The Meeting
EXT. CITY STREET – NIGHT
A man of about thirty years, named Andrew, with short brown hair, trods down a winding backstreet. The street is dimly lit by large old yellow streetlamps that hang like vines from the sides of the buildings, which are joined to form one long wall along the street. The man is dressed nicely, and he fiddles with his bowler hat, taking it off, inspecting it as if he had never seen it before, spinning it around, putting it back on, and playing with the small feathered pin in the side of it. As he does so he whistles and continues down the street in an excellent mood. There are a few dark figures that pass him on the street and turn their shadowed heads to peer at him in his light mood, but Andrew mostly pays them no notice.
Suddenly, an old wooden door swings out in front of him into the narrow lane, and a large bearded man with a handlebar mustache, named Gurf, steps out before Andrew as if to stop him. Andrew stops and they survey each other momentarily. Gurf wears an old-fashioned suit. Andrew smiles and attempts to continue walking around the door, but Gurf shifts towards him and Andrew pauses, looking at him from the corner of his eye. Gurf speaks to Andrew in a gruff but friendly voice.
GURF
Hello, Paul!
ANDREW
Excuse me, sir, but I think you are mistaken.
My name is Andrew, not Paul.
Gurf looks at him quizically for a moment, his brow furrowed and face in a frown. All of a sudden, his expression lifts and he lets out a couple of good, hearty laughs.
GURF
Ha, ha, ha! Excellent, Paul, excellent!
Well, we can't be too careful, now, can we!
Gurf leans in to Andrew, whispers dramatically to him and winks:
GURF
As for me, just call me “The Salty Trombone”
Gurf pokes Andrew in the ribs, and immediately begins laughing hysterically. Andrew, caught in awkwardness, smiles waveringly and forces himself to let out a strained giggle.
ANDREW
No, I'm sorry, I don't think you understand.
I am not from here, I am only in the city on holiday.
I live out in the provinces... but... but the city
is truly lovely, especially this time of year,
when the rose bushes are in bloom and...
Gurf has stopped laughing and frowns at Andrew again.
GURF
Come on, now, let's go inside.
We've had our laugh, but we've some
serious business tonight.
Gurf takes Andrew by the arm forcefully and pushes him into the open doorway and down a few of the immediate steps. From where Andrew stands he cannot see the rest of the room below, only the floor below the staircase. Gurf stands at the top step still, and locks a ridiculous number of locks on the door. Andrew pauses, trying to see what is at the bottom of the stairs before he goes down. Gurf finishes with the locks.
GURF
Well, come on now Paul.
What, do you want me to hold your hand?
As Gurf pushes Andrew down the staircase to the bottom, Andrew sees a feathered pin on Gurf's coat that matches the feathered pin on his own bowler hat, and his eyes open wide in realization.
They reach the floor and the view of the room opens us in front of them. Inside it is a dark, cavernous cellar, crowded with people. Each one wears the same feathered pin, some on their hats, some on their jackets, but no one in the room wears a bowler hat like Andrew's. A man, apparently the leader of the group, stands on a small platform to the side of the room. The leader is talking to the group emphatically, but pauses when he sees Andrew and Gurf.
LEADER
That is how the fluctuations in the grain market
dictate the so-called whims of the first tier...
Ah, hello Paul! Late again, I see –
ANDREW
Uh, sir, you see...
LEADER
- well, not as bad as last week. Or the week before,
for that matter. Thank you for getting the door, Gurf.
Now, as I was saying... It is both the consumptive
and productive power of the underclass that
has the ultimate stranglehold...
As the leader speaks to the crowd, Andrew slowly slinks backwards, towards the door, but in the dark he bumps into Gurf and lets out a yell. The leader stops his discourse, and the people in the room begin to clamor.
LEADER
Paul, is there something in my discourse
with which you would like to disagree? Remember,
of course, that this is not a governmental system.
After all, we are all equals here, and you have the right to yelp as much as I have the right to expound my discourse which I prepared long into the night in order that I might be able to deliver it on time to our friends-in-arms here.
ANDREW
Uh, no, sir, you see the thing is that I...
At that moment, there is a pounding on the door, and the room falls silent. Whispers of “the police” circulate around the room. Gurf walks up the stairs to see. WE HEAR the sound of multiple locks unlocking and finally the door creaks open. There is a muffled exclamation from the top of the steps. Andrew begins to climb the steps toward the door to makes his escape.
ANDREW
You, see, I really must be going now...
The wife and kids are waiting and ...
Gurf calls downstairs from the doorway:
GURF
It's another Paul!
LEADER
What? Another Paul?
The mass of people downstairs begins to clamor again and as they do, Andrew makes a break for the door, rushing past Gurf and the actual Paul. As he does so, there are shouts of “A spy!” from below the stairs. Gurf grabs for Andrew, but only succeeds in catching his hat, and Andrew runs down the street, away from them, baldheaded. WE HEAR the door slam shut from down the street and the locks all relocking. Andrew runs down the winding lane until he reaches a busy street at the end, where he stops and bends over, panting, resting his hands on his knees.
Written for my screenwriting class in Prague. (c) 2006, Tyler Henry
A man of about thirty years, named Andrew, with short brown hair, trods down a winding backstreet. The street is dimly lit by large old yellow streetlamps that hang like vines from the sides of the buildings, which are joined to form one long wall along the street. The man is dressed nicely, and he fiddles with his bowler hat, taking it off, inspecting it as if he had never seen it before, spinning it around, putting it back on, and playing with the small feathered pin in the side of it. As he does so he whistles and continues down the street in an excellent mood. There are a few dark figures that pass him on the street and turn their shadowed heads to peer at him in his light mood, but Andrew mostly pays them no notice.
Suddenly, an old wooden door swings out in front of him into the narrow lane, and a large bearded man with a handlebar mustache, named Gurf, steps out before Andrew as if to stop him. Andrew stops and they survey each other momentarily. Gurf wears an old-fashioned suit. Andrew smiles and attempts to continue walking around the door, but Gurf shifts towards him and Andrew pauses, looking at him from the corner of his eye. Gurf speaks to Andrew in a gruff but friendly voice.
GURF
Hello, Paul!
ANDREW
Excuse me, sir, but I think you are mistaken.
My name is Andrew, not Paul.
Gurf looks at him quizically for a moment, his brow furrowed and face in a frown. All of a sudden, his expression lifts and he lets out a couple of good, hearty laughs.
GURF
Ha, ha, ha! Excellent, Paul, excellent!
Well, we can't be too careful, now, can we!
Gurf leans in to Andrew, whispers dramatically to him and winks:
GURF
As for me, just call me “The Salty Trombone”
Gurf pokes Andrew in the ribs, and immediately begins laughing hysterically. Andrew, caught in awkwardness, smiles waveringly and forces himself to let out a strained giggle.
ANDREW
No, I'm sorry, I don't think you understand.
I am not from here, I am only in the city on holiday.
I live out in the provinces... but... but the city
is truly lovely, especially this time of year,
when the rose bushes are in bloom and...
Gurf has stopped laughing and frowns at Andrew again.
GURF
Come on, now, let's go inside.
We've had our laugh, but we've some
serious business tonight.
Gurf takes Andrew by the arm forcefully and pushes him into the open doorway and down a few of the immediate steps. From where Andrew stands he cannot see the rest of the room below, only the floor below the staircase. Gurf stands at the top step still, and locks a ridiculous number of locks on the door. Andrew pauses, trying to see what is at the bottom of the stairs before he goes down. Gurf finishes with the locks.
GURF
Well, come on now Paul.
What, do you want me to hold your hand?
As Gurf pushes Andrew down the staircase to the bottom, Andrew sees a feathered pin on Gurf's coat that matches the feathered pin on his own bowler hat, and his eyes open wide in realization.
They reach the floor and the view of the room opens us in front of them. Inside it is a dark, cavernous cellar, crowded with people. Each one wears the same feathered pin, some on their hats, some on their jackets, but no one in the room wears a bowler hat like Andrew's. A man, apparently the leader of the group, stands on a small platform to the side of the room. The leader is talking to the group emphatically, but pauses when he sees Andrew and Gurf.
LEADER
That is how the fluctuations in the grain market
dictate the so-called whims of the first tier...
Ah, hello Paul! Late again, I see –
ANDREW
Uh, sir, you see...
LEADER
- well, not as bad as last week. Or the week before,
for that matter. Thank you for getting the door, Gurf.
Now, as I was saying... It is both the consumptive
and productive power of the underclass that
has the ultimate stranglehold...
As the leader speaks to the crowd, Andrew slowly slinks backwards, towards the door, but in the dark he bumps into Gurf and lets out a yell. The leader stops his discourse, and the people in the room begin to clamor.
LEADER
Paul, is there something in my discourse
with which you would like to disagree? Remember,
of course, that this is not a governmental system.
After all, we are all equals here, and you have the right to yelp as much as I have the right to expound my discourse which I prepared long into the night in order that I might be able to deliver it on time to our friends-in-arms here.
ANDREW
Uh, no, sir, you see the thing is that I...
At that moment, there is a pounding on the door, and the room falls silent. Whispers of “the police” circulate around the room. Gurf walks up the stairs to see. WE HEAR the sound of multiple locks unlocking and finally the door creaks open. There is a muffled exclamation from the top of the steps. Andrew begins to climb the steps toward the door to makes his escape.
ANDREW
You, see, I really must be going now...
The wife and kids are waiting and ...
Gurf calls downstairs from the doorway:
GURF
It's another Paul!
LEADER
What? Another Paul?
The mass of people downstairs begins to clamor again and as they do, Andrew makes a break for the door, rushing past Gurf and the actual Paul. As he does so, there are shouts of “A spy!” from below the stairs. Gurf grabs for Andrew, but only succeeds in catching his hat, and Andrew runs down the street, away from them, baldheaded. WE HEAR the door slam shut from down the street and the locks all relocking. Andrew runs down the winding lane until he reaches a busy street at the end, where he stops and bends over, panting, resting his hands on his knees.
Written for my screenwriting class in Prague. (c) 2006, Tyler Henry
posted by Sturgeon General at 10:12 AM
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