WEBSITE: http://
LOCATION: California, US
RECORDS: 50
LATEST RECORD: 11 months ago
JOINED: August 22, 2009
LOCATION: California, US
RECORDS: 50
LATEST RECORD: 11 months ago
JOINED: August 22, 2009
Ziggy's Featured RECords
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*Avant-garde meta-theatricality. Breaking down the "fourth wall" between performer and audience. From an actors point of view, it's open to total improvisation. The idea is that this is about a recorded image, the photograph, and i like the idea of the audience recording a play about the recorded image, in a tragicomedic sense. This is a draft of a short three act play i wrote for University, an expansion of a one act play i posted on hitRECord nearly a month ago. It could be audience interactive. Inspired by the Theatre of the Absurd, the likes of Ionesco, Stoppard, Beckett etc, especially the plays Waiting for Godot and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. ********************************************* BOKEH Act One The stage is dark. A bright flash momentarily illuminates two men. The stage then becomes totally illuminated. The two men are standing like statuettes mid-handshake. Both are in their late twenties to early thirties. MAN#1 is handsome, youthful looking and is wearing a suit and tie. MAN#2 wears the same but has a more genteel appearance. MAN#1 becomes aware. He blinks for a short while, glaring at MAN#2. MAN#1 Uhhh… excuse me. He clears his throat. MAN#1 Excuse me sir. MAN#2 becomes aware (short pause). MAN#2 Who are you? MAN#1 I can’t move… where are we? MAN#2 I can’t move either. MAN#1 I can’t move a thing. MAN#2 Not even a limb? (a pause) MAN#1 Not even a twinge. (a pause) MAN#2 Not even a twitch? (a pause) MAN#1 Not even a tic (long pause) MAN#2 Not even a spasm? MAN#1 Not even…a pang They look at each other confusedly and self-conscious. MAN#2 Not even a… stitch? MAN#1 Not even a cramp…or a single ache to be found anywhere… They continue to glare at each other confusedly and self-conscious for a short while. MAN#2 (matter of fact) I can blink. MAN#1 So can I… what is your name? Seeing as we seem to already be in a… solidified handshake salutation. MAN#2 My name is, my name is, my name is… my name is, my name is, my name is, my… name…is…my name is? you know what?… I can’t recall my name. How about you? MAN#1 Well, my name is…(a long think) something. MAN#2 Oh dear. MAN#1 Yes. MAN#2 seems perturbed. MAN#2 Wait…I can see a blur to my right. MAN#1 And… I can see a blur to my left. MAN#2 What ever is this obscurity? I sense presences (long pause) MAN#1 Where could we possibly be? MAN#2 Well, we don’t seem to be made out of wax or have any kind of…apparitional appearance…yet… it does appear that we are in some kind of… twingeless…twitchyless… inexplicable… realm… of… inexplicable… occurrences.. Of… MAN#1 Calm down, friend. For now… this is too intangible an experience… for us to add any sense or meaning to it. MAN#2 Yes, not a good time for semantics, agreed. MAN#1 All we know, is that we’re in a place where…we can’t recall our names…we can’t twinge or twitch… or pang or stitch…and there is a blur to my left…and a blur to your right… which seems to have a human presence… (a pause) MAN#2 I can move my left hand. MAN#1 So you can… MAN#2 What do I do with it? MAN#1 Wave at me. MAN#2 waves at MAN#1 MAN#2 I’m going to point in the direction of the blur to my right. MAN#1 That is impressive. MAN#2 I am going to put my left hand in my pocket. (rummages in his pocket) What’s this? He takes out a small shaving mirror. MAN#1 A mirror. How convenient. MAN#2 looks in the mirror. MAN#2 Oh my… MAN#1 What do you see? MAN#2 I see… people. MAN#1 People? MAN#2 Yes. MAN#1 What are they doing? MAN#2 I see faces…and upper bodies… sitting in seats. Some look amused, one looks like Aleister Crowley… MAN#1 Do they look as perplexed as we do? MAN#2 Well, they… they can…they seem to be able to twinge and twitch and blink…(long pause) MAN#1 And pang, stitch…. MAN#2 Cramp, ache, yes, I’d imagine they have their tendons in usage… MAN#1 I’m too afraid to converse. MAN#2 I can hear them, but we must remain composed… Long pause of the two men glaring at each other confusedly. MAN#1 Anyway, the blur reminds me of something… it reminds me of the blur In photographs… you know… there’s a name for it… I’m sure you know what I mean. MAN#2 Sort of. MAN#1 Doesn’t it look like that to you? MAN#2 Yes…yes it does. MAN#1 starts to move his left arm and hand. MAN#1 Aha, I can move my left hand. MAN#2 Excellent. MAN#1 checks his pocket. He takes out a mirror. MAN#2 Interesting… MAN#1 (looking in the mirror) My god, you are right. People. Faces that can twinge, twitch and blink…and Aleister Crowley… MAN#2 Yes…It’s nice to put a face to a blur isn’t it? MAN#1 It so is. MAN#2 Wow. MAN#1 What? MAN#2 I seem to be able to clench a buttock. MAN#1 Really? Left or right? MAN#2 Right. MAN#1 I see… MAN#2 I have to say… this is a wonderful discovery… MAN#1 What good is a buttock clench going to do in our situation? MAN#2 Well, maybe other parts of our bodies will start to work. MAN#1 Aha! As soon as you said that… I can feel a tingly feeling in my right bum cheek. MAN#2 This is very exciting. Long pause. The two men look at each other with eyebrows raised. MAN#2 I do believe we are being watched right now. MAN#1 I am too afraid to engage with them. MAN#2 Me too. MAN#1 Yes… MAN#1 takes a look in his mirror. MAN#1 I just saw…a flash…coming from the audience… MAN#2 Just one flash? MAN#1 Yes. MAN#2 A camera? MAN#1 Yes. I think so… They solidify in their position. Act Two Darkness. Then a flash of light. MAN#1 and MAN#2 are now in a different solidified position. MAN#1 is facing the audience and has his hand over his mouth. MAN#2 is laying down, hands on chest, facing the ceiling, and mid-laugher. MAN#1 becomes responsive. He rolls his eyes about, perceiving his surroundings, then he looks straight ahead with an outraged glare. MAN#1 (barely audible) I can’t believe it. MAN#2 becomes attentive. He laughs, then stops. MAN#2 Why am I laughing? (a pause) MAN#2 Are you there sir? MAN#1 (muffled) Yes, I am… I have a hand over my mouth. MAN#2 hears a mumble. MAN#2 Pardon me? MAN#1 (muffled) I have a hand over my mouth… my hand. MAN#2 You have a hound over your muff? What does that mean? You sound like audio from another room. Speak plainly. MAN#1 (muffled) I can’t. I have my hand over my mouth! MAN#2 Your hand? MAN#1 (muffled) Yes. MAN#2 Oh I see, over your mouth? MAN#1 (muffled) Yes. (long pause) MAN#2 Oh dear. MAN#1 (muffled) I can see the audience. MAN#2 Which way are you facing? Can you see the audience? MAN#1 (muffled) I can see the audience. I am facing directly ahead. MAN#2 Can you see the audience? MAN#1 (muffled) Yes! MAN#2 Ok… I can’t… all I can see is a melancholy ceiling. It is making me feel melancholic. (long pause) MAN#2 I have been thinking about that flash you saw. We must not stifle the obvious. Our situation is rather confounding, yes. It’s sinister and physical, yet non-physical at the same time. It’s like becoming alive inside a microsecond…(long pause) MAN#2 I can’t move, you can’t move, we’re in a new-fangled position,. You have a hand over your mouth and therefore you are a muffled audio… you saw a flash, there is an audience that occasionally interacts with us…and curiously of all you saw a man who looked like Aleister Crowley… MAN#1 (muffled) Yes… he was bald. MAN#2 starts laughing hysterically. MAN#1 (muffled) What’s so funny? MAN#2 I’ve just remembered my name. Starts laughing again. Stops. MAN#2 My name is… Garland (long pause) MAN#1 (muffled) Nice to meet you Garland. GARLAND My name is Garland… and I was born in Dorset, England. I come from a well-heeled family… and for a number of years I decided to travel the world… without asking for a single penny from my family (long pause) that is who I am. Silence… GARLAND At least that is the fiction I have told myself… The curtain is pulled, and MAN#1 is left alone on the stage. He stares at the audience for two whole minutes. Lights go out. Act Three The stage is dark. A bright flash momentarily illuminates MAN#1 and GARLAND. They are now totally illuminated. MAN#1 is sitting in a chair looking at a photograph in his hands. GARLAND is sitting opposite him in the exact same position, with the exact same photo, a parallel image. They are both clad in the same black suits and tie. GARLAND Are you aware? MAN#1 Yes. GARLAND Im looking at a photo. MAN#1 Me too. GARLAND Im looking at a photo of two men on a stage sitting in seats looking at a photo. MAN#1 Me too. GARLAND I do believe we are looking at photographs of ourselves looking at photographs. MAN#1 Yes (long pause) MAN#1 Call me Francis. GARLAND Oh, you’ve remembered your name? FRANCIS Not really, but seeing as you have a name, it’s only fair I have one too. GARLAND Any reason why you chose that name? FRANCIS First name that came into my head. GARLAND Ok, well, hello Francis. FRANCIS Hello (long pause) GARLAND So, now we know that we are in a photograph, we need to work out how to get out of it, because there is no point dwelling on the why. FRANCIS Why? GARLAND Save that for after we work out how to leave this realm. We have no past or sense of future, we only have the present moment. FRANCIS We are not in control. We are slaves… we are a record. GARLAND Maybe we’re not slaves… maybe the door has been wide open all along… FRANCIS Can you feel the breeze coming through the door? The air of freedom? GARLAND Yes. Can you? FRANCIS No. Can you really feel the air of freedom? GARLAND No. Nearest thing I have felt to freedom is a clenched buttock. FRANCIS chuckles to himself. FRANCIS We are a recorded image…(long pause) FRANCIS I faced them. GARLAND Who? FRANCIS The blur. The faces. GARLAND Really? When? FRANCIS After you ceased to exist. For two minutes I was left to face the faces… it was like… like facing my own shadow. Like facing aspects of myself. And though I could use my voice, my own hand stifled it. GARLAND I ceased to exist? FRANCIS You were gone, friend. GARLAND Wherever could I have gone? FRANCIS Gone. GARLAND I must have went somewhere? FRANCIS Gone like a fart in the wind (long pause) FRANCIS Maybe we are being taught something. GARLAND By who? FRANCIS By something. Some kind of intelligence. GARLAND God? FRANCIS Perhaps… and I’m not talking deity in the sky. And I don’t mean we’re in a limbo hell awaiting judgement. Perhaps we do have lives elsewhere… and right now we could be asleep next to our wives, with our children fast asleep in their beds. Perhaps we have stepped into our minds, and we’re being shown something… GARLAND A dream within a dream? FRANCIS Perhaps we are just aspects of somebody else’s mind… GARLAND We can’t think like this forever… we’ll go mad. We are much more than just fragments of a persons mind. FRANCIS I know. GARLAND I prefer what you said about stepping into our minds. But it suggests that we share a mind. FRANCIS Or a dreamscape. GARLAND Perhaps we are brothers. FRANCIS We looking nothing alike. Though we could be step-brothers or best friends. GARLANDS Not lovers. FRANCIS No. I have no homosexual tendencies towards you. GARLAND Me neither (long pause) GARLAND Perhaps this is some kind of judgement. Maybe we were Hitler and Stalin in a previous life. FRANCIS This doesn’t feel like a punishment. But it does feel like a consequence. GARLAND Interesting. What do you mean? FRANCIS I feel, myself, personally, that I have done something that has resulted in this quandary. This literal tight-spot. GARLAND You see, I don’t. FRANCIS Really? GARLAND No, I feel as if I wanted to come here, but have made a mistake. Made the wrong choice. FRANCIS Interesting. GARLAND And I shuddered when I saw Aleister Crowley. What bothers me is that I know more about this man than I do myself. FRANCIS All I know of the man is that he was an occultist. GARLAND He was many things. A Magus, an astrologer, a bisexual, a playwright, a mountaineer, a yogi, a psychonaut. Known in his day as the “wickedest man in the world” or the Prophet of the Modern Age by his devotees. Why do I know so much about this particular man and so little about myself? FRANCIS Who were his devotees? GARLAND Members of Ordo Templi Orientis…a secret fraternity. FRANCIS What are you suggesting, that Crowley has something to do with our situation? GARLAND I am only suggesting it in the same boat as our previous evocations. We are dwelling too much on the why, we have no direction. FRANCIS There is no panoramic view. We are at the bottom of the mountain, in a valley… we cannot see past the nearest house. How ever do we expect to find our way home? GARLAND And the blur? The faces? FRANCIS It is the watchful eyes of the unknown. In the forest, they are the eyes of the silent beasts. At least that is what it feels like. And felt like. GARLAND My daughter’s name is Elwyn. FRANCIS Are you sure? GARLAND Yes, she is eight years old. She has long red hair, and… green eyes. She looks more like her mother (long pause) she is getting good at the violin and… every weekend during the summer we go to Chesil Beach and fly a kite that we made ourselves. FRANCIS My wife’s name is… Madelene (long pause) sorry, I cannot do this. GARLAND Do what? FRANCIS Create a fiction of myself (pause)I prefer the stillness. I prefer what is. (long pause) it’s the only thing that makes any real… sense… The photo falls out of GARLAND’s hand and falls to the ground. The same happens to FRANCIS. The stage goes dark. A few moments pass. Then the bright flash comes on again, and FRANCIS and GARLAND are nowhere to be seen. Curtains pull. THE END |
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*Avant-garde meta-theatricality. Breaking down the "fourth wall" between performer and audience. From an actors point of view, it's open to total improvisation. The idea is that this is about a recorded image, the photograph, and i like the idea of the audience recording a play about the recorded image, in a tragicomedic sense. Bokeh is an absurdist tragicomedy inspired by Samuel Beckett, Tom Stoppard, Jean Genet and Eugène Ionesco and many others of the Theatre Of The Absurd. It is absurdist in the most experimental sense, a play open to improvisation and audience interaction. Bokeh (pronounced bo-keh) is the aesthetic quality of a blur in a photograph. The play focuses on two men, their ages ranging between late-twenties to early thirties. In the opening scene we discover that they are stuck in a mid-handshake position. They are able to blink and talk and gradually they are able to use their left arms and hands. They discover small mirrors in their suit pockets. This enables them to put a face to the blur (the bokeh) they can see in the corner of their eye. The “bokeh blur” being the audience. These two men do not remember their names at first, but gradually become aware and are able to move certain body parts as the play progresses. They discover that they are in a photograph and they realise they have become sentient within a microsecond. The play itself can be seen as a microcosm and the audience - who are photographing the actors with their eyes every mini-second - can be seen as the macrocosm. Is my play existentialist? I would say so. Both characters don’t know who they are, where they are or where they are going - but they certainly would like to know. A person having an existential “crisis” questions the very foundation of their lives. My two characters are questioning every aspect of their being, they have been born into an alien environment, just as we are born into an alien environment with a clean slate and veil pulled over our eyes. If one of the goals of our lives is to lift that veil then my two characters have the same goal. Cordially, Ben BOKEH ACT ONE The stage is dark. A bright flash momentarily illuminates two men. The stage then becomes totally illuminated. The two men are standing like statuettes mid-handshake. Both are in their late twenties to early thirties. MAN#1 is handsome, youthful looking and is wearing a suit and tie. MAN#2 wears the same but has a more genteel appearance. MAN#1 becomes aware. He blinks for a short while, glaring at MAN#2. MAN#1 Uhhh… excuse me. He clears his throat. MAN#1 Excuse me sir. MAN#2 becomes aware (short pause). MAN#2 Who are you? MAN#1 I can’t move… where are we? MAN#2 I can’t move either. MAN#1 I can’t move a thing. MAN#2 Not even a limb? A pause. MAN#1 Not even a twinge. A pause. MAN#2 Not even a twitch? A pause. MAN#1 Not even a tic. Long pause. MAN#2 Not even a spasm? MAN#1 Not even…a pang They look at each other confusedly and self-conscious. MAN#2 Not even a… stitch? MAN#1 Not even a cramp…or a single ache to be found anywhere… They continue to glare at each other confusedly and self-conscious for a short while. MAN#2 (matter of fact) I can blink. MAN#1 So can I… what is your name? Seeing as we seem to already be in a… solidified handshake salutation. MAN#2 My name is, my name is, my name is… my name is, my name is, my name is, my… name…is…my name is? you know what?… I can’t recall my name. How about you? MAN#1 Well, my name is…(a long think) something. MAN#2 Oh dear. MAN#1 Yes. MAN#2 seems perturbed. MAN#2 Wait…I can see a blur to my right. MAN#1 And… I can see a blur to my left. MAN#2 What ever is this obscurity? I sense presences. Long pause. MAN#1 Where could we possibly be? MAN#2 Well, we don’t seem to be made out of wax or have any kind of…apparitional appearance…yet… it does appear that we are in some kind of… twingeless…twitchyless… inexplicable… realm… of… inexplicable… occurrences.. Of… MAN#1 Calm down, friend. For now… this is too intangible an experience… for us to add any sense or meaning to it. MAN#2 Yes, not a good time for semantics, agreed. MAN#1 All we know, is that we’re in a place where…we can’t recall our names…we can’t twinge or twitch… or pang or stitch…and there is a blur to my left…and a blur to your right… which seems to have a human presence… A pause. MAN#2 I can move my left hand. MAN#1 So you can… MAN#2 What do I do with it? MAN#1 Wave at me. MAN#2 waves at MAN#1 MAN#2 I’m going to point in the direction of the blur to my right. MAN#1 That is impressive. MAN#2 I am going to put my left hand in my pocket. (rummages in his pocket) What’s this? He takes out a small shaving mirror. MAN#1 A mirror. How convenient. MAN#2 looks in the mirror. MAN#2 Oh my… MAN#1 What do you see? MAN#2 I see… people. MAN#1 People? MAN#2 Yes. MAN#1 What are they doing? MAN#2 I see faces…and upper bodies… sitting in seats. Some look amused, one looks like Aleister Crowley… MAN#1 Do they look as perplexed as we do? MAN#2 Well, they… they can…they seem to be able to twinge and twitch and blink… Long pause. MAN#1 And pang, stitch…. MAN#2 Cramp, ache, yes, I’d imagine they have their tendons in usage… MAN#1 I’m too afraid to converse. MAN#2 I can hear them, but we must remain composed… Long pause of the two men glaring at each other confusedly. MAN#1 Anyway, the blur reminds me of something… it reminds me of the blur In photographs… you know… there’s a name for it… I’m sure you know what I mean. MAN#2 Sort of. MAN#1 Doesn’t it look like that to you? MAN#2 Yes…yes it does. MAN#1 starts to move his left arm and hand. MAN#1 Aha, I can move my left hand. MAN#2 Excellent. MAN#1 checks his pocket. He takes out a mirror. MAN#2 Interesting… MAN#1 (looking in the mirror) My god, you are right. People. Faces that can twinge, twitch and blink…and Aleister Crowley… MAN#2 Yes…It’s nice to put a face to a blur isn’t it? MAN#1 It so is. MAN#2 Wow. MAN#1 What? MAN#2 I seem to be able to clench a buttock. MAN#1 Really? Left or right? MAN#2 Right. MAN#1 I see… MAN#2 I have to say… this is a wonderful discovery… MAN#1 What good is a buttock clench going to do in our situation? MAN#2 Well, maybe other parts of our bodies will start to work. MAN#1 Aha! As soon as you said that… I can feel a tingly feeling in my right bum cheek. MAN#2 This is very exciting. Long pause. The two men look at each other with eyebrows raised. MAN#2 I do believe we are being watched right now. MAN#1 I am too afraid to engage with them. MAN#2 Me too. MAN#1 Yes… MAN#1 takes a look in his mirror. MAN#1 I just saw…a flash…coming from the audience… MAN#2 Just one flash? MAN#1 Yes. MAN#2 A camera? MAN#1 Yes. MAN#2 What was it you were saying about photography earlier? Darkness. Then a bright flash illuminates them. They solidify in their position. THE END. |
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Hi. This is the first time I have properly written about my mother, and I‘m gonna keep it short. I may write a poem about her at some point, but for now, i want to put out how i feel about her today. You see, when I think of my mother there are no words involved at all, so writing about her is difficult. It’s an intangible, ethereal experience, at times involving images that are traumatic. If I can get into a zone I can transcend these imprints and can enjoy 15 years of great memories. That is how long I knew her, 15 years. Of course, there is no such thing as time, but you can fit a lot of beautiful moments inside the illusion of 15 years. And you’re gonna love this. Her name was Wendy Angela Darling, named after the Peter Pan character. That always makes me smile. Darling is my favourite word and whenever somebody calls me darling or calls somebody else darling in it’s truest affectionate form, it always puts a big smile on my face. The word is a term of endearment, and there is no other word that best fits my mother. I guess I must be one of the Lost Boys because I haven‘t seemed to age that much since she passed. Which one I wonder? Perhaps Tootles. Tootles was the most humble of the Lost Boys. I accept my lot and I’m much sweeter for it. Since she left for Neverland I have left Neverland. I guess you could say for the last ten years I’ve been trying to get back there. To that eternal state of being. There was no sense of time when my mother was around and even though I know time does not exist, my mothers death is a past event, therefore that imprint evokes a sense of time. Not good for a Lost Boy. One of the differences between me and a Lost Boy, other than the obvious, is that in the story they get Wendy to pretend to be their mother. Wendy Darling was my mother. Love you darling. - Ben |
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FADE IN: 1. EXT. CHEMIST - DAY 1. A small chemist somewhere in London. No one is about; only the dancing of plastic bags in the wind. 2. INT. CHEMIST - DAY 2. Full to the brim with an assortment of pharmaceuticals and medicines. Nobody about. MAN (V.O.) Between each breath (beat) is a pause… Emerging behind the counter is DAVID, 29; a man in a state of stasis - his mind beset by chit-chat. He is here but he is not aware he is here. A man under a self-imposed mental tyranny who has weakened his sense of self with external fallacy. DAVID (V.O.) People talk to me like I’m an alchemist. They talk about their medication as if it’s the elixir of life; I’m all too happy to sell them their synthetic elixirs with a synthetic smile. He flashes a quick phoney smile then slowly turns his head towards the abundant shelves. 3. INT. CHEMIST - LATER IN THE DAY 3. David hands over a prescription of Amyl Nitrate inhalant to an elderly man. DAVID (V.O.) This is Amyl Nitrate; a clear, yellowish liquid having a peculiar ethereal, fruity odour. David hands over a prescription of Marinol to a woman in her fifties. DAVID (V.O.) Marinol; a light yellow resinous oil that is sticky at room temperature and hardens upon refrigeration. 4. INT. BEDROOM - DAY 4. David is sitting up on his bed watching TV; dead-eyed. His dead beat eyes slowly close. DAVID (V.O.) In the visions of half-sleep lies an answer just out of grasp… He enters a reverie. 5. INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT 5. DAVID opens a cupboard in his bathroom that looks like a mini version of his chemist. He scans each bottle with his faraway eyes. 6. INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT 6. DAVID pops a few capsules into his mouth and swallows them with a glass of water. 7. INT. CHEMIST - DAY 7. DAVID is pretending to read a magazine but is more interested in the pretty brunette woman who has just walked into the store. She is looking at a dietary supplement. He can see what it is from here. DAVID (V.O.) She’s got out the Herbal Testosterone. Multiples your testosterone by five-hundred per-cent. Increases sex drive in men and women. 8. INT. PUB - NIGHT 8. DAVID sits alone in a quiet pub downing a pint of bitter. When he finishes he drunkenly looks over at a young couple laughing, sipping wine. He looks jealous. 9. EXT. STREET - NIGHT 9. DAVID is staggering along a street inebriated and mumbling to himself. He stops and notices a black cat staring at him in a driveway. He stares back. DAVID What yuuuu looking at? He walks across the road towards it and it continues to stare at him, undaunted. Car lights flash in front of him and the horn is beeped. DAVID just manages to get out of the way of the speeding boy racer. MALE (O.S.) You Muppet!! DAVID, exasperated, searches out the cat. DAVID (fuming) Where are you?! He darts his head about the street searching for the cat. DAVID (fuming) You tried to get me killed!! You prick! 10. INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT 10. DAVID staggers down the hallway drunk. 11. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT 11. DAVID crashes onto his bed and starts to weep. 12. INT. HALLWAY - DAY 12. DAVID, baggy-eyed and unkempt, opens his apartment door and locks it. Walking past him with one bag full of shopping is a WOMAN, 24; a woman with “imminence”. When you watch her, life is the dancer and she is the dance. DAVID Hi. She looks over her shoulder and gives him a glint of recognition; a fleeting yet powerful smile. She stops about three doors down from him, takes out a set of keys and puts them in the key hole. DAVID (hesitant) You must be here… you must be new here? She opens the door, enters and closes it behind her. DAVID looks dejected at THE WOMAN’S apparently impolite ignorance. 13. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT 13. DAVID lays on his bed smoking a cigarette, watching the TV, dead-eyed and hypnotized, flicking through channels with one hand as he takes drags of his cigarette with the other. A tear falls down his cheek. DAVID (V.O.) In the visions of half-sleep… 14. INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT 14. DAVID faces himself in the mirror, eyes glazed over. He has a glass of water in one hand and one pill in the other. DAVID (V.O.) Lies an answer… He stares at the pill in his hand then swallows it with the water. 15. INT. CHEMIST - DAY 15. DAVID is staring into space standing behind the counter in the chemist with no customers. 16. INT. HALLWAY - DAY 16. DAVID re-imagines the fleeting moment between him and THE WOMAN. As she turns to smile at him his right eye flashes like a camera and takes a photograph of her mid-smile. 17. INT. BEDROOM - DAY 17. He sits on his bed and takes out a capsule from his mouth. He takes apart the capsule and inside it is a rolled up photograph of THE WOMAN and her smile. He unrolls it and analyses it. He then places it next to a tin of hand-made cigarettes on the bedside table. 18. INT. CHEMIST - DAY 18. DAVID looks down on the counter and sees the same photograph looking up at him. Until a customer snaps him out of his daydream and the photograph turns into what is really there; somebody’s written prescription. FEMALE CUSTOMER Do you have any plasters? 19. INT. HALLWAY - DAY 19. DAVID stands outside THE WOMAN’S door and knocks on it. He looks as stiff as the door he‘s knocking on. The door opens and THE WOMAN pokes her head around the door; her clear, peaceful eyes put him under an instant spell for a few seconds. DAVID Hi. She blinks. DAVID Hi, we haven’t introduced ourselves yet, my name is David. She opens the door fully. She shakes his hand. DAVID What is your name? She gestures “hold on” with her hands and disappears into her apartment. DAVID Ok… DAVID loosens up a little bit as she disappears, flexes his hands and plays with his stubble. She returns with a plant pot, with dirt in it, but no plant, and hands it to him. DAVID Ok… She smiles then closes the door. DAVID stands there baffled facing the door. 20. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT 20. DAVID sits up on his bed smoking a cigarette watching the TV, dead-eyed. He moves his nose about as if something is up it. He blows a transparent capsule out through his right nostril. He stares at the capsule in the palm of his hand, stunned. He takes the capsule apart and loosens a photograph of THE WOMAN from earlier; standing at the door. 21. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT 21. A little later on in the night and he’s still sitting up on the bed. This time he has a small tray on his lap with two photographs of THE WOMAN on the tray, a lighter, and some laid-out tobacco. He analyses them with his eyes. The plant pot sits on the bedside table. 22. INT. APARTMENT - DAY 22. DAVID is smoking a cigarette out of his small window. He hears the sound of keys and somebody walking down the hallway. He darts towards his door and puts his ear next to it. When the sound of walking moves past his door he gently opens it and peeks down the hallway, seeing the back of THE WOMAN walking. 23. INT. HALLWAY - DAY 23. DAVID is standing outside of THE WOMAN’S apartment with the plant pot in his hand and a note attached to the side of it. He places it on her doormat. 24. INT. CHEMIST - DAY 24. DAVID is standing at the counter staring into space. Nobody is about. A knock on the glass pane of the door alerts him. He moves towards the door. 25. EXT. CHEMIST - DAY 25. DAVID opens the door and notices the plant pot sitting there. He looks left, right and up and nobody is about but the dancing of plastic bags. 26. INT. APARTMENT - EVENING 26. DAVID is smoking a cigarette out of his small window. He moves his hands about to signify an inner monologue taking place; deeply indulged in inner chit-chat. He then stops and stiffens and drops the cigarette from his window. He holds his left eye. 27. INT. BATHROOM - EVENING 27. He stares at himself in the mirror, confused and scared. DAVID (panicked) There’s something in my eye… there’s something in my eye. His left eye starts to twitch. Something then appears to be poking through the inner corner of his left eye; as it gradually pokes out more he realises it is a capsule. DAVID (blaring) Oh fuck!! He uses his fingers to carefully take out the capsule. He holds the capsule in the palm of his hand. Almost the size of his little finger. 28. INT. BEDROOM - EVENING 28. DAVID takes apart the capsule, takes out and unrolls a photograph of the plant, showing the first signs of plant growth. He takes a good look at it. 29. INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT 29. DAVID is laying on his back surrounded by a thousand different capsules and pills that he has emptied from every bottle from his cabinet. He sits up and picks up a capsule and takes it apart, tipping the powder onto the palm of his right hand. 30. EXT. FLORISTS - DAY 30. DAVID stands outside a florists analysing the flowers on display outside. He fixes his sight on some African Violets. 31. INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT 31. DAVID is analysing seeds in the palm of his right hand and picks up one seed with his fingers and looks at it. Then he holds his left ear as if something is inside his ear. His eyes twitch. He gradually pulls out a capsule from his left ear. He takes apart the capsule. A knock on the door is heard. 32. INT. HALLWAY - DAY 32. DAVID opens his door and sees at his feet an eggshell with a tiny plant growing from the dirt inside the top of the cracked open shell, on a small terracotta tray. The tray of which has a few small bags of seeds placed next to the eggshell. He picks it up and analyses it. 33. INT. BEDROOM - DAY 33. He sits back on the bed and gets back to seeing what is in the capsule. What he unrolls is a white glossy photo. He stares at it. 34. INT. APARTMENT - DAY 34. DAVID stands looking at something. We realise he is looking at a board on his wall full of photographs. The first photograph on the top left is the photo of the first time he laid eyes on THE WOMAN, followed by the second photo to it’s right of THE WOMAN at the door. The third is the photo of the plant pot with slight plant growth. The fourth is a photo of him crying at himself in the mirror. The fifth is of him laying in copious amounts of pills and capsules on his bathroom floor. The sixth is a photo of the plant pot with more plant growth than before. The seventh: DAVID in a fight with a drunken lad on the street. From here we see fifty or so more photos in quick succession; photos of DAVID as a child, with his mother. Happier times; photos of childish joy and Beingness. More sad photos; his mother on her death bed and a picture of her funeral. The last photo on the board is the white glossy photograph. 35. INT. APARTMENT - DAY 35. DAVID now looks like a man at peace with himself; a still mind, colour in his cheeks and a cleaner apartment. He is looking at a white African Violet in his little plant pot on his window sill. He breathes in deeply, closes his eyes. 36. EXT. CHEMIST - DAY 36. Plastic bags dance in the wind. 37. EXT. STREET - DAY 37. More plastic bags dancing in the wind. 38. EXT. PARK - DAY 38. A dog chews on a stick and a young father swings his child on a swing. 39. INT. A KITCHEN - DAY 39. A tap drips. 40. INT. BEDROOM - DAY 40. A little girl watches a confused moth bouncing off her wall. She giggles. 41. INT. BUS - DAY 41. THE WOMAN sits on a bus and watches the world go by out of her window. 42. INT. APARTMENT - DAY 42. DAVID breaths out. DAVID (V.O.) Between each breath (beat) is a pause… and in the visions of half-sleep, lies an answer (beat) just within grasp… FADE OUT: |
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Haha, i have no idea what i have just filmed. I came across this special effect on my new cheap camcorder called BINARIES - it reminded me a little of the colours you sometimes see when you close your eyes, only in my film it‘s more vivid. A short film about a man (me) falling to sleep in a chair, experiencing a world of trippy black and white, then waking up in a black and white dream world. Has nothing to do with falling or being chased, or teeth falling out etc, but i felt compelled to film it all the same. Love the music.
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A graphic novel pastiche segment about a Bill Hicks/Lenny Bruce-type stand-up comedian in an oppressive Sin City/V For Vendetta-type America. He Is nearly killed by a government operative on stage because of his “dissident” ways and when his friend Spillane is killed by a lone gunman he has the overwhelming urge to go vigilante. Problem is he doesn’t know his killer and the people responsible are behind the curtain of politics. Like Batman, he knows he shouldn’t kill, and he decides to start a revolution with his words and humour. He later goes round wearing a warped laughing Buddha mask in an aim to at least frighten various notable politicians. I'd love to see somebody illustrate a panel or two, but i have no expectations of course. ************************* INT. BACKSTAGE - EVENING (PANEL 1) MARK MIGNOLA, 32, neck length black hair and dark stubble, looks like an alien to the planet; he vibrates like a ball of barely contained electricity. He peeks at the three-thousand strong audience through the curtains. MIGNOLA Smell’s like fresh revolt mixed with fear-soaked wool grease. MALE VOICE Hey Mig, there’s a letter for you. INT. BACKSTAGE - EVENING (PANEL 2) MIGNOLA takes the letter from a rough, hairy-knuckled hand. INT. BACKSTAGE - EVENING (PANEL 3) MIGNOLA sits in half-darkness, eyes marble black, glaring at the letter in his left hand. INT. BACKSTAGE - EVENING (PANEL 4) We get a close-up of his marble black eyes and furrowed brow. MIGNOLA The unspeakable. INT. STAGE - DAY (PANEL 5) MIGNOLA stands on stage with a microphone in his right hand and his other hand gesturing in a grabbing motion. MIGNOLA So, we have an indefatigable moron in office. Not just your average moron by the way. Oh no, a Renaissance Moron ladies and gentlemen. INT. STAGE - EVENING (PANEL 6) A colt pistol emerges from the dark pits of the crowd. INT. STAGE - EVENING (PANEL 7) BAM! MIGNOLA’s right shoulder blade is impacted by a bullet. Blood sprays in still motion. His face a thousand strains. His body a thousand contortions. Holy shit! (audience reactions) INT. STAGE - EVENING (PANEL 8) Half of MIGNOLA’s face dwells in a pool of his own fresh blood. MIGNOLA The unspeakable. INT. HOSPITAL - EVENING (PANEL 9) MIGNOLA sits up, shoulder/arm bandaged, right fist clenched in the air, face a hundred strains. MIGNOLA Enervated by unmerciful hot metal they no longer shoot to kill. Their aim is as bad as their failure to pinpoint their own dysfunction. INT. HOSPITAL - EVENING (PANEL 10) TV SCREEN: the face of a trout-faced female reporter, eyes like pigeons. REPORTER Mark Mignola, the controversial stand-up comedian was shot by a faceless gunman this evening in what appears to be an assassination attempt. TV SCREEN (PANEL 11) REPORTER Mignola is said to be doing well at Fabian hospital, suffering from a shoulder wound. INT. FABIAN HOSPITAL - EVENING (PANEL 12) Two glowering black eyes. MIGNOLA I’ll give them a new meaning to the word stand-up. INT. SUBWAY TRAIN - EVENING (PANEL 13) MIGNOLA stands on a subway train with SPILLANE, 34, razor-sharp bald head, tall, menacing-looking and wearing a long overcoat. SPILLANE Somebody didn’t find one of your jokes too funny. MIGNOLA It wasn’t a joke. INT. SUBWAY TRAIN - EVENING (PANEL 14) The emergence of a familiar colt pistol. INT. SUBWAY TRAIN - EVENING (PANEL 15) MIGNOLA is looking down at the floor thinking. SPILLANE is looking at MIGNOLA, concerned. SPILLANE You’re not dissident enough to merit an assassination attempt - I don’t get it. MIGNOLA My language is dissident enough. I’m an egalitarian daemon to the establishment… INT. SUBWAY TRAIN - EVENING (PANEL 16) BAM! A FLASH INT. SUBWAY TRAIN - EVENING (PANEL 17) SPILLANE holds his ruptured gut with both hands. INT. SUBWAY TRAIN - EVENING (PANEL 18) MIGNOLA’s eyes flash in terror. INT. SUBWAY TRAIN - EVENING (PANEL 19) A wide smile appearance of the pitiless gun-totting fiend. Facially Joker-esque, without the make-up. Wild eyes, pale scaly white skin. INT. APARTMENT - EVENING (PANEL 20) A letter that says in capitals YOUR FRIEND IS A SITTING DUCK. INT. APARTMENT - EVENING (PANEL 21) Two firm hands scrunch up the paper. INT. FUNERAL - DAY (PANEL 22) Black people-shadows oversee the placement of a casket into the open ground. Thick rain falls. MIGNOLA I postulate government involvement. Stinks of serpentine aversion. Welcome to the expunged society. Bye dear friend. A PAIR OF EYES ILLUMINATED IN DARKNESS (PANEL 25) MIGNOLA They’re trying to invade my Inner Republic. Trying to burn down the sacrosanct within me. A TEAR UNDER AN EYE ILLUMINATED IN DARKNESS (PANEL 23) MIGNOLA It’s time to unleash the lave of my Recalcitrant Army. A HAND ON A GUN ILLUMINATED IN DARKNESS (PANEL 24) MIGNOLA Each bullet forged from my own inner furnace. For you Spillane. TV SCREEN: The words ‘The Frank Lloyd Show’ on the screen (PANEL 25) INT. TV STUDIO - EVENING (PANEL 26) FRANK LLOYD, 53, the David Letterman of oppressed America; a face like a dry apricot. FRANK Ladies and gentleman, my guest of honour tonight is Deputy Chief of Staff to Bill Sizemore; Gregory Stevenson. Claps and whistles. A PAIR OF ANGRY EYES ILLUMINATED IN DARKNESS (PANEL 27) MIGNOLA The Deputy Chief of the Super State Agenda. EXT. OUTSIDE TV STUDIO - EVENING (PANEL 28) A black Mercedes awaits surrounded by the blur and merge of one-hundred people approx. INT. OUTSIDE TV STUDIO - EVENING (PANEL 29) Amongst the crowd is MIGNOLA, wearing black shades and a long black overcoat. MIGNOLA I’ll give him a sting he’ll never forget. INT. OUTSIDE TV STUDIO - EVENING (PANEL 30) The emergence of a gun. MIGNOLA Two dum-dums in the chest. INT. OUTSIDE TV STUDIO - EVENING (PANEL 31) GREGORY STEVENSON, 56, expressionless with pointy Leprechaun ears, appears walking towards the Mercedes. INT. OUTSIDE TV STUDIO - EVENING (PANEL 32) A gun emerges from inside the coat. MIGNOLA The bloodline of a family of snakes. Hot bullet to cold flesh. INT. ALLEYWAY - EVENING (PANEL 33) MIGNOLA leans against a wall with both hands, looking down at the floor, in a dark alleyway. MIGNOLA I’m losing my sense of humour. God dammit, I mustn’t become them. INT. ALLEYWAY - EVENING (PANEL 34) He lights a match. MIGNOLA A flame from the ether. A flame burning up matter. I have many matches. Many flames. Many fires to fuel. To fuel my headstrong lust… HE LIGHTS A CIGARETTE (PANEL 35) MIGNOLA …lust for vengeance of the comedic kind. Dancing to… HE TAKES A SMOOTH DRAG (PANEL 36) MIGNOLA …the sound of laughter. The laughter of… HE GRINS WIDE (PANEL 37) MIGNOLA …the big-bellied Buddha. INT. MASQUERADE SHOP - DAY (PANEL 38) MIGNOLA holds a mask of a laughing Buddha in one hand. INT. MASQUERADE SHOP - DAY (PANEL 39) The punky, youthful shopkeeper recognises MIGNOLA with a glint. SHOPKEEPER I do know you. INT. MASQUERADE SHOP - DAY (PANEL 40) MIGNOLA looks angry at the shopkeeper. MIGNOLA Nobody knows anyone. INT. MASQUERADE SHOP - DAY (PANEL 41) A close-up of the shopkeepers’ giddy mouth. SHOPKEEPER You’re Mark “the mirthless” Mignola. INT. MASQUERADE SHOP - DAY (PANEL 42) A sarcastic grin is planted on MIGNOLA’s face. MIGNOLA Say that again kid. INT. MASQUERADE SHOP - DAY (PANEL 43) SHOPKEEPER Yeah, Frank Lloyd called you “the mirthless”. I don’t get It myself… INT. MASQUERADE SHOP - DAY (PANEL 44) MIGNOLA looks at the laughing Buddha mask again. SHOPKEEPER I loved your joke about Sizemore… the indefatigable moron. Too funny. INT. MASQUERADE SHOP - DAY (PANEL 45) MIGNOLA places the mask on the counter. MIGNOLA It wasn’t a joke. SHOPKEEPER Meh. INT. MASQUERADE SHOP - DAY (PANEL 46) A close-up of the laughing Buddha mask. MIGNOLA Why make a joke of a joke? The joke has already been told. DARKNESS (PANEL 47) The confused, tired face of MIGNOLA, pupils black, senses heightened. MIGNOLA How will I ever find my friends killer without stepping in front of the unblinking eye at the top of the capstone? All I have is remnants and shards of a holistic hate. HE WEARS THE BUDDHA MASK (PANEL 48) MIGNOLA I am an explorer of the unconscious a shaman with a black sense of humour. A black sense threatening to turn into black hate. They may be clever… DARKNESS (PANEL 49) MIGNOLA But they have no soul… A MATCH IS LIT IN THE DARKNESS (PANEL 50) MIGNOLA …no inner sanctuary. Only… THE SMILING MASK OF BUDDHA (PANEL 51) MIGNOLA …the left-over’s of their victims rotting… THE FLAME BURNS THE SULPHUR (PANEL 52) MIGNOLA …rotting in the basement of their own psyches. The stench of… THE FLAME GOES OUT (PANEL 53) MIGNOLA …sulphuric odium. |
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