from the middle, leaving

a thin black GAP...

We hear FOOTSTEPS walking away as we PUSH IN on that gap like

maybe there’s something LURKING back there...

CUT TO the polished surface of a table lit by a small ring of

LIGHT, deep SHADOWS around its edges...

The book is laid on the table, O.S. someone SITS DOWN... A

hand enters frame, OPENS the book, starts TURNING pages...

A SECOND hand enters frame, this one bearing gifts... A fresh

pack of strawberry TWIZZLERS...

The two hands open it together, remove a piece... CRINKLE

CRINKLE... One hand exits frame with the candy... O.S. we
hear CHEWING, contented HUMMING...

We’re still too far from the pages to make out what’s written
but no worries... We’re not here to read...
 32.

THUMP

WIDE on a teenage GIRL (not white) alone at the table, head

WHIPPING toward CAMERA, going still... In her right hand the
half-eaten Twizzler, her left frozen over the open book...

GIRL
Hello?

Except for the lamp’s light the screen is DARK... But we get
the impression of a vast expanse around her, of tall windows
and soaring barrel vault ceilings...

We also get the impression the girl is very much alone...

Unless she’s not...

THUMP

GIRL (CONT’D)
Is someone there?

As the girl NIBBLES her licorice, nervous, we take a moment

to assess and find her “pretty if she tried”/”beautiful but
doesn’t know it”/”a knockout but it’s her Least Interesting
Quality” (you know the drill)...

She’s also in uniform: Crimson blazer over white oxford, gray

wool skirt down to the knee, gray socks up to the knee, black
loafers... We spot a Harry Potter-ish school scarf and winter
coat over the back of her chair, a bookbag at her feet...

Let’s call her RAQUEL (because that’s her name)...

THUMP

RAQUEL
(rising)
You’re not scaring me!

Raquel steps away from the table, away from the light...

RAQUEL (CONT’D)
You hear me? I’m not afraid of you!

Liar.

THUMP

That one came from a DIFFERENT CORNER OF THE ROOM...

CUT TO Raquel standing at one end of a dimly-lit AISLE, floor-

to-ceiling bookcases on either side, shelves packed...

She TIPTOES TOWARD CAMERA, PEEKS around the corner at the end
of the aisle, LOOKS both ways...
 33.

THUMP

That came FROM BEHIND HER... She WHIPS around... Nothing...

Raquel waits a beat... Retraces her steps...

CU on her face as she arrives back at the table, sees what’s

waiting for her on top of the open book... HER POV: The pack
of Twizzlers... EMPTY...

She BALLS IT UP in her fist, plastic CRACKLING...

RAQUEL (CONT’D)
(muttering)
Assholes.

CUT TO a heavy Gothic door SWINGING OPEN on iron hinges...

Bundled in her coat and scarf, bookbag over her shoulders and
carrying half a dozen more, Raquel exits the library, trading
one kind of darkness for a second bathed in MOONLIGHT...

THUMP

She GASPS, LOOKS BEHIND HER... Only the door closing...

Raquel LAUGHS weakly, shakes her head, turns around again...

HER POV: A limestone PATH stretching into the night... Dense

growth of TREES to the left, huge SNOW DRIFT on the right...

The piles of white contrast beautifully with the night sky,

but Raquel takes no notice as she HURRIES down the path...

Ahead of her on the rise, we see LIGHTS from other buildings,

students CROSSING behind windows... Raquel picks up the pace,
almost JOGGING, breath STEAMING...

CRACK

She FREEZES, neck SNAPPING toward the trees to her left...

Sounded like a twig underfoot... But whose?

CRACK

Definitely a twig... CLOSER this time...

RAQUEL (CONT’D)
I know it’s you!

CU on Raquel, looking OVER CAMERA, eyes on the trees...

RAQUEL (CONT’D)
You’d better leave me alone! I’m
warning you!
 34.

CRACK

RAQUEL (CONT’D)
I’M GONNA TELL!

She waits, watching and listening, scared but defiant...

RAQUEL (CONT’D)
ASSHOLES!

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK

CU on Raquel, heart RACING, BACKING AWAY FROM CAMERA until

she’s less than a foot from the drift LOOMING behind her...

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK

Over her shoulder, we see a tiny RIVULET OF SNOW TRICKLING

DOWN from the top of the drift above frame...

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK

Over her other shoulder, another RIVULET STARTS TRICKLING...

CRACK CRACK CRACK

Silence...

XCU on Raquel, eyes DARTING left and right, rivulets in the

BG now FLOODING DOWN from above frame...

In the continued quiet she becomes aware of NOISE behind her,

the soft SHHHHHHHHHHHH of running snow...

Ever so slowly she SPINS in place...

CU ON RAQUEL LIFTING HER EYES TO THE TOP OF THE DRIFT, MOUTH

FALLING OPEN, COLOR DRAINING FROM HER FACE...

RAQUEL (CONT’D)
Oh please... please... please don-

SMASHCUT TO DAYLIGHT

And SNOW... Dazzling and white... SWEEPING in great silent

SWIRLS across a remote New England BOARDING SCHOOL...

SHOTS of 19th-century dorms and courtyards, icy playing

fields and empty bleachers shrouded in freezing drifts...

CU ON A SMALL HAND STICKING OUT OF A SNOWBANK, FINGERS CURLED

UPWARDS IN A RICTUS CLAW...

A beat... We hear what sounds like an ANIMAL O.S., SNUFFLING

and PANTING, coming closer...
 35.

Then a VOICE (male, British), like clotted cream over scones:

HEADMASTER (O.S.)
Roger! Come here, old boy. Roger!

A golden retriever BOUNDS into frame, going straight for the

hand, LICKING and SNIFFING at it...

HEADMASTER (O.S.) (CONT’D)

Roger! Get over here!

The dog gingerly TAKES THE HAND IN ITS MOUTH, PLUCKS IT FREE
OF THE SNOWBANK, TROTTING OUT OF FRAME WITH ITS PRIZE...

HEADMASTER (O.S.) (CONT’D)

What’d you have there, boy? Let me
see that... Let me see...
(beat)
Good Lord.

SMASHCUT TO WHITE WORDS ON A BLACK SCREEN:

Char Hill Hall

CUT TO BLACK

SCREAMS. Fucking WAILING...

Is someone getting murdered or is it just a toddler needing 3

swift SWATS on the seat of his pants? Somethin’ to cry for...

WIDE ON Monrovia/Pomona/West Covina/it doesn’t matter because

they’re all the same (not LA)...

It’s almost Thanksgiving and 95 degrees because that’s how it

is now... We feel the sun’s hostility, hot rays trying to FRY
us as we ZERO IN on a faded strip mall STARBUCKS...

The WAILING intensifies...

Inside it is TIGHT, strangers forced to share tables...

CU on DAD... Early 40s, mixed-race, good looks slowly giving

up the struggle... Sipping his venti whatever, he SNEAKS A
GLANCE across the tabletop...

PAN OVER to BOOTS (50s, white) in a leather/denim combo with

cowboy boots making it look GOOD... Dude’s a movie star... A
Marlboro Man... A blonde, lightly grizzled wet dream walked
into a househusband’s local Starbucks on a Tuesday AM when
he’s wearing a stained tee and not looking his best... Damn.

Boots is almost horizontal in his seat, loose and limber,

hands behind his head, watching the show... On the side of
his neck we spy a small but distinctive TATTOO, a GLYPH...
 36.

We hear another SCREAM... WINCING -

BOOTS
Got lungs. Give him that.

HIS POV: A BOY (4, blonde) trapped in the corner on the floor
near their table by the windows, not FUCKING HAVING IT...

DAD
Hey. Hey. WHAT DID I SAY? Play with
your coloring book. Color. Okay?
(to Boots)
Sorry. He’s having a day. We’re
having a day.

BOOTS
It is o-kay. Happens to the best.

DAD
Yeah.

BOOTS
Thanks again for lettin’ me share
your table! Tight in here.

The boy SCREAMS. SCREAMS again.

DAD
Pros and cons.

BOOTS
All pros.

DAD
Ha! That’s... debatable.

BOOTS
Gentle gentle...

Musing, eyes on the horizon -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
We must be gentle with ourselves,
let the parts that wanna run wild
RUN... Be patient with the parts
that linger, tryin’ to smell the
roses... or whatever...
(chuckling)
Fuck if I know.

The kid keeps ACTING UP as the scene unfolds. Dad ad libs,

flipping between Cooing Dad/Stern Dad with little success...

DAD
You got kids?

Boots smiles to himself, blue eyes crinkling...

 37.

BOOTS
I am a father.
(winking)
Of accidents mostly.

Dad LAUGHS, charmed. That accent is like a Honey Baked Ham.

Is it authentic? Why not. Let’s go with authentic.

BOOTS (CONT’D)
You enjoy it?

OFF Dad’s look -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Not right this second. In general.
You enjoy bein’ a dad?

DAD
It’s different? Than I expected?

OFF Boots’s look -

DAD (CONT’D)
It was hard at first. Really hard.
But it’s getting easier. Now.

SCREAMS.

BOOTS
Just the one?

DAD
Just the one.

SCREAMS.

DAD (CONT’D)
One’s plenty.

BOOTS
He’ll grow out of it. Or into it!
Is my experience.

DAD
What does -

BOOTS
You say you were a dad full-time?
(making a 360 gesture)
This you?

DAD
Uh. Yes. This is me. My husband’s
on location? In Atlanta? He’s a
first AD. Assistant Director. On
uh... “Char Hill Hall?” On Netflix?
 38.

BOOTS
You askin’ or tellin’?

DAD
It’s on Netflix.

Boots shakes his head. Not ringing a bell.

DAD (CONT’D)
Rich kids, boarding school, monster
in the woods... ba-ba-ba... Anyway.
They think it’s gonna run a few
seasons so...

BOOTS
That a good thing?

DAD
“Yes” in that, you know, work is
work and work is great. We’re
grateful. But I think... I think it
means all of us moving down there?
At some point?

BOOTS
You don’t like Atlanta.

DAD
It’s more I don’t want to leave LA.
I’m not ready yet.

BOOTS
Actor?

DAD
Yes. Was. For a long time.

BOOTS
I could tell.

Is he flirting? Dad sits up straighter, SUCKS in the belly.

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Tough gig. You work?

DAD
I worked. Yeah. Some commercials.
Tested a few times. For pilots.

BOOTS
(beat)
Like character stuff?

DAD
Leading man. Procedurals. Mostly.
But then I met my husband. In
class.
(MORE)
 39.

DAD (CONT'D)
We were both actors and, you know,
things change. We got married,
decided to live... more openly. The
work didn’t come. For me. Us. Then
he got a job as a production
assistant and loved it. LOVED it.
And we started talking about a
family. Building something bigger
than the two of us. And here we
are. Here I am. That is me.

If it comes off “tip of the iceberg” there’s a reason.

BOOTS
Sat in on an acting class once.

DAD
Did you?

BOOTS
Maybe it was yours! No, I just got
curious. What do they DO in there?
What are they UP TO?

DAD
What was your takeaway? Do you
remember?

BOOTS
I remember the teacher - coach -
standin’ in front of the class
sayin’, “Everyone look to your
left, look to your right, behind
you... Chances are you ain’t
lookin’ at the next Julia Roberts
or Tom Cruise.”
(catching himself)
Who’d be big for someone like you?
“Follow in the footsteps.” Kevin
Spacey?

DAD
Uh. No.

BOOTS
Who then?

DAD
Back in the day? No idea.

BOOTS
He said most of you people... Not
“you people”...

DAD
I know what you meant.
 40.

Boots smiles, glad he’s not being misunderstood.

BOOTS
Most of you will never achieve
success by the measure you are
likely measurin’ it. Bein’ the next
Julia or Tom. He said, “Understand
there are many DEGREES of success.
Definitions.” Some of you will quit
actin’, start writin’, producin’,
and use your experience as actors
to be better writers and producers.
Some’ll quit LA full stop! Realize
this story does not end well and
this business - it is a BUSINESS -
is not meant for them. Too
personal. Brutal. And some of you
will meet somebody in class, fall
in love, start a family, and find
purpose. New reasons to get outta
bed. It didn’t “not work out.” Just
worked out different. You got what
you needed not what you wanted and
the Universe said, “THIS is your
measure of success.”

CU on Dad feeling... a STORM of things... The actor will do

what feels juiciest (dig in his carryall, sweep crumbs off
the table). I mean he’s not gonna cry or say “thank you for
that” because it’s not the kind of thing you say “thank you”
to and he’s not 100% sure he’s thankful... Finally -

DAD
How many kids did you say you have?

BOOTS
Who me?

DAD
Yeah. Rugrats.

BOOTS
I don’t have kids.

DAD
Oh. I thought you said you were a
father.

BOOTS
I am. I have fathered... lawns. For
starters.

Dad looks confused.

BOOTS (CONT’D)
I work in fertilizer at present.
(then)
(MORE)
 41.

BOOTS (CONT’D)
I’ve fathered relationships. A half-
ass novel or two. And myself.

DAD
That’s... I mean you think that’s
the same? As having a kid? I’m not
trying to be rude. Is that rude?

BOOTS
Not rude. I think maybe it comes
down to what kinda father you are?
What you’re fatherin’? Is my sense?
Anyone can have a kid.
(then)
Can I be honest with you?

Dad nods, sips his venti as Boots SCOOTS his chair closer to
the table, leans forward on his elbows, intimate...

BOOTS (CONT’D)
In my opinion to make love... to
breed, have a baby, however that
happens...

Suddenly Dad’s not sure where to look... Those eyes gazing

into his... Men do not casually face off except on TV. IRL
men face off to fight or fuck...

BOOTS (CONT’D)
To make that sorta decision
together... you’d have to be
unbelievably optimistic.

DAD
Yeah well... That helps.

BOOTS
Or stupid.

DAD
Ha! I mean yeah but -

BOOTS
To knowingly conceive a child... a
child! Bring it into this dumpster
fire existence filled with trash
people... You’d have to be an
idiot. Or a sadist.
(matter-of-fact)
My daddy was a sadist. Also a
sociopath. But not an idiot.
Unfortunately. Would’ve made him a
lot less dangerous.

Dad keeps smiling/nodding (because conditioning), because

he’s been in LA awhile and people can get fun-kee...
 42.

BOOTS (CONT’D)
More common than you think.

DAD
Sadists?

BOOTS
Sociopaths. Everywhere. Apparently.
(looking around)
Probably what? 5 in here? Not
countin’ your rugrat?

DAD
Ha! He’s not usually this bad...

BOOTS
My daddy used to say to me, “Son? I
cannot wait to see life kick you in
the ass.” That becomes a... a self-
fulfillin’ prophecy, you know?
(beat)
Somethin’ tells me you might.

Turning away from Dad’s reaction, eyeing the boy -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Kinda thing can damage a child.
Hurt their sense of themselves,
what’s possible. Starts to feel
like there’s danger around every
corner. Someone waitin’ to jump out
and get you.

DAD
(beat)
I’m sorry that happened to you.

Pulling himself out of his reverie -

BOOTS
Don’t be! Put my daddy in a script
‘n’ sold it.

DAD
You’re a screenwriter?

BOOTS
Nothin’ you’ve read.

DAD
An actor? You said you -

BOOTS
Nothin’ you’ve seen. But I had some
interest for a bit. Momentum.
 43.

DAD
I’m not surprised. I mean you’re...

BOOTS
What?

Dad’s gone RED, gestures at Boots like “come on.”

DAD
Come on. You look... familiar. I
feel like I’ve seen your work.
(deflecting)
Maybe I saw your movie! That you
wrote. What was it called?

BOOTS
“Lies Were Told.”

DAD
Huh. Maybe not.

BOOTS
Wasn’t out long. Mercifully.

Dad’s eyebrows head north as Boots looks over his shoulder,

like maybe someone’s listening... Confidentially -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Wrote a scene, ‘bout halfway thru,
where my daddy - the daddy
character - gets a visit in the
middle of the night... from the
devil. Sits down right there at the
foot of the bed. It’s dark - the
daddy can’t see nothin’ - but he
can FEEL the mattress like, SINKIN’
where the devil sat down, watchin’
him. Anywho. I’m at the premiere,
right, in the back, watchin’ all
these folks watchin’ the screen...
and no one knows it’s real. ‘Cept
me. Devil dropped in FOR REAL one
night. Or so my daddy said. Used to
love tellin’ that story. Scared me
shitless! Then I grew up, put pen
to paper and there’s Ol’ Scratch -
blown up LARGE. Scarin’ folks
shitless in Dolby Digital.
(then)
You think the devil knew what he
was doin’? Think he KNEW to come
callin’ on a man with a son who’d
put that story in a script?

DAD
Are you asking or telling?
 44.

BOOTS
Attaboy.

DAD
But the audience... I mean, as far
as they know it’s only a movie.
They don’t think it’s real.

BOOTS
You dunno what’s true for them. Or
will be. If they went to sleep that
night, woke up feelin’ this SINKIN’
at the foot of the bed...

TRACING coffee rings on the tabletop -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
It is pretty to pretend we are not
responsible for the messages we
send and stories we tell. Take
credit but not blame. Lotta people
in the “pretend” business. And now
I WILL tell you somethin’ - that’s
a business the devil’s backin’.

WAILING. Kid has BEEN over it. Dad is suddenly over it too.
This is/was intense. As he starts PACKING UP -

DAD
Well. We should probably head on -

BOOTS
They’ll blame you too, I suppose.
Or give you credit! But I’m
guessin’... I’m guessin’ blame.

DAD
Sorry - blame? For what?

BOOTS
Your boy. The child you two chose
to bring into this world.

Dad slows his packing, eyes on Boots...

BOOTS (CONT’D)
It was a choice, right? Your choice
too? No wait - don’t tell me. I
enjoy a good guessin’ game.

Dad has stopped packing. We do not hear the kid. Boots clocks
the boy’s white skin/blonde hair, SQUINTS, smiles...

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Can draw certain conclusions tho.
Just by lookin’?
 45.

Dad opens his mouth to say... something. Still friendly -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
I said wait! Don’t spoil it. I will
continue to guess and you will tell
me when I get it exactly right...

Coming closer, getting comfortable -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
What did you tell yourself... What
did HE tell you made you agree this
is what you BOTH wanted...
(then)
You were bored.
(then)
Maybe he was?
(then)
Not it? Or only part of it?

SNAPPING his fingers -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
All the gays were doin’ it! “Gimme
white picket fences ‘n’ a box of
Pampers! Everything the straights
got! Plus dick suckin’.”

DAD
Dick su-

WAGGING a finger -

BOOTS
I have kneeled at that altar a time
or two myself.
(beat)
I mean... wasn’t ME kneelin’.

POINTING a finger -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
You were prayin’ it’d be a girl. Or
at least a gay.

THEIR POV: The kid, gleefully SHREDDING his coloring book...

BOOTS (CONT’D)
That’s that then.
(back to Dad)
Still waitin’ for you to tell me
how you always wanted a daddy,
handsome. Whoops. To BE a daddy.
Feels like I could be waitin’
awhile...

Then, pleased with himself -

 46.

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Ohhhh okay. I get it now. I get it.
Oh that was clever...
(beat)
He told you you’d be good at it.
Give you somethin’ to do?

Dad’s been taking hits but this hits hardest. Like a lover -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
But it did and you’re not. Good at
it. You’re terrible. You are makin’
a mess. And some day some
unsuspectin’ woman will have to do
a shit-ton of hand-holdin’ and nose-
wipin’ with your boy over there
‘cause Daddy made choices out of
alignment with his highest self. I
look at you and know what I see?
Butterfly with the wings clipped.
Somebody took the wrong exit.
Could’ve had a life of - reached
for - extremes. Been extraordinary.
Or at least interesting. Beholden
to no one! Architectin’ what needs
architectin’, creatin’ shit no
one’s created before... Then you
got talked into some failed Judeo-
Christian contract as dry ‘n’
cracked as a cave drawing done in
blood and human excrement.

Hypnotized -

DAD
I... have no idea what you’re
talking about right now...

BOOTS
Lemme share a pearl with you,
handsome. Add it to your necklace.
There is something inherently
shitty in the human animal. Females
too but males specifically. You see
it most clearly in little boys.

Boots nods toward the window. Dad looks. DAD’S POV: His son
BANGING on his own reflection, SMEARING peanut butter every-
fucking-where...

BOOTS (CONT’D)
You see it, don’t you?

Dad sees it.

BOOTS (CONT’D)
We are not, on the whole, evolvin’
as a species. Not fast enough.
(MORE)
 47.

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Every generation as dumb as the
last. Born needy. Spiteful.
Destructive. Disinclined to share.
It is the job of civilization and
the institutions therein - family,
church, schools, the state - to
recognize that shittiness... and
transform it. Civilize it! When
those institutions fail or cease to
function the civilizin’ doesn’t
happen and we end up... well...
look around.
(then)
Now a gay man could choose to skip
out on all that. Be the flower at
the end of the vine. If he dared.
The fullest, finest blossoming with
nothin’ to follow. But you wanted
in and now you’re in and here you
are. Not extraordinary or extreme.
Not interesting either. No offense.
Too polite - neutered really - to
tell me to fuck off ‘n’ flip the
table.

CU on Dad. Hadn’t even occurred. “Leading man.” Sure.

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Here we be - coupla aging nutsacks
at a Starbucks in... Pomona? At the
complete and uninterrupted mercy of
your unruly, unwanted kid’s
inherent shittiness.
(beat)
Can’t even hear myself think.

Dad is shellacked. Boots just sounds sad now. SIGHING -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
What was his name?

DAD
(beat)
Benedict.

Boots nods like “of course it is.” KNUCKLE TAPS the table.

BOOTS
Benedict’s neck needs snappin’.
Sorry to say. But I am not here for
him. No. I cannot be concerned with
tomorrow’s failures...

DAD
What... what are you concerned
with?
 48.

Boots RISES, throws his cup in the recycling bin, moves

behind Dad, places a comforting hand on his shoulder...

BOOTS
Today’s.

SNAPS his neck. Quick like a chiropractor...

Dad is DEAD, head and shoulders caught by warm hands before

they hit the table, gently leaned against the wall... Another
exhausted parent grabbin’ a catnap...

Dad’s venti whatever SPILLS across the table, DRIPS down the
side, PUDDLES on the slate tiles...

Boots lifts his gaze to the soiled window and sizzling lot
beyond, eyes on the unseen... A prayer -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
I am in the palm. I am in the palm
of the hand of the universe.

Exits.

BARKING, the boy kneels in the puddle on the floor, LAPPING

at the liquid like a dog, face inches from Dad’s feet stuffed
into RED ADIDAS SLIDES, long past their prime...

CUT TO BLACK

INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN - CHICAGO - DAY

Screams 1970s because it IS the 70s... Like a lemony yellow

bomb went off... Stylish but lived-in, comfortable...

We’re a few paces BACK from the big picture window, trim yard
visible beyond the glass...

O.S. we hear SOUNDS of dishes being washed by hand nearby...

A TELEPHONE hangs on the wall next to the window, lemony

yellow (to match the wallpaper) with a long curly cord...

CU on the phone... A beat... It RINGS... We knew it was

coming but it’s still a surprise...

CUT TO BLACK

WOMAN (V.O.)
But we liked the other one.

WIDE on LA, SOUNDS of the city... It’s late afternoon and

frankly, lovely this time of day...

SHOTS of palm trees and pastels, wind chimes and reddish

hills... OVER this we pick up a one-sided PHONE CALL...
 49.

WOMAN (O.S.)
I thought... I thought we liked the
other one for the rewrites... They
said that? No, it’s... shitty. Is
all. No, I... I just thought he had
a better feel for her voice. Like
he’d met a woman at some point...
He has a daughter? How old? 13.
Huh. I mean, what if... Do you
think they’d be open to me...
Okay... No... No, I’m hearing
you... It was an idea. Thought
I’d... articulate it. Forget it.
Yeah. Yeah, send it to me. Okay.
Thanks. Bye. Great. Yeah. Bye.

We’ve been INCHING into the latest “must-live” LA enclave,

recently gentrified, surgery scars already fading...

On a side street outside a corner COFFEE BAR at the last

(most discreet) table, sits a WOMAN (20s, white), journal in
her lap. We catch sketches/bookmarks/a couple Polaroids...

Hair in a low pony, wearing huge sunglasses and whatever

fashionable young women wear in LA, she’s looking away from
us, still holding her phone, staring at nothing until -

FAN (O.S.)
Excuse me? Sorry...

Woman looks in our direction... HER POV: FAN (15, female, not
white) in a hoodie/jeans combo and pink Skechers...

Note: Whatever happens, Fan is played sweet and sincere. This

is a child... Awed -

FAN (CONT’D)
You look just like her.

WOMAN
Who?

FAN
Bru. You know Bru?

WOMAN
Oh. Yeah. Mm-hm. I do.

FAN
You must get that all the time.

WOMAN
Mm-hm.

FAN
So weird.
 50.

WOMAN
Yup. I get that. All the time.

FAN
So WEIRD. Okay. Sorry! Didn’t mean
to bug you.

Fan walks past the table up to the Blvd., Woman goes back to
her journal. A beat... Woman looks up thru her sunglasses w/o
moving her head... HER POV: Fan at the corner, TEXTING... Fan
looks back, Woman gets busy JOURNALING...

CU on Woman for a beat... 3-2-1...

FAN (O.S.) (CONT’D)

It is you. I knew it.

Woman looks up and we are INTO it, excited for it to be over

before it’s begun...

WOMAN/BRU
Yes. It’s me.

FAN
OH MY GOD. Oh... my god. I knew it!
I was texting my friend like, “It’s
her. IT’S HER.” I can’t believe it.

HIPSTER DUDE (30s, white) at another table is looking over.

WOMAN/BRU
(to Fan)
Can you...
(“lower the volume”)
I don’t wanna... you know... yeah?

FAN
Oh! Oh totally! Yeah. Sorry. Sorry.
I’m so excited I’m SHAKING...

WOMAN/BRU
It’s okay. I’m happy to... um...

Fan is talking to Woman but firing off a text?

FAN
I. Am. Shook.
(re: the coffee shop)
Do you come here?
(eyes widening)
Do you LIVE around here?

Oy.

WOMAN/BRU
Uh... noooo... Just passing thru.
 51.

FAN
But you live in LA?

WOMAN/BRU
Did you... wanna take a picture? Or
something?

FAN
Would you? I was gonna ask but...
Oh my god! Yes! Thanks! Eeee!

Woman rises, lines up for a selfie. Fan gets up CLOSE...

Woman FREEZES... puts a light arm over Fan’s shoulder...

POINTING to Woman’s sunglasses -

FAN (CONT’D)
Is it okay if... Do you mind? So
they know it’s you?
(giggling)
They gotta KNOW it’s you, right?

A beat... Woman removes her sunglasses.

WOMAN/BRU
Alright. Let’s do this.

Fan holds her phone UP and AWAY from them.

FAN
My hand is shaking. Sorry. I’m so
embarrassed...

WOMAN/BRU
Do you want me to -

FAN
No, I got it. Say “Peek-a-Bru!”

Woman says nothing as Fan takes multiple identical selfies.

FAN (CONT’D)
“Peek-a-Bruuuu...” Awwww...

WOMAN/BRU
(pulling away)
Did it come out okay?

FAN
Lemme see...

Woman’s sunglasses are already back on snug.

FAN (CONT’D)
Oh they’re great! Omigod thank you.
I’m such a fan.
(MORE)
 52.

FAN (CONT’D)
Like that movie meant so much to
me? Got me thru a really, really
dark time.

WOMAN/BRU
Aw. I’m gl-

FAN
I hope they make more. Are they
making more?

WOMAN/BRU
Uh... They’re talking about it? It
did really well in -

FAN
Why’d they keep moving the date
around? Because I remember being
like, “It is DEFINITELY coming out
in June.” I had it on my phone.

WOMAN/BRU
You know, it’s... one of those
things. Their ways are mysterious.

Fan’s waiting for more.

WOMAN/BRU (CONT’D)
I don’t make those decisions.

FAN
Well I hope they make more! Because
I DEFINITELY will watch. They
should make more. Oh! Would you
mind signing this?

Fan DIGS in her bag, produces a scrap of PAPER, gives it to

Woman... Woman picks up her journaling pen, starts WRITING...

WOMAN/BRU
You havin’ a good day so far?

FAN
In the palm!

The actor playing Woman can play that reaction whatever way
feels right... Handing the scrap back -

WOMAN/BRU
Okay... Nice meeting you.

FAN
So nice meeting YOU! Oh my god.

Fan’s not leaving just yet... Woman clocks the girl smiling
to herself, HOLDING HER PHONE FUNNY, down near the table...
 53.

WOMAN/BRU
Are you recording? Are you
recording this right now?

FAN
Oh! Yes. I am. Sorry. It was just a
few seconds.

Fan hits “stop” on her phone... Smiling, awkward -

FAN (CONT’D)
I have a page. About you. About
“Necksnappers.”
(then)
People are gonna freak.
(then)
I’m sorry. Is that okay? The video
thing?

WOMAN/BRU
Um... would have been nice to... I
dunno. Maybe ask? First?

FAN
Sorry.

WOMAN/BRU
Yeah. Ask. Next time.

FAN
(beat)
People must be taking your picture
all the time. Invading your
privacy.

WOMAN/BRU
It happens.

Silence... Woman gets it’s all on her to architect this.

WOMAN/BRU (CONT’D)
Okay! You enjoy your day.

FAN
You too. Bye. Bye, Bru!

Fan WAVES and walks, Woman musters a tiny WAVE back... Dude
at the other table gives her a commiserating SMILE... Ugh...

Ignoring him, Woman looks down... HER POV: Journal, open on

the table where she put it before taking the selfie, close to
the edge where Fan was just standing... recording her...

WE’RE HUSTLING UP TO FAN’S BACK as Fan stares at her phone,

intent, ZOOMING IN on something... We don’t see what...
 54.

WOMAN/BRU (O.S.)
Hey. Hi.

Fan turns around to see it’s...

WOMAN/BRU (CONT’D)
Me again. Hi. Glad I caught you.

Something RIPPLES across Fan’s face, blink-and-you-miss-it...

WOMAN/BRU (CONT’D)
Can I ask you... um... That video?
That you took? Would you mind... My
journal? Was open on the table?
And... I’m sorry. Would you please
delete that? For me?

FAN
The video?

WOMAN/BRU
The video.

Woman’s clutching her journal to her chest. POINTING to it -

WOMAN/BRU (CONT’D)
Do you keep a journal? Like, I’d
just feel better if...
(changing tacks)
You know what? Could I look at it?
Maybe? The video? Check and see if
it’s okay?

FAN
No.

WOMAN/BRU
No?

FAN
No.

Not a great moment... But surprise -

FAN (CONT’D)
Sorry. I meant no I’ll delete it.
Totally. I didn’t... I shouldn’t
have taken it. Sorry.

Fan’s already going thru her phone’s video folder.

WOMAN/BRU
Thank you. That is... so great. I
really appreciate this.

FAN
Do you wanna watch me delete it?
 55.

WOMAN/BRU
Can I? Is that weird?

FAN
Here.

Woman gets up close over Fan’s shoulder, a callback to their

earlier pose for Fan’s selfie... They exchange a look, Woman
forces a SMILE, watches Fan hit “delete”...

WOMAN/BRU
Thank you. Again.

FAN
It’s just in the trash. I have to
delete it-delete it.

WOMAN/BRU
Oh. Right.

“Deleted.”

FAN
There. Gone.

WOMAN/BRU
Okay. Awesome. Thank you!

FAN
No, it was... wrong to take it.

WOMAN/BRU
It’s okay. It’s okay now. So...

About to turn and go but then -

WOMAN/BRU (CONT’D)
I - sorry - I have to ask... did
you send it to anyone? Like your
page maybe?
(beat)
You said you have a page.

FAN
No. I only watched like, a second
of it? That’s all. I swear.
(beat)
Seriously. I promise.

WOMAN/BRU
Okay great. Thank you. Then I... I
will get out of your hair! Have
a... You enjoy your day.

She said that already... Woman walks back to her table, Fan
stays where she is at the corner, staring after Woman...
 56.

At the table, Woman keeps her back to hipster dude, starts

PACKING UP, rattled, taking deep, calming BREATHS...

3-2-1...

FAN (O.S.)
Me too.

Woman WHIRLS, finds Fan a foot away, eyes full... A beat as

they stare at each other... Then, really really quiet -

FAN (CONT’D)
I mean... I’m gay too.

CUT TO BLACK

INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN - CHICAGO - DAY

CU on the lemony yellow phone on the wall... RINGING...

HOUSEWIFE (O.S.)
Coming! Hold on...

We’re WIDE as HOUSEWIFE enters frame looking lovely and trim,

very 1970s... She keeps HER BACK TO US, WIPING damp hands on
her lemony apron... Answering -

HOUSEWIFE (CONT’D)
Hello? Yes, this is she.

As Housewife looks out the big picture window, one manicured

finger is already WINDING the telephone cord...

CUT TO BLACK

MATT (V.O.)
He said what?

WIDE ON the COFFEE BAR where Woman/Bru just met Fan but we’re
peeling back layers... It’s YEARS AGO, pre-gentrification...
Different name/vibe, different clientele... sort of.

DENNIS
Directors -

MATT
Male directors.

DENNIS
Male directors consciously or
unconsciously cast younger, better-
looking versions of themselves.

MATT
Jamie said that.
 57.

DENNIS
That’s what he said.

MATT
Wow. You think he’s right?

We’re ACROSS THE STREET watching two acquaintances from

acting class eat breakfast in the same spot Woman/Bru’s
(nicer) table will be set well over a decade later.

DENNIS
First I was like, “What?” But then
boom-boom-boom I came up with three
examples. Now I’m like maybe this
is another angle I need to work.

We get a better look at DENNIS (late 20s). White. Solid.

Cute. Dennis works angles.

DENNIS (CONT’D)
He said it’s a vicarious thing?
Directors see you walk in and
they’re like, “I wanna BE this guy
or wish I’d BEEN this guy, I wanna
HANG OUT with this guy...” I dunno.
I think there’s something there.

MATT
Who do you think I look like?

We get a better look at MATT (late 20s). Mixed-race. Lean.

Good-looking. Matt does not work angles.

DENNIS
You look like you.

MATT
Great.

DENNIS
You’re specific. You know that.

MATT
That’s what my old agent used to
say.

DENNIS
I’m sure there’s someone, right?
Directors?

Matt doesn’t seem so sure.

DENNIS (CONT’D)
We’ll do research. Make a list.

MATT
What about women? Like, actresses?
 58.

Dennis was busy with his muffin and is suddenly more so.

MATT (CONT’D)
What’d he say about them? Jamie.

DENNIS
(reluctant)
He said with some directors... it
mostly comes down to whether they
would fuck them or not.

MATT
Jesus. That’s disgusting. I don’t
wanna believe that’s true. You
think that’s true?

Eyes on his breakfast -

DENNIS
I dunno what I think.

Not true.

DENNIS (CONT’D)
Except I look like a young George
Lucas.

MATT
Yeah?

DENNIS
You don’t?

Matt cocks his head, looks at Dennis sideways. Hm.

DENNIS (CONT’D)
You don’t think I look like George
Lucas. Young. A little.

MATT
I dunno. Turn around.
(laughing)
Lemme see you from the back.

DENNIS
Fuck you. I just need to get in a
room with him. After I get my SAG
card. After I get my new manager.

MATT
(groaning)
This stuff makes me TIRED...

DENNIS
How else are you gonna do it?
 59.

MATT
But even then it’s like... even if
you follow all the steps... It’s
like you can go to class, read all
the books and still fail the final.

DENNIS
People do it. It’s done. You make a
list. You tick it off.

Both men are dressed in tees and shorts and we do not see
phones on the table because this is The Time Before. Matt
STRETCHES like a cat in the sunshine. YAWNING -

MATT
Supposed to be running lines.

DENNIS
Mm. Can’t wait for our scene.

MATT
Really?

DENNIS
No. But I get why he gave it to me.
I need to work on my uh... my...

MATT
Your vulnerability?

DENNIS
That. What you said.

MATT
I didn’t get what was so wrong with
your last scene!

DENNIS
Thank you!

MATT
Seriously! Everyone thought you
were hilarious.

DENNIS
If I smack into a door on the way
out, I’m gonna make a thing of it.

MATT
You can do comedy. It’s a gift.

DENNIS
Yeah well... We know you can do the
vulnerability thing so... It’s
really good. Your stuff. I should
take notes.
 60.

MATT
Half the time I don’t know what I’m
doing in class.

DENNIS
See? Vulnerable.

MATT
Doesn’t translate to auditions tho.
I kinda shut down.

DENNIS
You go out a lot?

MATT
Enough. I just don’t book.

DENNIS
Jamie said actors walk in the room
like they’re afraid to track shit
on the carpet. We’re supposed to
act like WE’RE the host, we invited
YOU, and we’re inviting you to US.

FIDDLING with printed-out scene pages -

MATT
Jamie has a lot to say.

DENNIS
You think he’s wrong?

MATT
No. I just don’t know if I can pull
all that off. I get nervous.

DENNIS
(sucking his teeth)
Everyone’s nervous in there.

MATT
The audition?

DENNIS
Yeah. Casting director’s afraid of
the director, director’s afraid of
the producer, producer’s afraid of
the studio... Then YOU show up
like, “Hi I’m the one you’ve been
waiting for the period at the end
of the sentence the answer to the
question. So you can stop shitting
yourselves.”

MATT
While looking like a young George
Lucas. Got it.
 61.

DENNIS
This is a confidence thing with
you. I see that now.

As Matt SQUIRMS -

DENNIS (CONT’D)
You cannot give them what they
want. Only what you do. If what you
do is what they want, you’re in
business. If not - “See ya.”

MATT
You sound very clear about it.

DENNIS
I think they know the minute you
walk in if you’re who they had in
mind. The rest is confirmation.

Matt LAUGHS but there’s no joy in it.

DENNIS (CONT’D)
What?

MATT
How... how do you... how can like
an alien, from Mars, ever be “who
you had in mind” if you have no
previous experience with aliens?

DENNIS
Who’s the alien here? You?

MATT
They’re out there.

DENNIS
I’ve seen your work. You’ve got me
in the fan club.

WAVING his hands like a white flag -

MATT
I don’t wanna derail us. Shall we
run lines?

DENNIS
You got the face for it. I’m
serious. “The look.” I could see
you on that show. Examining the
dead girl in the suitcase down by
the tracks or whatever.

MATT
Thanks.
 62.

DENNIS
Not into it?

MATT
I dunno what I’m into these days.

DENNIS
There’s a joke in there but I’m not
gonna make it.

MATT
Ha! Yeah. Don’t.

Beat.

DENNIS
What did you think I was gonna say?

Matt SHRUGS, looks away, fighting a bad mood.

MATT
No idea.
(opening his pages)
Alright! “FEVER DREAM 2: NIGHT
SWEATS. Sc. 117. INT. INTERROGATION
ROOM.”

DENNIS
Ugh. Don’t make me.

MATT
Up next week, my friend.

DENNIS
Are you going to the uh... to the
workshop Saturday?

MATT
What workshop?

DENNIS
Audition technique. Down below
Olympic. At noon. Was thinking we
could go together.

MATT
Oh. I might need to cover a shift.

DENNIS
Okay. Some other time.

MATT
There’s another workshop?

DENNIS
No. I think the one Saturday is it.
 63.

MATT
Oh. Okay. Yeah.

Matt’s distracted, WRITING in the scene margins.

DENNIS
So another time?

MATT
For what?

DENNIS
To hang out.

MATT
Hang out why?

DENNIS
I dunno. Just... to hang out.

Matt looks up.

DENNIS (CONT’D)
You and me.

MATT
Oh.

Beat.

DENNIS
Sorry. Forget it.

MATT
Oh! Uh...

DENNIS
Please - forget I said anything.

MATT
I’m not... I didn’t...

DENNIS
Hey, man. My mistake. I wasn’t sure
but... whatever. Doesn’t matter.

MATT
Sorry. I didn’t realize.

DENNIS
Doesn’t matter.

MATT
It’s okay, I’m not... I didn’t... I
didn’t know. About you. Sorry.
 64.

DENNIS
Nothing to be sorry for.
(beat)
Suddenly I am... Wow... Sweat is
like POURING down my sides...

Matt LAUGHS. All at once his expression is brighter, lines

less fuzzy than we’ve seen. OFF Dennis’s questioning look -

MATT
I’m not laughing at you, it’s...

DENNIS
What?

MATT
You were saying before...

Matt LAUGHS again, shakes his head.

DENNIS
What?

MATT
You said you needed to work on your
vulnerability.

Dennis smiles, sheepish... Matt doesn’t look away this time.

DENNIS
Did I?

Matt nods, blushes... Dennis thinks it’s a good look.

MATT
Yeah. You did. I heard you.

As a warm Santa Ana kicks in, we SLOWLY PAN DOWN from the men
(not running lines anytime soon), catch Dennis’s foot INCHING
CLOSER to Matt’s beneath the table, DOWN into the concrete...

Before we go we clock their choice of footwear: Ancient black

Tevas (Dennis), brand new RED ADIDAS SLIDES (Matt)...

They’ll be played by different actors so we might have missed

it before, but now we know for sure...

MATT IS DAD YEARS EARLIER, his coffee date with a stranger at

a Starbucks in Pomona not even a twinkle in the eye...

CUT TO BLACK

Note: The following sequence is choreographed to sync up with

the entirety of Tchaikovsky’s “Swan Lake” Act II No. 10.
 65.

INT. THEATRE - HALLWAY - NIGHT

PITCH BLACK. So dark we can barely make out the DOUBLE DOORS
before us, closed, the only LIGHT visible coming from around
their edges, alerting us to something RADIANT within...

A beat... The doors SWING INWARD of their own accord...

REVEAL an empty DRESSING ROOM... The kind found in turn-of-

the-century theatres and music halls...

Makeup stations (desks and chairs, mirrors framed by light

bulbs) line the walls to the left and right...

At the far end, on a DRESS FORM, is the most glorious floor-

length high-collared CAPE ever created by human hands...

IRIDESCENT, SHIMMERING, a TIDAL WAVE of sequins and stones

starting crimson at the collar then cascading thru orange,
yellow, green, blue, indigo... finishing violet at the hem...

CU on a MAN (20s) motionless in the doorway, eyes fixed on

the cape... This has been HIS POV FROM THE BEGINNING...

The man, too, seems to SHIMMER... Tall, Black, with a

dancer’s body, bare chested and in tights...

He approaches the cape silently, reverently, reaching out to

touch... hesitates... touches...

The fabric is cool beneath his fingers...

QUICK CUTS... The cape WHISKED from the dress form, UNFURLED,
fastened around his neck with gold clasps...

WIDE ON the dancer at the far end of the dressing room,

gazing at himself in a 3-paneled MIRROR, RESPLENDENT now...

QUICK CUTS as he applies makeup/war paint... Eyes, cheeks,

lips... Drama, sparkle, shine...

He TURNS from the mirror, looks toward the door... Ready...

QUICK CUTS while the music starts to CRESCENDO, building

toward its irresistible climax...

The dancer must move quickly now...

HURRYING, he emerges from the dressing room into the hallway,

strides DOWN the corridor, THRU an open door, DOWN a metal
staircase folding in on itself AGAIN and AGAIN like a NYC
fire escape, SPIRALING LOWER and LOWER as the music SWELLS...

We sense his HASTE, as if in danger of missing his cue...

 66.

QUICK CUTS of feet POUNDING stairs, cape WHIPPING AROUND and

FLOATING over metal bannisters, an OVERHEAD shot on his head
as he descends, from BELOW as he STREAKS thru frame...

At last he arrives at STAGE LEVEL, cloaked in DARKNESS except

for a single SPOTLIGHT waiting on the distant stage...

FASTER NOW... HURRYING... HURRYING...

He reaches the/his spotlight, timing (of course) flawless...

And as the score TAKES WING SO DOES HE, GRABBING BOTH SIDES
OF THE CAPE AND SWEEPING HIS ARMS UPWARD LIKE A BIRD TAKING
FLIGHT, THE CAPE BECOMING A PAIR OF GLITTERING WINGS 20 FT.
TALL, RAINBOW PLUMAGE MAGNIFICENT...

SHOCKING...

TERRIFYING...

A BREATHLESS PAUSE...

THEN MULTIPLE HANDS REACH FROM THE DARKNESS SNATCHING AT HIS

WINGS, GRABBING, RIPPING, TEARING AS HE THRASHES... A FRENZY
OF VIOLENCE AND DESTRUCTION ENDING AS QUICKLY AS IT BEGAN...

THE HANDS FALL AWAY AND WE ARE ON THE DANCER’S NAKED BACK,
BARE NOW EXCEPT FOR TWO MISERABLE STUMPS...

HE WRITHES AND FLEXES, MUSCLES RIPPLING... STILL STRONG,

STILL POWERFUL BUT WINGLESS NOW... FLIGHTLESS...

WITH A SINGLE LOOK BACK OVER HIS SHOULDER TO CAMERA -

GRIEVOUS, FURIOUS, A GOD WHO WILL NOT FORGET AND WILL BE
RECKONED WITH - HE RUNS AWAY FROM US INTO THE DARKNESS...

LEAVING AN EMPTY POOL OF LIGHT...

CUT TO BLACK

5:02 PM

WIDE ON the 10 FREEWAY, a parking lot at rush hour...

OVER the following one-sided PHONE CALL we START WIDE, find

our way into a CU on Chucks on his way home, FIGHTING LA
traffic in a nice but not ridiculously nice SUV...

CHUCKS
No... No, a “producer’s pass” is
when I jerk off into a cup three
times a day for six months and no
one says “thank you.” Like, “You
are doing this for free, bitch”...
(MORE)
 67.

CHUCKS (CONT'D)
No, that’s when I go in, get down
on my knees on the carpet, and her
underlings stand in a ring nutting
on my bowed head while I try to
keep it out of my eyes, ears, nose
and mouth but, you know, it’s ON
you... Then later you find out head
cheerleader hadn’t even read your
draft and was just sitting in while
the squad used you as a cum dump...

5:44 PM

Farther along the 10, INCHING toward his exit...

CHUCKS
Smart/cute/lonely not pathetic but
you can see “pathetic” on the
horizon, no life, all about her job
and her FAVE actor on her FAVE show
she’s got this MASSIVE crush on but
she’s 30-something and corporate so
she’s gotta keep it quiet because
it’s humiliating but ba-ba-ba TV
boyfriend gets outed - scandal -
killed off the show and - still
working this out - ends up broke,
MOVING IN WITH HER - hence the
title, “TV Boyfriend” - so he’s HER
ROOMMATE NOW and it’s everything
she ever wanted except he’s gay OMG
but that IS everything she ever
wanted but didn’t KNOW she wanted
but then he hooks up with her DAD
who’s this hunky divorced
contractor-type... Hijinks...

6:14 PM

Grubby GAS STATION, FILLING UP... New phone call? We don’t

know and it doesn’t matter...

CHUCKS
No, we NEVER dated... I got wasted
at a party and he stuck his tongue
down my throat minus my consent and
I was like, “OKAY! THANK YOU FOR
CLARIFYING YOUR INTENTIONS”...

SNIFFING his fingers for gas -

 68.

CHUCKS (CONT’D)
Because before I was like, “Are you
my boss or trying to be a friend or
maybe a mentor because, you know,
that would’ve been nice, at some
point, to have, but I guess I read
your predator energy right the
first time and now you’ve pulled
everything into focus so... SEE YOU
MONDAY!”

6:27 PM

PAVILIONS. Just a basket for essentials... Some attractive

men here tonight, all of whom ignore Chucks, RAKE past him
with their eyes... Not devastating just how it is...

CHUCKS
Please explain to me what exactly
is “queer” about two actresses who
enjoy dick in real life...

An ELDERLY SHOPPER (Asian, male) is HEARING THIS, waiting for

Chucks to clear the canned soup... Mouthing “sorry,” then -

CHUCKS (CONT’D)
Straight women locking lips on TV
for 5 seconds is “representation”
how? Playing devil’s advocate
because they’re assholes and
assholes keep it interesting for
the rest of us - ahem and amen - I
would argue the moment a straight
kid pops a spring watching hot
women kiss onscreen it is instantly
less “queer” and more “girl-on-
girl” and I’d be happy to continue
this conversation if either of us
gave a nanoshit...

Lingering in front of the Entenmann’s display, Chucks FINGERS

a Louisiana Crunch Cake, half-pulls it off the shelf... Spots
a HOTTIE (20s, white) down the aisle... not looking this way,
not going to... The cake stays where it is...

6:34 PM

Frozen food aisle, paused in front of the pizzas, OPENING and

CLOSING the freezer door repeatedly -
 69.

CHUCKS
She’s all, “Who is this rookie cop
with the curls and the cheeks and
the Scooby-Doo vibes showing up at
my crime scenes and why does he
have this KNACK for getting inside
the criminal mind?” But then it’s
like, “Whoa” because she’s got the
gift, you know, this ability to see
victims’ PAST lives that impacted
THIS life that helps her solve the
cases no one else can solve and
she’s like, “WHOA - rookie cop was
TED BUNDY IN A PREVIOUS LIFE...”
But he’s not Bundy YET just got
Bundy POTENTIAL like could go
either way and only she knows so
she takes him under her arm, tries
to steer him in the right direction
and they get into this very sweet
very touching big sister/little
brother thing the audience totally
invests in but ultimately it’s his
NATURE, right, his DESTINY to be
Ted-fucking-Bundy so she has to put
him down like a dog in the street
and it’s devastating because it’s
Scooby-Doo but it’s Ted Bundy but
it’s Scooby-Doo so she’s torn...
That’s first season...

6:39 PM

Pavilions. Furious behind the Fuji apples. Sotto -

CHUCKS
You know I mean well and have a
good heart but FUCK THEM FUCK THEM
SO HARD I CAN SEE MY PINK TIP
POPPING UP AT THE BACK OF THEIR
THROATS... No it was the tone the
whole TONE of it... Historically
yes I’ve had issues reading tone in
emails but I am 99% sure... Yes all
ellipses ALL ELLIPSES like drop a
period, asshole... Obnoxious...

7:06 PM

Driveway of a small ONE-LEVEL SPANISH (20s not 40s), walking

from car to house with gym bag, grocery bag, bag-bag, etc...
 70.

CHUCKS
A GODDESS SHE IS A GODDESS I say to
her at every opportunity I say YOU
ARE A GODDESS in another timeline I
AM YOU in my next life I AM COMING
BACK AS YOU and she’s like, “Please
stop saying these things to me...”

LAUGHING as he gets to the porch... Note: We can guess who

he’s talking about. (If we can’t, see page 19.)

7:08 PM

Dark HALLWAY. We’re ON HIS BACK thru the half-open door to

the bathroom, watching as he takes a long held-in PISS...

CHUCKS
“Char Hill Hall” like “Choate
Rosemary Hall” with the suggestion
of burning flesh. Elite east coast
boarding school, old money, sons of
titans ba-ba-ba, sexy/snarky with
the gray v-neck sweaters and maroon
skirts or navy or whatever...

7:10 PM

BEEPING. A microwave door opens in an un-rehabbed KITCHEN...

Chucks removes a small/sad/tight supermarket burrito (frozen

foods section, 2 for $3), takes it to the counter, BURIES it
in gourmet guac, salsa, and a POUND of sour cream...

CHUCKS
Turns out something in the woods -
the whole school is off in the
woods - something nasty is picking
off students but reveal like 3rd
ep... I dunno... 8? 9? It’s ONLY
the scholarship foster care kids
from like DETROIT. They get full-
rides, get to the school, get eaten
by the demon-headmaster-thing who’s
turning generations of rich kids
into mini-monsters who go out and
FEED on the masses like their
daddies did before them... Yeah...
Like THAT’S graduation - hunting
underprivileged kids in the dark in
the woods... I know... Race stuff,
some gay stuff maybe-definitely,
gender stuff... Yeah... I need to
up the kills... Townies probably...
Feels CW but I want it to look
expensive...
 71.

7:18 PM

DINING ROOM. The vibe mid century meets Santa Monica Airport
Flea Market meets movie paraphernalia... Already done eating -

CHUCKS
Karma’s a bitch but lately she’s
been going to the wrong house and
shitting the wrong bed... No... No,
Karma my cat, Mom...

We catch something small/orange/luxuriant SLIPPING under the

table beneath his feet...

7:41 PM

Out by the POOL, perched at the end of a lounger, SMOKING

what feels like Today’s Cigarette, ASHING wherever... The
mood is noticeably softening/quieting/unwinding...

CHUCKS
They’re doing “Dangerous Liaisons”
at The Geffen in April. All-male.
Everyone’s gay, playing gay. The
dude from the show in the Glenn
role which, yawn, but Lee Pace as
“Valmont”... I know... I don’t care
who I have to fuck I will be front
row center...
(groaning)
Oh my god I’m gonna know SO many
people there... and I’m gonna have
to talk to all of them... Yeah...
It’ll be worth it...

8:05 PM

Still poolside, flat on his back on the edge or DANGLING his

feet in the water if the night’s warm enough...

CHUCKS
Yeah except I don’t even make it to
LA... I pull off somewhere nowhere
but cute like Cleveland and wander
into this bookstore-cum-cafe and
fall for the owner who plays piano
for the local Light Opera...
(MORE)
 72.

CHUCKS (CONT'D)
We get married and years go by and
I find myself running this once
grand mansion-turned-struggling-
event-space downtown busting my
hump to keep the lights on and
developers at bay and every day I’m
like, “OMG what NOW?” but I never
give LA/these people/this
place/this TOWN a second fucking
thought I’m so happy... And I
choose that timeline every time...
Every single time...

8:22 PM

PACING wherever you can pace in the backyard, barefoot,

mindful of being overheard by neighbors over the fence...

CHUCKS
At some point, yeah, but I can’t
think about that right now... I
know... It’s not fair to her...

BRUSHING at the grass with his foot -

CHUCKS (CONT’D)
I’m finding hair everywhere and the
vet’s like, “whenever you’re ready”
but it’s such a hard conversation.
SUCH a hard conversation... Yeah...
yeah... No, I hear you...

8:38 PM

KITCHEN again, one light burning, RINSING his dish, sticking

it in the dishwasher... Talking to (what feels like) an ex -

CHUCKS
Yeah... I know it’s late there.
Okay. I’ll let you go. Love you
too... Okay. Okay. ‘Night.

8:59 PM

WIDE ON Chucks at the other end of the BACKYARD... It’s late,

dark, we can just make him out, standing motionless with HIS
BACK TO US, facing a tall fence completely covered in ivy, a
green-black WALL...

Night SOUNDS, a HELICOPTER in the distance... PING... He just

got a text... Chucks does not react...

CUT TO BLACK
 73.

GEORGE (V.O.)
Don’t.

INT. PENTHOUSE - BEDROOM - NIGHT

FADE UP to a room so dark we don’t know it’s a bedroom until

we do... PETER (30s), a blonde adonis, stands at the foot of
the bed, dress shirt half-unbuttoned...

He pauses, looks toward CAMERA...

PETER
Don’t what?

GEORGE (O.S.)
Don’t do it.

PETER
Do what?

GEORGE (O.S.)
Come to bed.

Peter seems unsure what to do next... then hears CHUCKLING...

PETER’S POV: GEORGE (50s, not white, dreamboat), in bed, head

on the pillow, under the sheet, wearing only (from the little
we can tell) what God intended...

GEORGE (CONT’D)
Don’t even think about it.

PETER
Oh yeah?

GEORGE
Yeah. Don’t have the thought. I’m
warning you.

GEORGE’S/OUR POV: Peter, shirtless now, SLIDING his belt from

its loops, movements more intentional, keeping his audience
in mind...

PETER
What if I did?

His belt buckle hits the carpet with a THUMP...

PETER (CONT’D)
What if I did have the thought?

GEORGE
Might have to do somethin’ about
it.
 74.

Peter DROPS his pants, moves to the edge of the bed near
George’s feet...

PETER
Like what? What are you gonna do?

GEORGE
Fuck you.

PETER
Yeah? You’re gonna fuck me?

GEORGE
Yeah.

As his boxer briefs SLIDE south -

PETER
What else?

GEORGE
Be fucked. By you.

PETER
You think so?

GEORGE
Mm-hm.

The mattress SINKS slightly as Peter starts CRAWLING up the

bed on all fours, George lying motionless beneath him...

PETER
What else? What else are you gonna
do about it?

GEORGE
Love you.

PETER
You’re gonna love me?

GEORGE
Yes.

Taking his time, Peter GRAZES the body under the sheet, using
his cheek, his chest, his everything...

PETER
Yes what?

GEORGE
Yes, please.

PETER
Anything else?
 75.

GEORGE
Be loved. By you.

PETER
You want me to love you?

GEORGE
Mm-hm. Please.

Peter is HOVERING over George, their lips inches apart, when

we spy a small TATTOO on Peter’s neck, a GLYPH... Realize we
are looking at BOOTS (STARBUCKS COWBOY) YEARS EARLIER...

Note: Like MATT and DAD, PETER and BOOTS will be played by 2
different actors...

PETER/YOUNG BOOTS
Sweetheart?

GEORGE
Yes?

PETER/YOUNG BOOTS
I came to bed. Sorry.

GEORGE
Me too.

A kiss feels imminent... until we hear GIGGLING...

MATT (V.O.)
Forgot my next line.

CUT TO Matt hovering over Dennis IN THE SAME POSITION but

both are dressed, it’s daytime, and they’re in Dennis’s
stifling attic rental somewhere in the Valley, REHEARSING A
SCENE FROM A MOVIE FOR CLASS... Blushing, self-conscious -

MATT
This is stupid.

DENNIS
I’m kinda into it.

MATT
It’s stupid.

DENNIS
All I know is, some of us have our
lines memorized. Some of us are
trying to be professional.

MATT
Fuck you.

DENNIS
That’s my line.
 76.

Going for “casual” but falling short -

MATT
Why do you think he gave us this
scene?

DENNIS
I dunno, handsome. It’s a mystery.

Dennis can tell Matt wants to go dark but isn’t going to let
him. (This is already their dynamic.) TICKLES him...

MATT
Stop! I’m being serious...

DENNIS
Mm-hm. It’s a thinker alright.

Matt GIGGLES again as Dennis pulls him down so there’s no

room between them now, their faces close...

DENNIS (CONT’D)
A real head-scratcher.

MATT
I’m serious.

DENNIS
Maybe... maybe he sees what there
is to see... Maybe he wants us to
step into it.

MATT
What does he see?

Dennis lets his eyes do the talking... In years to come, they

will both think of this as the first time either of them said
(or “said”), “I love you”...

Matt grins, puts his head on Dennis’s chest, SQUEEZES HIM

TIGHT for a second, half-giddy, half-checking to make sure
he’s real... Whispering, so only they can hear -

MATT (CONT’D)
We’re in the palm.

DENNIS
The palm of the hand.

MATT
The palm of the hand of the
universe.

A quiet, content beat... Matt remembers his scene pages lying

on the bed nearby, picks them up...
 77.

MATT (CONT’D)
And then I say... What do I say?
Oh. Hm.

DENNIS
What do you say?

MATT
Nothing.

DENNIS
Nothing?

MATT
It says, “A kiss feels imminent...”

DENNIS
Hey - if it’s in the script it’s in
the script.

MATT
Just reading what’s here.

DENNIS
Then I guess we’d better, huh?

Matt settles back down on top of Dennis, closer than close...

MATT
See? I can be professional too.

They kiss. Softly -

DENNIS
Once more. With feeling.

Matt obliges... and as things go from 0 to 60 we RACK FOCUS

to the standing floor FAN across the room, blades WHIRRING,
SWEEPING cool air over these two dedicated students...

CUT TO BLACK

HOUSEWIFE (V.O.)
Who is this?

INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN - CHICAGO - DAY

We’re still ON HOUSEWIFE’S BACK as she stares out the window,

on the phone... If there is a mood it is changing rapidly...

HOUSEWIFE
Oh no... no... no... no...

We get the sense something is very, very wrong...

CUT TO BLACK
 78.

Brilliant sunshine...

Top two-thirds of frame: Blue sky... Below: Slashes of low

concrete walls painted white, black asphalt neatly divided
into hundreds of empty spaces...

REVEAL we are atop the PARKING GARAGE at THE GROVE...

A suspended moment as wind WHISTLES... High overhead, planes

fly in/out of LAX... Then a familiar honey baked drawl -

BOOTS (O.S.)
Sure this is the message you wanna
send?

REVEAL Boots (Starbucks cowboy) looking loose and limber in

head-to-toe BLACK LEATHER... Smirking -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
It takes two?

To his right, a dozen yards away, REVEAL Chucks in head-to-

toe SILVER LEATHER with matching Chucks...

CHUCKS
To make a thing go right. Yeah.

To Boots’s left, also a dozen yards away and completing their

rooftop triangle, REVEAL She (Oscar winner) in GOLD LEATHER
and matching boots...

SHE
He asked me to come.

CHUCKS
I asked her to come.

All three are giving off serious superhero/fashion-forward

energy... Marvel meets Mad Max meets that little gold number
by Whitaker Malem for Givenchy Spring 1997...

SHE
(to Boots)
I can handle you alone.

CHUCKS
BEEN handling.

SHE
So can he.

CHUCKS
But I always feel like I need an
audience.

BOOTS
Now why’s that?
 79.

CHUCKS
(shrugging)
Why do men send dick pics?

SHE
The eternal questions.

BOOTS
On that note... Lessee what you’re
workin’ with!

CHUCKS
You first.

A beat... Then Boots’s hands DANCE behind his back, reappear

with twin SWORDS, nasty-looking... He shows off, SLICING and
DICING... We get it. Welcome to Badlands, USA. Pop. 01...

BOOTS
Lil’ BDE never hurt nobody!
(to Chucks)
Unless you’re into it.

CHUCKS
(to She)
“Big Dick Energy.”

SHE
I know what BDE stands for.

BRANDISHING his swords -

BOOTS
Big dicks. Technically.
(winking at Chucks)
This do it for ya?

CHUCKS
It doesn’t not do it for me.

SHE
Boys. Some other time.

BOOTS
Your turn, beautiful.

She SPINS in place, graceful and efficient, returns to her

original position wielding a long gold SCYTHE, edges GLEAMING
and sharp, WINKING in the sun... Boots nods, approving -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Lemme guess: As I sow -

SHE
So shall you reap.
 80.

BOOTS
Poetry.

Turning to Chucks -

BOOTS (CONT’D)
Okay, handsome. Show me what you’re
packin’. I know you been -

Chucks SPINS in place... DOESN’T return to his original

position... ROTATES into an elegant LUNGE and LASHES OUT WITH
THE BUSINESS END OF A SILVER WHIP! IT SNAKES TO FULL LENGTH,
COILS AROUND BOOTS’S NECK!

CHUCKS
I’m not super into foreplay.

Chucks YANKS HARD and Boots JERKS FORWARD, HITS the ground
and DRAGS over pavement! SKKKKRT! DROPS BOTH SWORDS as he
GRABS his neck, CHOKING as Chucks REELS him in like a fish!

She wastes NO TIME, SPINS OUT scythe SWEEPING, brings it UP

HIGH and DOWN HARD! SCHUNK! Buries it in the spot Boots just
was before SNAPPING and ROLLING away!

FYI - THE INSTANT HER BLADE STRUCK PAVEMENT WE WENT FROM LIVE
ACTION TO ANIMATION! GRAPHIC NOVEL-STYLE... BOLD LINES, VIVID
COLORS... KEY WORDS/DIALOGUE IN SPEECH BUBBLES SYNCED UP WITH
THE ACTORS’ V.O./NARRATION...

CHUCKS (CONT’D)
Good question tho.

SHE
Why you’re not into foreplay?

Boots is FIGHTING for BREATH, FLIPPING and WRITHING on the

ground as he narrowly avoids She’s blade! SCHUNK! SCHUNK!

CHUCKS
Why men send dick pics.

SHE
Ah.

CHUCKS
Men like sending pics of themselves
in general? Is my observation? In
response to the most casual like,
“hey how are you?” text they’re
like, “HERE IS A PIC OF ME
EATING/SMILING/HIKING” you are now
obliged to respond to. Like, “Yup!
It’s you! You exist. You are alive
on this planet.”
 81.

SHE
Men need confirmation.

CHUCKS
Constant. But I think we all do,
no? I think it goes back to being
tribal? Deep down?

All the while a BATTLE ROYALE RAGES, the craziest/fiercest

set pieces the graphic artists can devise... A KNOCKDOWN-DRAG
OUT except it’s BOOTS GETTING KNOCKED DOWN AND DRAGGED OUT...

It’s not effortless for Chucks and She, but we get the sense
they’ve battled smug pieces of shit before...

SHE
Tribal?

CHUCKS
Yeah. Tribe-like. For thousands of
years, you and your tribe, doing
your tribe thing, 50 to 60 people
you’re related to by blood,
hunting/gathering/shitting
together, operating as a unit -

SHE
Many but one -

CHUCKS
Parts of the whole. Day-in-day-out
they’re looking at you, you’re
looking at them, they know who YOU
are, you know who THEY are and you
ALL know your survival depends on
each other. You’re never wondering
“Who am I?” because you’re staring
at yourself 24-7.

SHE
“You are us and we are you.”

CHUCKS
Products of our ancestors. What’s
for dinner, what furs look best on
you... all that’s been passed down
from generations past and is yours
to enjoy without thinking. “Who am
I?/What is my purpose?” are two
questions no one’s asking because
the answers are/will always be -

SHE
“A member of this tribe, dedicated
to ensuring its safety and
continuity.”
 82.

CHUCKS
Period.

SHE
End of story.

CHUCKS
End of EVERY story you’ve ever
heard because every story you’ve
ever heard is about you and your
tribe -

SHE
Reconfirming who and how you are -

CHUCKS
Every night, around the fire,
elders, telling stories -

SHE
Bedtime stories -

CHUCKS
Stories they heard from THEIR
elders as you huddle for warmth
with warm bodies you could not be
more intimately connected to every
night of your short struggle -

SHE
Your brief existence -

CHUCKS
30 years - tops - before the
sabretooths got you.

SHE
That’s how it was.

CHUCKS
For millennia.

SHE
Now it’s gone.

CHUCKS
Gone.

As the FIGHT ROLLS ON we INTERCUT between the ACTION and KEY

IMAGES illustrating what Chucks and She are breaking down...

SHE
Now many of us have no tribe, live
separated from our families in big
cities where we don’t know our
neighbors and are unknown in turn.
 83.

CHUCKS
Thank god.

SHE
And the stories of our ancestors -

CHUCKS
Passed down thru generations -

SHE
Reminding us who and how we are,
what our purpose is, have been
lost. Stolen. Forgotten.

CHUCKS
Left behind in a trunk in the old
country when our great-great-
grandparents moved here.

SHE
MOVED here?

CHUCKS
Relocated here. Were relocated.

SHE
And now -

CHUCKS
Now -

SHE
We don’t gather around the fire to
hear stories OF us BY us FOR us -

CHUCKS
We gather in living rooms -

SHE
Bedrooms and basements -

CHUCKS
Man caves -

SHE
In front of the TV -

CHUCKS
Alone -

SHE
More and more frequently alone,
watching stories that are not our
stories -

CHUCKS
Told by people we don’t know -
 84.

SHE
Will never meet -

CHUCKS
May not live/look/love like us -

SHE
Even slightly -

CHUCKS
May not like or even accept us -

SHE
Want to acknowledge our existence
in any way except as consumers of
THEIR stories, THEIR dreams -

CHUCKS
Staring at the screen, hoping to
see someone -

SHE
Something -

CHUCKS
We recognize or resemble -

SHE
Anything -

CHUCKS
Anything at all -

SHE
That might provide some clue as to
what we can and could aspire to in
this life.

CHUCKS
Starving, bingeing strange stories -

SHE
Strangers’ stories -

CHUCKS
That aren’t “inspiring” -

SHE
Filling us with a sense of meaning -

CHUCKS
But “entertaining” -

SHE
To distract from its absence -
 85.

CHUCKS
A creeping absence of meaning -

SHE
In our lives -

CHUCKS
And onscreen.

They’re into HAND-TO-HAND now, Chucks and She taking turns

CRACKING Boots across the JAW, sending him CAREENING back-and-
forth like a pinball between flippers... PING! PING! PING!

SHE
Which is a different -

CHUCKS
Less valuable -

SHE
Less nourishing -

CHUCKS
Nurturing -

SHE
Affirming -

CHUCKS
Sustaining -

SHE
Kind of storytelling altogether.

CHUCKS
Told by men -

SHE
It is usually men -

CHUCKS
Who are not tribal elders, living
repositories of inherited wisdom
going back eons -

SHE
But button-eyed boys in men’s
bodies selling snake oil and magic
elixirs -

CHUCKS
Inviting us to root for -

SHE
Invest in -
 86.

CHUCKS
Monsters -

SHE
Mobsters -

CHUCKS
Psychos -

SHE
Serial killers -

CHUCKS
Bankrupt belief systems -

SHE
Wet dreams and apocalyptic visions.

CHUCKS
Who’d like us to believe -

SHE
Who’d like themselves to believe -

CHUCKS
It’s not about the “Many but one” -

SHE
But “The One” -

CHUCKS
Chosen from many.

SHE
Survival of the fittest.

CHUCKS
The rest can fuck off.

SHE
Is it any wonder -

CHUCKS
No.

SHE
Can we wonder why -

CHUCKS
We cannot.

SHE
We find ourselves in this state?

CHUCKS
There is zero wonder.
 87.

SHE
It is the opposite of wonder.

CHUCKS
Whatever that is.

SHE
Dick pics?

CHUCKS
Dick pics.

SHE
Spectacle.

CHUCKS
Devoid of wonder.

Boots is looking like 10 miles of bad road... Face DESTROYED,

leather SHREDDED... SWAYING, STAGGERING around...

She produces her trusty SCYTHE, SPINS it thoughtfully...

SHE
The real question is...

SCHLINK! Boots’s left leg is GONE... He SCREAMS, DROPS to a

45-degree angle...

SHE (CONT’D)
What to do?

SCHLINK! Boots’s right leg DISAPPEARS TOO... GIBBERING...

CHUCKS
What to do about it.

SCHLICE! Left arm equals NO MAS... SCREAMS...

SHE
That’s the question.

SCHLICE! Right arm GONE... GIBBERING...

CHUCKS
That is the question.

Boots is SNIFFLING and SOBBING... Chucks comes up behind him,

places balancing hands on his unsteady shoulders like he’s a
game of human Jenga...

SHE
What’s the answer?

CRACK! SNAPS HIS FUCKING NECK...

 88.

BOOTS WAVERS, WOBBLES, DROPS TO THE HOT TAR... DEAD... THE

INSTANT HE STRIKES PAVEMENT WE’RE BACK TO LIVE ACTION...

CHUCKS
You got me.

BREATHING HARD they stare at Boots’s body, poses heroic/faces

stoic... We hear a THROAT CLEAR O.S... Chucks and She share a
look, PIVOT as one, STRIDE to the edge of the structure, look
down to the parking level below (partially open-air)...

THEIR POV: A SEA OF BOOTSES AND BOOTSES-IN-TRAINING, dressed

identically for combat, ranging in ages from 5 to 95...

The boys/men wait in silence, looking up at She and Chucks...

She and Chucks don’t seem surprised... because they’re not...

SHE
You know what I’m thinking?

CHUCKS
“The master’s tools will never
dismantle the master’s house?”

SHE
I could really go for some
KooKooRoo.

CUT TO BLACK

INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN - CHICAGO - DAY

CU on Housewife as she turns from the window, letting the

phone DROP to her side...

As she does we’ll take a moment to clarify three things: One,

Housewife is Black (what you pictured?)... Two, Housewife is
She (winner of Oscars, slayer of Boots)...

Three, the world as Housewife knew it is OVER...

We are witnessing a SPLITTING OPEN... a before-and-after

moment... something ending, something beginning... watch
helplessly as a HURRICANE RIPS THROUGH HER...

Face CRACKING, shoulders SHAKING, she does not know - WE do

not know - if she can weather the storm...

We GO WITH Housewife as she SINKS to the floor, wonder if

she’ll rise again... Suddenly she JACKKNIFES in on herself,
forehead pressed to the linoleum... A beat...

Housewife FLINGS her head back, face toward the ceiling and
heaven, opens her mouth... and HOWLS...

CUT TO BLACK
 89.

A VOICE (male, American) like velvet over gravel:

COACH (V.O.)
What do stars do?
(beat)
They burn.

CU on COACH (60s, white). Silver hair, face leaning toward

closed (the better to make you wonder what he’s thinking),
sparking as needed to convey warmth/humor/censure etc...

COACH
So. Who wants to be a STAR?

HIS POV: Class in progress... A little THEATRE, mostly full,

lots of types present. Age range? 19 to mid-30s (maybe)...

Every hand is RAISED...

Coach stands between the FRONT ROW and a tiny STAGE littered
with tables/chairs the Salvation Army would refuse...

COACH (CONT’D)
Good. You may put your hands down.

As the scene progresses students remain RAPT, responding like

an orchestra to the maestro’s baton...

COACH (CONT’D)
If that is true, if stars burn, I
assume everyone in this room is in
the business - this is a BUSINESS -
of discovering ways to ignite... Or
do I have it wrong?

“No” noises.

COACH (CONT’D)
My ex-wives would disagree.

CHUCKLES. The house lights are dimmed to create intimacy but

we can see students’ faces. Behind Coach the stage is bright,
welcoming...

COACH (CONT’D)
Dana. How’s your mother?

REVEAL DANA (33, white) somewhere in the middle.

DANA
Okay. Better.

COACH
Glad to hear it. Where is she
again?
 90.

DANA
Chicago.

COACH
Chicago. Do you have her number
handy?

Dana’s already in her carryall, produces her PHONE...

COACH (CONT’D)
Would you pull it up in your
contacts, please?
(to everyone else)
Anyone catch the game last night?

CHUCKLES. Nobody gives a fuck about the game.

DANA
Got it.

COACH
May I?

A second later Dana’s phone is in Coach’s hand and his finger

is hovering over her mother’s contact info...

COACH (CONT’D)
When was the last time you spoke?
Sent a text?

DANA
Um... yesterday? Around 4?

COACH
Thank you.
(thoughtful)
Now let’s say I call Dana’s mother,
who we assume loves her daughter
very much. I get her on the phone,
provide a few, rudimentary
details... “Dana. Last night. Car
accident. Dead.” Can we agree it is
likely Dana’s mother, on the other
end, will ignite? What do we think?

“Yes” noises. Dana’s looking at her phone in Coach’s hand.

COACH (CONT’D)
Paige. Favorite actress.

REVEAL PAIGE (23, not white) at the back, AKA RAQUEL, our
doomed boarding school student from “Char Hill Hall.”

PAIGE/RAQUEL
I’m on a Viola Davis kick right
now?
 91.

COACH
Splendid! Splendid choice... Worth
studying.
(to the class)
On her finest day, Viola Davis will
only be working toward, ON HER WAY
TO the place Dana’s mother - not an
actor - will arrive 60 seconds
after she gets the call. With her
considerable skill, years of
experience, Ms. Davis can only hope
to convey a fraction of what...
Dana? Your mother’s name?

DANA
(beat)
Helen.

COACH
What poor Helen will manifest
effortlessly. Organically. With
zero training Helen will be on
fire! A blaze of emotion
threatening to wipe Chicago from
the map!
(raising his hand)
Who would like to be there when
Helen gets the call?

WIDE ON hands shooting UP. Dana’s stays down.

COACH (CONT’D)
Who would be interested to see what
Helen does with her hands? To note
the way her mouth yawns open or
folds in on itself, making a shape
it’s never made before? Who would
PAY to see that?

Every hand is UP but one or two. Brow furrowing -

COACH (CONT’D)
Those of you not raising your
hands, on the break I invite you to
reflect on what you want/will do to
get it, why you are here at...
(checking his watch)
10:23 AM on a Thursday in the
Valley and not in bed. At the
beach. Whether you might be in the
wrong place entirely.
(then)
Dana? You, too, are a student of
behavior. Any part of you curious
to be present when your mom gets
the call?

Allowing a brief silence -

 92.

COACH (CONT’D)
Food for thought. Oh - I still have
your phone. Apologies.

It is returned.

COACH (CONT’D)
Now. Who can tell me what Viola
Davis can do that Dana’s mother
cannot? Enlighten me.

Coach spots a HAND at the end of the first row. REVEAL CONNIE
(20s, white), possessing a sharpness of line Dana will never
(Dana will be “going back for her degree” in a few months)...

COACH (CONT’D)
Connie.

CONNIE IS BRU. Pre- any kind of success and very young here,
dressed in a hoodie/jeans combo and blown-out Nikes...

COACH (CONT’D)
Viola Davis can...

CONNIE/BRU
Do it again.

COACH
How many times?

CONNIE/BRU
As many as it takes.

COACH
While?

CONNIE/BRU
Saying lines? Remembering where the
camera is? Or cameras? Um...

COACH
Making sure she’s in her light. As
prepared to shoot the scene at 8 AM
on a Tuesday as midnight on Friday.
Yes. There’s more to it, of course,
but... the general idea. Thank you,
Connie.

Connie/Bru flushes, SCRIBBLES in her journal. To everyone -

COACH (CONT’D)
Dana’s mother could conceivably do
it a second time provided she has
additional children...

A glance to Dana... who eventually nods “yes.”

 93.

COACH (CONT’D)
But we get into questions of
continuity.
(to the class)
Your job as a professional is to
walk on set and emotionally unzip.
Ignite. To burn. Lift the words off
the page in front of 60 to 100
strangers who, like the agents and
managers you hope to someday be
making calls on your behalf, have
no idea what an actor does or how
they do it... Many directors too,
sadly, fall into this category...
No one on that set will be up to
anything remotely resembling what
you are. They’ll be exploring their
own versions of a “professional.”
Changing a lens. Moving a prop.
Thinking about lunch. You will be
“getting the call.” Hearing the
news no parent hopes to hear. Again
and again... Getting the call,
getting the call... Each take
reaching for newness. Realness.
Rawness. Surprise. Using a script
someone else wrote which, frankly,
may or may not support your
efforts. What Dana’s mother
produces once without thinking you
will produce multiple times using a
combination of training, homework,
instinct, magic. What you had for
breakfast that morning.

CHUCKLES.

COACH (CONT’D)
Obviously what is required in that
moment depends on who’s answering
the phone. Gentlemen, the script
may well permit you the luxury of
understatement. A sudden sagging of
the shoulders, a steadying hand on
the counter... Later there will be
time for manly tears and slamming
doors as your grieving father comes
to grips with his loss, gradually
arcing from point A to point B...
(rueful)
Ladies, gender roles/expectations
being what they are, you can look
forward to executing the same arc
in less than a page. When the phone
rings the audience will anticipate
a 180-degree pivot: “Everything’s
fine” to annihilation.
(MORE)
 94.

COACH (CONT’D)
They will demand - thrill to - your
instant unraveling. Otherwise you
risk coming off as cold. Uncaring.
THAT kind of mother. Not at all
fair to actresses but... “Backwards
and in heels,” as they say.

Students are literally leaning forward...

COACH (CONT’D)
When it is over, when the director
is satisfied and you have done what
you were HIRED to do to the best of
your abilities, you zip yourself
up... and go home. That is a
professional. That is the job.
Those are the actors THEY choose to
tell OUR stories to US. And stories
are...

CLASS
Sacred.

COACH
Stories are sacred. Storytelling is
sacred. Mike? Why do we say stories
are sacred?

REVEAL MIKE (20s, Black) near the front, superhero casting,

AKA THE DANCER from the “Swan Lake” sequence.

MIKE/SWAN
Last time we were talking about how
stories reflect us back to us?

COACH
(nodding)
Storytelling - old as mankind - is
a checking in on/investigation of
where we’ve been. Are. Where we’re
going. How we make sense of what it
is to be human beings BEING human.

SHAKING his head but keeping it light -

COACH (CONT’D)
Surprising to consider Hollywood -
much of it anyway - does not take
this point of view. Hollywood would
have us believe “the screen” is
sacred and actors are gods.
(beat)
It isn’t and they aren’t.

Class is SO quiet...
 95.

COACH (CONT’D)
If not gods... what are we? Mike.

MIKE/SWAN
Warriors.

COACH
Warriors. Explorers. Topographers.
It is our JOB to go running toward
the places/experiences other people
spend their every waking moment
desperate to avoid. No one in real
life wants to get the call. But
they will pay to watch you pick up
the phone.
(then)
This is brave work. Also dangerous.
The only work that matters. The
rest is... “celebrity culture.”

He FLICKS it away with his fingers.

COACH (CONT’D)
No. We in this room know Hollywood
is merely...

CLASS
The straw.

COACH
The shiny straw through which the
sacred is currently channeled. One
day to be replaced by... something
else. When the straw finally snaps
or has been chewed through or worn
down to nothing - switched out with
steel maybe - it will be discarded
in the nearest landfill. Like you
and me.
(chuckling)
All straws give out. Eventually.

Not meant to be depressing just saying what’s true...

COACH (CONT’D)
Until then we in this room have the
privilege, the responsibility, of
channeling the sacred. To get the
call - and answer - as many times
as required. To burn brightly so
those watching in the darkness
better understand what it means to
be alive...
(beat)
Then you will be in the palm. In
the palm of the hand of the
universe that is God.
 96.

A dramatic PAUSE... broken expertly. Checking his watch -

COACH (CONT’D)
10:37! And we haven’t started our
first scene! What are you going to
do with me? Apologies. Oh - before
we begin, any questions? We’ll
continue to circle back to this. In
detail. Of course.

Hands are UP but Connie/Bru’s is first.

COACH (CONT’D)
Yes. Connie.

CONNIE/BRU
Yeah um... so how... I guess I have
two questions? While we’re like,
going to that place -

COACH
IN that place.

CONNIE/BRU
In that place getting raw -

COACH
BEING raw.

CONNIE/BRU
Being raw. And vulnerable. Like,
take after take, on set or at an
audition, on location...

COACH
We should all be so lucky!

CONNIE/BRU
While we’re, you know... burning...
around people who... it’s like you
said they mean well, hopefully, a
lot of them...

Across her face a cloud, there and then gone...

CONNIE/BRU (CONT’D)
But they have no idea what we do.
What it costs. Not really.

COACH
(smiling)
I was promised two - what I’m sure
are essential - questions.
 97.

CONNIE/BRU
Sorry. First question: When we’re
doing our job and unzipping...
emotionally... in front of 3 or 30
or 100 people, how do we stay safe?
Like, how do we protect ourselves?
(then)
My second question is... how do we
get back? Like... in one piece?
After we’ve gone to that place and
burned and all that good stuff...
How do we come back from there?

Class is HUSHED, eyes on Coach, eager to hear answers to what

are clearly essential questions...

CU on Coach, staring at Connie/Bru, mouth working but no

wisdom just yet...

Seconds tick by, TICK TICK TICK... Someone COUGHS...

XCU on Coach... left eye twitching?

XCU on Connie/Bru... pen uncapped, hovering...

XXCU on Coach looking... dunno... Like a man who has either

never considered such things before or, quite possibly, does
not give a shit.

TICK

TICK

TICK

CUT TO BLACK

VOICE (V.O.)
The first time... ever I saw your
face...

INT. LA APARTMENT BUILDING - LOBBY - NIGHT

We find ourselves GLIDING THRU a once grand space as the SONG

continues, a lustrous alto over a lone GUITAR...

VOICE (O.S.)
I thought the sun... rose in your
eyes...

MOVE PAST Spanish-style wall sconces, a plaster fireplace

that’s never seen a fire...

PAST clusters of chairs and potted plants, leaves stretching

toward the ceiling, casting shadows over faded red tiles...
 98.

VOICE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

And the moon and the stars...

The lights are low and there’s no one to be seen... It would

feel haunted if we didn’t, instinctively, feel safe...

VOICE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

Were the gifts you gave...

Up three steps is a wide landing with a generous staircase to

the right, curving banister rising to the floors above...

VOICE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

To the dark... and the endless
skies...

Ahead a small arched PASSAGEWAY descending into darkness...

VOICE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

My love...

We FOLLOW IT DOWN step by step to the BASEMENT, taking our

time... No need to hurry...

VOICE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

And the first time...

Moving along a CORRIDOR we SNAKE left then right, old pipes

HISSING above our heads...

VOICE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

Ever I kissed your mouth...

For the most part it is completely black down here... But we

see LIGHT from an open DOOR at the end of a long hall...

VOICE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

I felt the earth... move in my
hand...

Arriving we look in, find a room packed with PEOPLE (all

ages/races) holding plastic cups of wine, bottles of beer...

VOICE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

Like the trembling heart... of a
captive bird...

The elderly sit in folding chairs while younger ones stand or

lean against WASHERS lining the far wall, set beneath windows
high enough to offer a glimpse of sidewalk outside...

VOICE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

That was there... at my command...

To the right: A line of DRYERS against the whitewashed wall,

enlisted tonight for additional seating/leaning...
 99.

To the left: A long table used for folding clothes during the
day, now happily burdened with cookies, chips, salsa...

The room is quiet, all eyes and attention on the WOMAN (50s,
Black) perched atop the middle washer, battered guitar in her
hands, SINGING...

WOMAN/SHE
My love...

Her demeanor is unassuming, her dress practical (she was on

line at the plumber’s depot a few hours ago), but her voice
would give Miss Flack pause...

WOMAN/SHE (CONT’D)
And the first time... ever I lay
with you...

It’s a voice meant for recording studios and concert halls,

not basement laundry rooms... Perhaps in another, superior
timeline...

WOMAN/SHE (CONT’D)
I felt your heart... so close to
mine...

Eyes wet she sings, gaze fixed primarily on a MAN (late 30s,
white) propped against the opposite wall by the door...

WOMAN/SHE (CONT’D)
And I knew our joy... would fill
the earth...

The man wears a hoodie/jeans combo and a pair of dirty Chucks

(he spent the afternoon replanting the front yard), holds a
forgotten bottle of Corona Light...

WOMAN/SHE (CONT’D)
And last... ‘til the end of time...

His eyes are wet too, for reasons he can and cannot name...

WOMAN/SHE (CONT’D)
My love...

At this moment there is no place in the world she, he, or

anyone else in this room would rather be...

WOMAN/SHE (CONT’D)
The first time...

He lets the corners of his mouth lift in a smile that’s more

complicated than happiness, and she answers with her own...

WOMAN/SHE (CONT’D)
Ever I saw your face...
 100.

We SLOWLY DRIFT to the right, PAST the silent throng, OVER

the dryers, THROUGH the cinder block wall...

WOMAN/SHE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

Your face...

Into the blackness beyond...

WOMAN/SHE (O.S.) (CONT’D)

Your face...