Category: script notes

Now THAT’S a Health Care Crisis

“As for her walking barefoot, The Doctor’s orders are for her to wear Uggs or tennis shoes and it’s just too hot for that.”
Uggs? Uggs??? You might as well bleed her to rebalance her humeurs. Mrs. Spears.
[via Defamer, who keeps track of Britney’s toilet footwear so you don’t have to. Unless you work for InStyle, in which case, it’s your job, and what your parents shelled out $140,000 so you could go to Brown for. They must be so proud.]

I don’t need no stinkin’ Metropolitan Diary

INT – NYC Friday, 7:30AM

A groggy mid-30’s MAN with bedhead and a 4-day growth of beard crawls into the t-shirt, khakis, and flip-flops dropped the previous night along the trail to his bed. Alternate side parking.

INT – CAR

Sitting in his car, he figures, why not go to this Costco he’s heard of, get those Pampers, that baby formula, maybe a rack of ribs. He crosses the 59th st bridge, drops into LIC, and pulls into the Costco parking lot. When the store finally opens (at 10) he enters, and is stopped by an ATTENDANT.

ATTENDANT

Membership card, sir?

MAN

Umm, I guess I need to pick it up.

ATTENDANT

To your right.
The man wanders to the membership desk and shells out more than he would have saved on his baby gear. Guess he’ll be coming back here again.

MEMBERSHIP DESK CLERK

Step to the end of the desk for your picture.

MAN

I need a picture? What for?

CLERK

It goes on your membership card.

MAN

I just– Had I known, I would’ve gotten all dressed up.

CLERK

Would it be that much better?

The Breakfast Club: IndieWIRE Edition

INT – A SCRUFFY CONFERENCE ROOM, LATE AFTERNOON
One by one, the bleary-eyed IndieWIRE staffers stumble into the room, looking in vain for the bagels and coffee.

JONNY LEAHAN
Where’s the spread? Who the f(*& schedules a meeting this early and doesn’t order breakfast?

No one even looks up. Managing Editor WENDY MITCHELL, facedown on the table in a slowly expanding pool of drool, stirs briefly at the sudden noise, but doesn’t move. From this position, her jacket collar separates from her neck, which turns out to be covered with fresh hickeys..

BRIAN BROOKS
Nan da, korya!, baka-baka-shii jikan tsubushi. Hima ja nai, ore. Maa, jitsu wa hima da kedo…
J.D. ASHCRAFT
(wearily spitting out the punchline to an office joke gone stale) Suntory Time!
ANTHONY KAUFMAN
Cut with the Lost in Translation, already.
BROOKS
Ore no daihon was saisho datta! Sofia no Tokyo Story to zenzen chigau!
KEN TABACHNICK
Dude, she beat you to it. It’s over . She won.

He headnods to WENDY, who still clutches a MoMA giftbag from the night before.

KAUFMAN

Write about something else, Kahane. Move on.

Continue reading “The Breakfast Club: IndieWIRE Edition”

M Street, or DC Eye for the NY Guy

EXT. SATURDAY NIGHT – WASHINGTON, DC

A WEEKENDING NEW YORKER approaches the entrance to Agua Ardiente, an “upscale,” “hip tapas restaurant” on the “DC Latin circuit.” He is wearing a vintage suede jacket, black cashmere turtleneck, black Prada Sport loafers with that silly little red stripe that he neverthless insists be cleaned with glycerine every time he gets them shined, and, embarassingly, the slightly weathered pair of Banana Republic khakis with the little black label carefully picked off the back that he’d been househunting in all day.
Two skinny DOORMEN, dressed all in black, brace themselves in advance of a confrontation.

DOORMAN 1
Good Evening.
NEW YORKER
Hi.
DOORMAN 2
Sir, I’m afraid we can’t let you in with sneakers.
NEW YORKER
No, it’s OK. These are loafers.
DOORMAN 2
I’m sorry, sir, the policy is no sneakers.
NEW YORKER
But they’re not– they’re loafers. Prada Loafers.
I got them at Harvey Nichols.

(An empty lie. But he’d rather get turned away for lying about Harvey Nick’s carrying Prada than for not abiding with some obtuse provincial dress code. Besides, the man figures, it already can’t get any worse than announcing your brands at the door.)


DOORMAN 2
I’m sorry, sir.
DOORMAN 1
You’re welcome to come back without rubber-soled shoes.
NEW YORKER
So the definition of “sneakers” is rubber-soled shoes?
DOORMAN 1
Yes, sir.
NEW YORKER
What about the khakis? Should I change those, too?
DOORMAN 2
The khakis are fine, sir.

The man walks back to his car, contemplates the parties he’s missing in New York, and heads home to rewatch Gerry, now available for rent or purchase on DVD.

Advice for Shooting Authentically in New York City

Directors: If you are concerned when your writer proposes to populate your circa 2003 New York City streetscape with the following characters, please rest assured that these are not fantastical or implausible, but just the opposite. They are as real as real gets.
1) An older man in a yellowing undershirt and trousers carrying a large zither many blocks from the nearest zither repair shop or flea market.
2) A younger woman in an ever-so-slightly too-small Chanel tanktop and slacks, with large (Chanel, obviously) sunglasses on her needs-a-touchup blonde hair, Jimmy Choo shopping bags in the crook of her tanned arm, screaming into a tiny cell phone nestled gingerly between her french manicured nails and her made up face, “Well then I AM a bad dog mommy, because I still have to go to Barney’s!”

INT – NYC PROMOTIONAL MERCHANDISE SHOWROOM/COPY STORE, DAY

A bustling Manhattan mid-day. A female EVENTS PLANNER, 30 years old, shoulder-length brown hair, Barney’s Label sleeveless blouse and pantsuit, stands at a glass display counter. She shops for silkscreenable trinkets with which to reward attendees for an impending business conference. A mid-30’s SALES ASSOCIATE with not-so-recently applied blonde highlights makes smalltalk as she retrieves digital clocks and desk caddies for consideration.

SALES ASSOCIATE
Do you like your job?
EVENTS PLANNER
Wha–? Oh– sure.
It’s been so hectic lately.
SALES ASSOCIATE
What is your exact title?
EVENTS PLANNER
(hesitant, slightly confused) I plan special events.
SALES ASSOCIATE
Ah, so you’re not in actual public relations, then.
EVENTS PLANNER
(getting up to speed, but not jumping fully into the conversation) No, I only do special events.
This one’s been real tough. To get everything pulled together… And I worked through the weekend…
SALES ASSOCIATE
Oh, I know. I’ve had a rough few days, too.
I have breast cancer.

The Reel Truth: Getting Behind Behind-the-Scenes

Commercial production house Zooma Zooma is hosting The Reel Truth [Quicktime], a hi-larious, sodium pentathol-laced short film, set on the set of a commercial. My favorite scene is the one with the MBA client in it:
INT – SOUNDSTAGE
Accompanied by the ass-kissing PRODUCER, the suit-wearing BRAND MANAGER visits the set to consult with the DIRECTOR.

BRAND MANAGER
Can I look through the camera?
DIRECTOR
Of course, of course.
It’s a little known fact that some of the world’s best cinematography is the result of input from arrogant, pinheaded business school grads like yourself.
BRAND MANAGER
Oh, Naturally. (pause)
I think we should go tighter. I don’t really know why, or even what I’m talking about, but this is my sole creative act this year, aside from choosing the color of my minivan.

This just confirms the genius of my original idea: What if we make the business school grad the director? My brilliance dazzles even me sometimes… [via BoingBoing and this Jim Griffin]
Followup: According to AdAge, director Tim Hamilton made the short as a sequel to Truth in Advertising, for an awards show. And if you have to ask his nationality, well…

INT – KOREAN DELI, NYC – EARLY MORNING

An OFFICEWORKER wearing a beige dress and a thin, cream-colored cardigan talks on a phone while she gingerly picks up yogurt and carrot sticks. A MAN with bedhead and cutoff khaki shorts stands nearby, contemplating how many Diet Cokes to buy.


OFFICEWORKER (on phone)
…On top of that, a woman quit yesterday.
(pause)
No, one you want to stay.
(pause)
No, she told them yesterday, you know, gave them her two-weeks notice, and they threw a fit. Then she said, ‘You know what? Just consider this my last day,’ and walked out.
(pause)
NO! That’s how they are. And you know the worst part?

The officeworker moves toward the bagel counter, and the man decides to see how the bananas are and moves absentmindedly-looking in the same direction.


OFFICEWORKER
(pause)
I think I’m becoming one of them.

INT – AMPHITHEATER – WACO, TX

A pair of COMMANDERS-IN-CHIEF are having problems with their PowerPoint presentations, berating an INTERN. They proceed and address the troops.

COMMANDER
Where is MRS Company?

CARLA and JANE look around sheepishly and raise their hands.
COMMANDER
Right. You will lead the all-important Operation Human Shield. Take the Burrito Guy with you.
Where is MBA Company?

Several rows of MEN in polo shirts (tastefully embroidered with the logos of their companies or Burning Tree C.C.) and Tasmanian gabardine khakis raise their hands.

COMMANDER
Right, you are Operation Get Behind The Housewives.

Listen to a reading of this scene (mp3 via moviesounds.com).

In the cab this morning:

In the cab this morning: A veritable weblog full of unsolicited narration from the older, female driver.
“I been driving a cab 34 years.”
“I used to race cars. I was 14.”
“The tourists come to see the matinee, but they can’t drive.”
“I washed my car this morning, but I didn’t need to. It’s clean.”
“My friend died. Cancer. Yesterday.”
“He’s a cabdriver 30 years. three sons and a grandson. He’s so young.”
“And he just bought a new cab last year.”