Well, that sucked. Read on Facebook that a friend needed a script tonight for the contest, got to writing it, and just as I finished and tried to email it my internet connection went down.
Spent the next hour and a half restarting my computer and texting him. Never heard back. Got online and he didn't want the script anymore; his team got an idea and started writing their own.
He says he's going to shoot it anyway; we'll see. They have a RED camera, so I gave him lots of room to do cool camera angles and lenses, spaghetti western shots, Bruckheimer/Harlin stuff...all in the required genre of comedy.
Because I'm Lis Fucking Fies.
The parameters were 4-7 minutes, comedy, the prop was a plate, and there had to be a character that was James Switzer the electrician. The required dialogue line was "Just remember, you didn't hear it from me."
My friend's team had two comedic white dude actors, 23-27, and permits to shoot in a bar, the desert, and a 40x40 studio with greenscreen.
Here's what I wrote in an hour. You get to actually read some of my screenwriting, since, you know, why not. Theft not a big concern of mine here. Not that I wouldn't hunt a plagiarist down and kill them for sport.
MAGIC WANDS FOR ALL
EXT. DESERT – DAY
The Vegas wasteland. Still.
A car vrooms past, dust spewing in the air.
INT. CAR - DAY
The DRIVER (23) is a handsome white dude, fingers clinching the steering wheel. Barely keeping his shit together.
Glances at the clock and slams his foot down harder on the accelerator.
EXT. BAR – DAY
The car skids into three parking spots: a perfect job if it were Stevie Wonder driving.
From outside the car we see the driver fumbling furiously with something mysterious in the front seat. Bigger than a bread box. He shoves it under his shirt and falls out of the car. Races to the bar door.
INT. BAR – DAY
Deserted. Looks like there was one hell of a party there last night. If your idea of a party is FROM DUSK TIL DAWN.
The BARTENDER, 28, hot white dude (really, Matt??), looks up from a plate of fries he's munching on.
Blanches at the sweaty out-of-breath figure lurching towards him.
Zoom to the Bartender, pulling out a shotgun. Aims it right at him.
This is MY bar.
The Driver stops.
You and your pasty white guy ass are NOT bringing trouble here today.
The Driver takes a step forward. He is desperate and determined.
The Bartender narrows his eyes.
You got the mob on you? Again?
Cocks the shotgun.
The noise echoes in the emptiness.
Because you are not my problem anymore.
He raises his hands beseechingly.
IN SLO - MO
The mysterious object slides out of his shirt. He tries to catch it, but it fumbles and clanks to the ground as he yells nooooo.
The floor of the bar. The hugest, most confusing contraption you've ever seen is lying there. Frightening to all mankind...
The Bartender recoils out of instinct, the gun forgotten.
Slowly he walks across the bar. Stops in front of the driver, the THING right between them. (I would do a reverse reverse on this...keep the tension going and do NOT reveal what they're looking at)
Kicks it with his toe like a dead animal.
It whirs a little and the two men jump back from it.
It's not that bad.
You let your woman use that?
She says she only uses it when I'm out of town.
CU: A magic wand vibrator with a dildo attachment. (If you don't have one, um...BUY ONE.)
The Bartender kneels down in front of it.
You're not bringing this girl home to mom, are you? Because she is NOT going to approve.
The driver kneels down with him, gingerly picks up the monstrosity.
Dude. I need your help. And I'm out of time.
The Bartender stands. Walks back to the bar.
Busy. I gotta clean. And then the books--
She's going to be home any minute. I need you. The real you. Not this alcohol-slinging bullshit.
I want no part of this. I put that life behind me.
The Driver approaches the bar.
Why? Over one stupid mistake? Everyone makes mistakes.
The Bartender, dressed then as an ELECTRICIAN, working on wires in a wall. In the background we hear but don't see a group of children playing. The electrcian wipes his brow and walks aways. Flips on a light switch. A spark goes up and we hear children screaming, see the horror on his face (think CLIFFHANGER)
The Bartender is shaking like a war vet. Grabs his plate of french fries and smashes the plate, spraying potato and ceramic everywhere. Lunges at the Driver with a sharp end of the plate.
The driver blocks him and they fight, rolling to the ground. Insert fun fight choreography here.
The Driver wins, beating down the Bartender.
GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!
He slaps the Bartender, who comes out of his vet-like daze.
It wasn't your fault. I don't really get how it happened, but obviously those kids' numbers were up.
(mumbling to himself)
The screams. The tiny screams...
Even mom says you were set up. Never should have served time for that. It was bogus. Just remember, you didn't hear it from me.
The Bartender calms himself, PTSD episode over. The Driver gives him a hand up.
Now put on your supercape, brother. I need you. I need James Switzer. The best god damn electrician Vegas has ever seen.
The Bartender puffs up, renewed. A glint in his eye.
How much time have we got?
INT. BAR – LATER
A table in the corner is covered with the vibrator's guts.
The two men sweat over it, intensely single-focused.
The Bartender, who we now know is JAMES SWITZER, works furiously crossing wires.
Cut the blue wire.
James shoots him a death glare.
I don't understand, Jeremy. What were you trying to do to it?
Aha! Now we know the Driver's name is...
It sounds like a lawnmower. She was always embarrassed the neighbors on both sides could hear it, and you know I can't afford to move us. She looks so cute when she uses it. Like
(making the face)
Don't do that. And I thought she only used it when you were out of town?
I just want to make her happy.
So take Viagra.
No man, she's multi-orgasmic. I get tired around the 20th orgrasm. My hands start cramping.
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE
Jeremy is handed a stack of paperwork, but his hands are cramped like claws and he drops them all to the ground, fluttering through the air.
I couldn't talk to clients the next day.
INT. OFFICE CUBICLE
Jeremy on the phone, his tongue swollen and not pronouncing words intelligibly. He takes an ice cube from his coffee mug and applies it to his tongue.
She needs the magic wand. Dude. Hugh Hefner swears by it.
James finishes up one last wire. Closes the wand back up. Turns it on.
Sure enough, it sounds like a lawnmower.
The Switzer Brothers stare at the ridiculously loud vibrator.
I told you. But the things it does to her...Come on, man. Just one more time. Use your powers for good!
James sighs. Opens the wand back up.
You're the best big brother ever.
EXT. CRAPPY APARTMENT – NIGHT
We follow a hot pair of stripper shoes as they click down the sidewalk.
A key in the door, operated by a very sexy female hand.
The door swing open, and there's
butt naked on the couch, a wrapped gift box on his lap.
He grins into the camera.
Guess who is your hero!!!
Lots of female moaning, screaming, “Baby you're the king, you make me so happy awwwwwhhhhhh”, Jeremy ad-libbing, and a now whisper-quiet vibrator.