LOCATION: UK
RECORDS: 204
LATEST RECORD: 1 day ago
JOINED: February 05, 2010
All Day Glo's RECords
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Adapted from missamerica's story The Emancipation of Harold, the Office Cat, based on Nattie's drawing of The Office Cat.
INT. HAROLD'S APARTMENT The rising sun peeks in through a venetian blind, casting rays over HAROLD's bed. Harold, of course, is a CAT, and his bed is a wicker basket with a blanket. Everything else about the room resembles that of a hard-working modern professional. Next to the basket is a bedside table. On it sits a lamp, a book, and an alarm clock. The ALARM rings. The time on the dial reads simply as "EARLY". Harold YAWNS, and stretches out a paw to disable the alarm. Opening his cupboard, he examines a row of near-identical suits, shoddily modified to fit his feline shape. He selects a navy blue number, and struggles into it. EXT. HAROLD'S STREET Harold exits his apartment. Next door, a MAN grapples with a PUSHCHAIR and CHILD. They nod a greeting. MAN Morning, Harold. Off to work? HAROLD You know me, Ben. Punch in, punch out. BEN Another day... HAROLD Another dollar. They laugh. Good neighbours. Nice community on the street. Harold walks off UPRIGHT on his hind-legs. EXT. TOWN CENTRE On his way to work, Harold's eye is caught by a NEW SHOP. He stops outside and peers into the window - it's a SURF SHOP. Harold is entranced by the brightly coloured boards and suits on display. He turns side-on to the window; his REFLECTION is positioned as though riding the board before him. SOUND EFFECTS: waves crashing. Distant cheers. Someone mis-quoting Point Break. Harold's whiskers twitch. As much as a cat can be... he is SMILING. Someone bumps into him, interrupting his daydream. He drops to all fours and HISSES in surprise. PASSERBY Sorry, mate... They disappear into the crowd. Harold stands up again and straightens his suit. INT. OFFICE BUILDING - LOBBY Harold enters the lobby, and squeezes into the packed elevator. EMPLOYEE Morning, Mr. Fluffykins. Floor 20? HAROLD Morning, Reg. Floor 20. Reg presses the button and the doors slide closed. INT. HAROLD'S OFFICE Harold sits on his chair, behind his desk, a mug of coffee resting neatly next to the little marker introducing him to any visitors: HAROLD FLUFFYKINS. After a moment, he leaps up again, and looks out of the window. Feeling the sun on his face, his eyes close, and once again... SOUND EFFECTS: Harold dreams of surfing. The hiss of soft ocean spray, the crunch of sand underpaw. He PURRRRRRS. VOICE Er... Mr. Fluffykins? He whips around. At the door is his ASSISTANT: tall, young, beautiful. How could Harold not love her? HAROLD I told you, you know; you don't have to call me "Mr. Fluffykins". It sounds so formal. She doesn't get the joke. ASSISTANT Sorry... "Harry". She slurs slightly on his name, probably just from hesitation, maybe from embarrassment. It's enough to set something going in Harold's mind. SOUND EFFECTS: Distant laughter again. Malicious this time. Children at a playground. "Hairy Harry Fluffykins, Hairy Harry Fluffykins!" is the taunt, delivered in sing-song voices. He shakes his head to snap out of it. HAROLD What is it? ASSISTANT The director is in his office. He'd like to speak to you. HAROLD Oh. Thank you. He straightens his tie, and hops down from his chair. INT. THE DIRECTOR'S OFFICE The director is a surprisingly small man. He sits behind his desk as Harold enters. DIRECTOR Harry, hi! How are you doing? Have a seat. He gestures to an EXPENSIVE LOOKING LEATHER SOFA. HAROLD I'm doing OK. How are you? DIRECTOR I'm good, I'm good. Listen, Harry, I'm not gonna bullshit ya. Things haven't been going so well for the company. We've had to reasses our situation on a number of levels and come to some hard decisions... The director keeps talking, but Harold doesn't hear. He's already gazing out of the window, the whispers of some Californian beach already rising in his ears. DIRECTOR ... And so I'm afraid we've got to let you go. I'm sorry, buddy. Harold looks at him, very hard. Then he raises a PAW, extends a CLAW, and cuts away the top button of his shirt. He sets himself to removing every shred of his cheap suit from his body. He then descends from the sofa and stands right beside one arm, on all fours. He stretches out his front two paws, and rests them on the sofa. He arches his back. The director's mouth is agape with fear. He knows what is coming. Harold begins to sharpen his claws. He TEARS and TEARS at the soft leather sofa. DIRECTOR Harry... Harold springs up onto the desk, and knocks the director's coffee over the table. He knocks the piles of paper from the desk. He pulls over the houseplant in the corner of the room. And then he saunters out, TAIL up high. The sounds of surfing in his head. End. |
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He kept the sun under his hat, and disappeared in the rain. |
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These are my favourite Tiny Stories for v.2 so far.
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Whenever their song began to play, Their wrinkles vanished, they lost the grey. An unacknowledged truth, it seems: Radios are time-machines.
------- I still don't think this REmix of jenesaisquoi's Tiny Story "Age eight: a discovery" does the idea jsutic. I think more REmixing is required. |
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The weird thing about going to parties is that they're always haunted by the ghosts of every other party you've been to.
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Not sure this really turned out as well as I'd hoped, for a number of reasons. Mostly that the film was not shot to be a silent, so I had to use the existing footage. Wanted it to be in Academy ratio, but didn't want to mess up the frame compositions (which are all set up for widescreen).
It needs a new score. I used Ozie's original underscore but it doesn't actually fit any more. (Not sure what's up with that clicking sound on the track, either.)
Anyway. Hope it works.
