Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

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  • #46
    Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

    What a bizarre response.

    The rules don't clarify, at least clearly, who has the deciding vote. It mentions that there will be votes, but that Priya's will trump them.

    I simply wanted to know if it was his vote that decided the winner or if we still vote, but his vote, as the contest organiser, carried more weight.

    So maybe the vote total was expressed as a percentage part of which was was our vote, as the individual poster's and then a hefty part of the percentage was in Priya's vote.

    I was trying to find out who needs buttering up. Where to send the bribe money and who would sign for the delivery of the magnum of Champagne.

    There will only be one winner (only one prize**). Voting will take place starting January 24th. Ultimately, my vote trumps all. Just so you know.
    The above seemed a little strange since we were still voting, but Priya's vote would trump ours. I was just clarifying, did that mean that our individual votes were just for fun.

    Nothing more.

    But I feel you have interpretted it some other way. Epecially with lines like 'No one's forcing you to join the fun.'

    What's that saying about assumption?
    Last edited by Harbinger; 01-20-2007, 12:10 PM.

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    • #47
      Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

      Originally posted by dpaterso View Post
      Didn't Hitchcock say that suspense is the slow-burning anticipation that comes with the audience's knowing exactly what's about to happen next, while the characters don't know? And thriller relies on the audience's not knowing what will befall the characters in the next minute as they get deeper and deeper into trouble -- yet knowing full well that something must go horribly wrong?

      -Derek

      Comment


      • #48
        Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

        Originally posted by Harbinger View Post
        What's that saying about assumption?
        It means quit b*tching. Obviously Fortean thought your complaints came a page too late to be taken seriously. Those comments mean if you don't win, you don't get sh*t...UNLESS Priya reads your short and thought your's was better than the others despite the judges vote. Then, I suspect you would find a PM in your inbox mentioning this. So in other words: win the f*cking contest.

        I'm nearly finished with my first, and have my second one outlined. I'm shooting for 3 or 4 AM...we'll see. Definitely not like any of these others. Some good writers here though, so we'll see.

        Good luck to everyone else.
        Last edited by Adam Isaac; 01-20-2007, 06:52 PM.
        sigpic

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        • #49
          Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

          A radio announcer, a lazy dentist, and a feisty refugee from Alaska worry about their loved ones on a desert island.

          Don't know which is on the desert island (the characters or their loved ones) but thought this would be more interesting

          FADE IN

          EXT. OCEAN - DAY

          The swelling waves... The tumbling foam... The azure sky...

          JACKSON (OVER)
          The swelling waves... The tumbling foam... The azure sky...

          A hand slips into the soft white sand... Raises... Sifts the contents through its fingers, carried away by the breeze...

          JACKSON (OVER)
          Like sand through the hour glass... These are the days of our lives...

          Angle on JACKSON... Sixties... Tanned... A kind face with sharp features honed and shaped through many days without the fats and carbohydrates of civilization...

          JACKSON
          We meet a man... Sixties... Tanned... He has a kind face... With sharp features... Honed and sharpened... Through many days gone without the fats and carbohydrates of civilization...
          (a beat)
          But alone? Hardly...

          Jackson looks over to a skinny young man, his clothes torn, his legs shaking like a wet chihuahua...

          JACKSON
          He has the company of men... One shakes like a wet chihuahua... The other hardly moves at all...

          A third man wearing an open shirt and Oakley shades casts a sidelong glance... Manages to give him the bird...

          JACKSON
          In this time of the decline of the West we ironically find ourselves stranded in the far East, not knowing where the winds of change have taken us, or if they'll ever return us home...
          (a long beat)
          Why - it reminds me of Stu Richardson... Quarterback for the Alabama Rolling Tide... His back against the wall - an All-American wide receiver and his starting running back, both lost to injuries in the penultimate contest that would lead to the national championship -

          The shaking chihuahua springs at Jackson's throat, his hands held fast around the asophygus, now turning blue...

          Oakley sighs... Leans back on his comfortable palm...

          CHIHUAHUA
          (while strangling)
          I'm so sick of your g****mn narrative I could kill you! Do you understand, I could kill you!

          He lets go... Steps back... Collects himself...

          CHIHUAHUA
          I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I shouldn't have done that... I should realize that my emotions get the best of me sometimes and -

          OAKLEY
          You know who you remind me of?
          (a beat)
          Kind of a cross between John Leguizamo and Dennis Leary...
          (the chihuahua looks up)
          You ever see Ice Age?
          (a tense beat)
          Maybe you should stop snorting lines of sand...

          On a stump near Oakley's palm lies a rolled up $1 and four fat lines of sparkling white sand...

          CHIHUAHUA
          You know what, Oakley, you got nothin' to say... You know why? Because you're a g****mn idiot... That's why. You call yourself a doctor? You're not a doctor, you're a dentist. What are you gonna do to me? You're nothin' without your drill. There's no nurse here to hold us down -

          OAKLEY
          I wish there were...

          CHIHUAHUA
          No light to keep us blinded while you probe with your... Your probes! You just sit there under your little palm tree with those smug little eyes under all that smug little sarcastic darkness. But you can't make anyone floss out here...

          OAKLEY
          (after a beat)
          I couldn't make anyone floss... Ever... That's up to them...
          (a beat)
          And I don't even floss...
          (another beat)
          But I can't understand why you don't let the old man have his stories... He was a big time guy in college sports... It's hard to let it go... And why should he?

          CHIHUAHUA
          Stories? Stories?? He doesn't have any stories, he was g****mn play by play guy! You want stories? How about Jack London!

          OAKLEY
          Oh, here we go...

          CHIHUAHUA
          Ya, Jack London, a real hero! Stuck in the wilderness for years! On purpose mind you! He had to kill a wolf with his bare hands and crawl inside its belly just to keep warm! And here you sit with your suntan and your rancid coconut milk -

          At this Oakley SPEWS HIS MILK for fear the chihuahua may be right...

          CHIHUAHUA
          I tell you this, dentist... And this isn't just because of my Alaskan heritage -

          OAKLEY
          Oh come off it - you were born in Omaha...

          CHIHUAHUA
          Hey! My parents moved us to Fairbanks when I was three! I went to sleep by the Northern Lights while you were pluggin' your night light into a suburban nightmare!

          OAKLEY
          Bah...

          CHIHUAHUA
          All I'm sayin' is you better hope the Jack London in me never comes out...

          JACKSON
          I was just trying to savor the moment. We'll remember this for the rest of our lives, gentlemen...

          CHIHUAHUA
          The rest of our lives? This is the rest of our lives. This... is the rest of our lives.

          Chihuahua moves to the beach...

          Reaches into the crashing surf to bring up a FED EX package...

          He kneels to open the package... Digs around... Pulls out a bunch of newspaper... Offers it to his island mates...

          CHIHUAHUA
          Here... More toilet paper...

          Jackson tears off a headline... Oakley passes...

          OAKLEY
          No need...

          CHIHUAHUA
          You're disgusting...

          Chihuahua finally comes to the prize... He holds up a glass jar, allowing it to shine in the sunlight... A beat...

          CHIHUAHUA
          Great... What the f*** are we supposed to do with this?

          A beat...

          OAKLEY
          We could fill it with water...

          In the silence the waves crash onto the shore... After a moment their laughter begins... First Oakley... Then Jackson... Finally Chihuahua...

          The jar falls to the beach as they can no longer contain their hysteria...

          Finally their laughter subsides...

          JACKSON
          Hey fellas, come here... Take a look at this...

          The islanders gather around the headline in his hands: "US SET TO SEND MORE TROOPS TO WAR IN IRAQ-

          CHIHUAHUA
          We're at war?

          As they try to make out wet print...

          JACKSON
          I have two nephews in the navy... Stationed in South Carolina...

          OAKLEY
          My son... He was sixteen when I crashed... He wanted to be a fighter pilot...

          CHIHUAHUA
          I have a sister in the Louisiana National Guard. Based out of New Orleans...

          A lingering silence...

          JACKSON
          My God... How much life we've missed...

          The waves continue rolling onto the shore...

          END

          Comment


          • #50
            Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

            Originally Posted by Harbinger
            What's that saying about assumption?

            Originally posted by Adam Isaac View Post
            It means quit b*tching. Obviously Fortean thought your complaints came a page too late to be taken seriously. Those comments mean if you don't win, you don't get sh*t...UNLESS Priya reads your short and thought your's was better than the others despite the judges vote. Then, I suspect you would find a PM in your inbox mentioning this. So in other words: win the f*cking contest.

            I'm nearly finished with my first, and have my second one outlined. I'm shooting for 3 or 4 AM...we'll see. Definitely not like any of these others. Some good writers here though, so we'll see.

            Good luck to everyone else.
            The saying about asumption means 'Quit bitching' does it? Evidently I'm dealing with an intellectual powerhouse here.

            I apologise if that seems a little inflamatory, but to be honest the disrespect never began on my part.

            Lets get a few things clear.

            I asked those questions of Priya, the organiser of the contest. I needed a few things clarified. why Fortean felt the compulsion to answer on his behalf is anyone's guess. So regardless of whether he viewed my comments as serious or not is really a moot point because they were never directed at him anyway. I asked a perfectly legitimate question to clarify something that wasn't quite clear.

            Oh by the way it was indeed a question. So why you chose to use the word 'complaints' in relation to what I said is beyond me. Perhaps it's an attempt to potray my innocent question as something different than what it was. Cause maybe it backs up your unfounded 'B*tching' comment

            As to the voting issue, you sound just as confused. So The votes by DD members counts unless Priya doesn't agree? Ah, the wonder of democracy!

            That's not what I think Priya meant at all and that's what I wanted clarified. Does Priya choose or is it the voters or a combination of the two? A simple question, that I asked perfectly respectfully.

            Oh and nice to see you punctuate your comment with abusive language.

            Let me guess. Charm school was firebombed right?



            My apologies to the other posters that a simple legitimate question has bizarrely derailed the thread and detracted from the good work posted here thus far.

            Comment


            • #51
              Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

              There is a refined delivery in your 'gentleman's sarcasm,' but it reads like usual subtle English sarcasm to me(as it did the first time). What burnt my cookie was your sour reply to Fortean's. Nothing he said merited being called out, yet your gentlemanly nature found reason to.

              So why you chose to use the word 'complaints' in relation to what I said is beyond me.
              Seemed condescending to me. Perhaps my outlook has gone bleek in regards to English sarcasm.

              Oh and nice to see you punctuate your comment with abusive language.
              Thank you, my lord.

              Let me guess. Charm school was firebombed right?
              I'd hate to take a bite outta you. You're a cookie full of arsenic.
              Last edited by Adam Isaac; 01-21-2007, 01:34 AM.
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              • #52
                Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

                The contest ends at 12 midnight PST. I hadn't thought of the time differences, apologies on that and thanks for pointing it out!

                The voters will vote for their favorites. If I disagree with the winner, I'll name a different winner. So, we'll get the popular vote (which may coincide with) and my vote. It's 100% NOT a democracy. Sorry.

                OzFade, it's cool. Though, I do have to wonder what magical realism you'd bring to: The father-in-law of a prince runs out of gas and ends up in a fantasy world in a Mexican border town...
                "I believe that discrimination exists in Hollywood, but ... its much less of an obstacle then poor writing, poor marketing, poor networking and being a whiny little bitch." -- JKK

                Comment


                • #53
                  In A Rut!

                  Originally posted by Harbinger View Post
                  What a bizarre response....

                  The rules don't clarify, at least clearly, who has the deciding vote. It mentions that there will be votes, but that Priya's will trump them.

                  I simply wanted to know if it was his vote that decided the winner or if we still vote, but his vote, as the contest organiser, carried more weight....

                  The above seemed a little strange since we were still voting, but Priya's vote would trump ours. I was just clarifying, did that mean that our individual votes were just for fun.

                  Nothing more.

                  But I feel you have interpretted it some other way. Epecially with lines like 'No one's forcing you to join the fun.'

                  What's that saying about assumption?
                  My ears were burning!

                  Priya couldn't have been much more direct than at post #24 in this thread: "If people don't enter, that's cool."

                  Show us the best five pages that you can manage, Harbinger. Take the plunge. Never mind the chunks of ice floating here and there. The water's nice and warm. Trust me. Join in the fun. The hypothetical producer has gone "round the bend," (so I'm just having a bit of fun); and, while you've done nothing more than quibble about the deadline and the voting process, magicghost has posted enough entries for a clean sweep.

                  Or, are you going to wait for the Valentine's Day challenge?
                  JEKYLL & CANADA (free .mp4 download @ Vimeo.com)

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                  • #54
                    Re: In A Rut!

                    Priya just to clarify there's no animosity from me towards you or the challange. Heck I had fun, got an idea which I could turn into a larger short and got to read some member's pages.

                    Tounge firmly planted in cheek though with me and my page and a bit.

                    Btw I just remember who you are

                    The father-in-law of a prince runs out of gas and ends up in a fantasy world in a Mexican border town...
                    And why wasn't that in the randomly chosen loglines??

                    Make the next challange a magical realism peice and I swear I'll do 5 pages no more no less.
                    One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it. - French Proverb

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                    • #55
                      Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

                      Uh, that was in the randomly chosen loglines. You still have time!

                      "I believe that discrimination exists in Hollywood, but ... its much less of an obstacle then poor writing, poor marketing, poor networking and being a whiny little bitch." -- JKK

                      Comment


                      • #56
                        Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

                        I think I may just be back in...
                        One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it. - French Proverb

                        Comment


                        • #57
                          Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

                          I ran into the same problem with log line #1 (the desert island) that magicghost did, but about half way through writing it. In the process though I think I created some funny characters. If I finish it, I'll post it. If not I've got a start, I think on a longer script.


                          I think magicghost as got this thing in the bag, just on quantity alone.


                          Hey! You might do it in your house, but in this house we don't lick our butts. -- Mother Teresa

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                          • #58
                            I've chosen, "An idealistic waiter, a thoughtful football coach and a
                            short housekeeper search for the Fountain of Youth."



                            EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA --DAY

                            A rusty deathtrap on bald tires; a passenger bus at a dusty stop.

                            The Bolivian DRIVER ties down luggage, a plastic water cooler
                            and a cardboard box with "Gatoraide" written on the side on
                            the bus's roof.

                            INT. BUS --DAY

                            The driver shifts a gear stick and the bus grinds to life.

                            EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA -- DAY

                            The bus pulls out of the stop mixing roosters and dust in it's
                            wake.

                            INT. BUS IN MOTION --DAY

                            Behind the driver, three passengers are seen in shadow, bobbing
                            along with the poor suspension.
                            A couple in the back and a lone man towards the front.

                            INT. BUS IN MOTION --DAY

                            Sunlight plays against a veil covering the face of a short Bolivian
                            WOMAN quietly looking out a window. Her MAN sits at her side
                            gently holding her hand.

                            INT. BUS IN MOTION -- DAY

                            A strong male hand plays with the band of his expensive watch.

                            EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA --DAY

                            The bus rattles along a gully etched road.
                            In the distance beyond papersack- brown foothills the crest
                            of snow covered mountains.

                            Lines of brightly colored laundry flap in the wind along the road.

                            INT. BUS IN MOTION --DAY

                            The MAN approaches the man with the watch, HENRY MARRERO,
                            and sits at his side.

                            Henry doesn't turn. His face mirrors years of tough,
                            emotionless struggle.

                            MAN
                            Doesn't matter if the road is
                            good or not,
                            your stomach like mine is
                            always jumping.
                            Here, chew this.

                            The man takes from his pocket a piece of root and hands it
                            to Henry.

                            Henry takes it and chews it. The man smiles.

                            MAN
                            The trip is good. Enjoy it, no?

                            Henry plays with his watch band.

                            MAN
                            I work long time to save.
                            So many "Good afternoons,
                            What can I get you?"
                            I don't see my son much. But this
                            I assure you was all for him.

                            Henry looks down at the man's worn but polished
                            shoes.

                            MAN
                            My wife works as housekeeper.
                            She's always tired but together
                            we make this trip.


                            Henry looks out the window.

                            From his POV

                            BOYS line up on a soccer field for a penalty kick.

                            Henry turns back. The man has returned to his seat by his wife.


                            EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA -- DAY

                            The bus rattles up a steep road past stands of gnarled fir trees.


                            INT. BUS IN MOTION -- DAY

                            Henry notices the things swinging from the drivers rearview.
                            A rosary, bright beads, a metal whistle at the end of a string.
                            The whistle sparkles as light from a window strikes it.

                            Henry is broken from the reverie by the man who holds
                            a piece of paper at him.

                            MAN
                            My wife would like to know
                            what this english word means.

                            Henry takes the paper.

                            On it is written in shaky script.
                            "Lombardi"

                            HENRY
                            It's not...it's a name.
                            Lombardi.

                            MAN
                            Lombardi? What does this mean?

                            HENRY
                            He..ah..tell her it means,
                            "Winning" Reaching the big
                            game.

                            The man takes the paper and folds it up and places it in his chest
                            pocket.
                            He nods.

                            MAN
                            The big game.
                            She was sure of it.

                            Henry looks back. The woman is still shielded by the veil and
                            looks out a window.


                            INT. BUS IN MOTION -- DAY

                            The driver looks in his rearview mirror and sees his passengers,
                            Henry and the couple behind him sitting quietly.

                            He flicks a button on an old radio and bright music starts to play.

                            Henry's foot taps along with the music.


                            EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA -- DAY

                            The bus continues to rattle up a road past boys running after it.

                            The bus stops in front of an old building.


                            INT. BUS -- DAY

                            The driver turns around to Henry.

                            DRIVER
                            Senor, this is where you get
                            off.

                            Henry gets up. He waves goodbye to the couple in the back.
                            The man smiles. The woman still stares out the window hidden
                            by the veil.
                            The man raises his hand before Henry turns.

                            MAN
                            The fountain of youth, they
                            call it, because you are
                            remembered as you were the
                            day you left them.

                            Henry stares for a moment at him, uncomprehending.
                            He turns and makes his way off the bus.


                            EXT. OLD BUILDING -- DAY

                            The driver retrieves a duffel bag from atop the bus for Henry and places
                            it in the dirt.
                            A football team's signature dons the duffel bag.

                            Henry approaches the old building, seemingly unaware of where
                            he is.

                            He peers through a dusty window of the building.

                            Inside , a little Bolivian BOY is being introduced to
                            a friendly american COUPLE by a NUN.

                            Henry stares, seemingly recognizing the boy.

                            Henry turns towards the bus. The driver is shifting the gear stick and
                            the bus's engine rattles open.

                            Henry quickly steps towards the bus towards the window where
                            the couple sit.

                            He can make out now the face of the woman.

                            She looks down at him with adoring love and pride.

                            He recognizes her, soaking in her spirit.

                            HENRY
                            Mama

                            He raises his hand for the bus to stop.

                            The bus chugs away and up a hill disappearing into a cloud of mist.

                            Henry turns to the building. A sign above the door reads,

                            "Rio Joven Orphanage"

                            The door of the orphanage opens.
                            The american couple comes out holding the hands of the little
                            boy.

                            Other boys crowd around a well pumping water into a bucket,
                            lamenting the loss of a friend but praising his luck.

                            AMERICAN MALE VOICE O.S
                            Who would have dreamed
                            we'd come this far?

                            The boys rush at the adopted boy erupting in loud cheers.

                            They take the bucket of water and tip it over the boy's head.

                            The little boy closes his eyes under the shock of cold water.

                            On the boy's eyes now which suddenly become Henry's eyes.

                            as a torrent of icy water from an overturned cooler by hefty
                            linebackers bathes him.

                            ANNOUNCER O.S
                            The kick is good! Henry Marerro leads the
                            franchise to their first Super Bowl victory!!

                            Tears fill Henry's eyes.

                            His face shudders with emotion finally spent.


                            A lineback at his side punches his arm.

                            LINEBACKER
                            Damn, coach. Never even seen
                            you crack a smile.

                            Handshakes all around but Henry can only break the emotion
                            by opening his mouth as a crowd behind him roars in victory.


                            FADE OUT
                            myhomeconvalesceblog

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                            • #59
                              Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

                              The Father-in-law of a prince runs out of gas and enters a fantasy world in a Mexican border town...

                              FADE IN:

                              EXT. NEW MEXICO - HIGHWAY - LATE AFTERNOON

                              Purple clouds conquer the vast expanse, threatening to flood the land with booming voices... SUPER THE WORDS: NEW MEXICO

                              Tumbleweed rolls... Crosses the 2 lane pavement as the thundering roar of a V8 announces the king of the highway, a black Chevelle with tinted windows... Lightning flashes as Hell on Wheels disappears over the next hill...

                              EXT. BORDER PATROL - LATE AFTERNOON

                              Traffic... Heat... Humidity... A Border Patrol Agent named ARTURO moves toward a bus full of American women... College age... Spring Breakers...

                              ARTURO
                              La Primavera esta' en el aire...
                              (Spring is in the air...)

                              Behind the bus about 4 cars back is a black stretch limo...

                              IN THE LIMO

                              HELEN CAVENAUGH... Late twenties, very well dressed, adorned with diamonds... Leans out to estimate her wait...

                              HELEN
                              I knew this would be Hell...

                              INT. COURTROOM - LATE AFTERNOON

                              A LEAD JUROR stands to announce the verdict...

                              LEAD JUROR
                              ...In the case of Candilar Gonzales and Santos Ortez we the jury find the defendants guilty as charged...

                              A murmur from the crowded courtroom... The defense attorney immediately turns to his clients, motioning for them to be calm as the prosecution, DAVID CAVENAUGH (slim, fifties but looks 40) shakes the congratulatory hand of his assistant...

                              OUTSIDE

                              A REPORTER steps in front of a camera...

                              REPORTER
                              We're just outside of the controversial trial of 2 border patrol agents who shot Juan Carerra, a drug trafficker who was illegally attempting to enter the US with 450lbs of cocaine... We've just received word that both men were found guilty, and may serve up to 12 years in prison...

                              A sudden commotion as Cavenaugh appears at the courthouse steps with an entourage of officers... He wades through the media frenzy, ignoring a barrage of questions, until...

                              REPORTER
                              Mr. Cavenaugh, is it likely the appeal process will be superceded by a presidential pardon?

                              CAVENAUGH
                              (stopping for this one)
                              What happens from here is, at this point, out of my control. If other powers choose to get involved then so be it. As far as I'm concerned I've done my job...

                              REPORTER
                              Any thoughts on how public reaction will affect your race for congress?

                              This comment garners an intense reaction... He decides to hold his tongue...

                              EXT. NEW MEXICO - HIGHWAY - EARLY EVENING

                              The black Chevelle screams through the desert...

                              EXT. BORDER PATROL - EARLY EVENING

                              Several agents go about their business... Suddenly Arturo catches sight of a convoy of black SUVs approaching the border from the Mexican side...

                              Instinctively he brings his weapon off his shoulder...

                              Something makes him turn back to the American side... Another convoy... Pick-ups... Sedans... SUV's... Banners and signs reading 'KEEP OUT CRIMINALS,- "SAVE THE BORDER, BUILD THE WALL,- "WE'VE EARNED THE RIGHT TO CALL THIS OUR AMERICA-

                              Arturo instinctively crosses himself...

                              INT. HOTEL - BAR - EARLY EVENING

                              PRINCE PASCAL (30's, tall, regal) slowly separates from his entourage as a TV monitor above the bar catches his attention... He motions to the BARTENDER...

                              PRINCE PASCAL
                              Excuse me... Is there a way of turning up the volume?

                              ON SCREEN

                              The image of Cavenaugh before reporters is suddenly replaced by a shot of panic at the border... The parked SUV convoy with Mexicans in military uniform... Angry US protestors outside their vehicles... As the volume increases we hear:

                              VOICE (ON SCREEN OVER IMAGE)
                              -in what appears to be a looming standoff in response to the verdict-
                              Pascal's eyes go wide as the camera angles on a black limousine... His wife Helen standing at her open door...

                              PRINCE PASCAL
                              Helen...

                              BARTENDER
                              You know that woman?

                              PRINCE PASCAL
                              She's my wife...

                              EXT. NEW MEXICO - HIGHWAY - EVENING

                              The sun descends as another convoy makes its way toward the border... Carerra and Cavenaugh with a governmental escort...

                              IN CARERRA'S VEHICLE

                              Carerra is in the back seat... An AGENT next to him glares...

                              AGENT
                              What kind of a deal you make to get out of this, Carerra?

                              Carerra ignores the implication...

                              INSIDE CAVENAUGH'S VEHICLE

                              An officer drives... Cavenaugh nervously fidgets with his cell phone...

                              DRIVER
                              I hope you don't mind me asking but why is your daughter in Mexico?

                              CAVENAUGH
                              Her husband Pascal... He's a Belgian prince. Also an ambassador. He's in Mexico for 3 days for some International conference. She wanted to visit her mother before -

                              He grows distant, not bothering to finish the thought...

                              DRIVER
                              You know, you don't have to be out here, sir... We can protect her...

                              As darkness falls Cavenaugh looks to the sideview mirror, catching sight of the Chevelle's headlights bearing down...

                              EXT. BORDER PATROL - EVENING

                              More law enforcement gather on both sides of the border...

                              HELEN CAVENAUGH stares at her door locks as tension and hysteria reign outside... Suddenly SHOTS ring out... She jumps as...

                              ON THE NEW MEXICO HIGHWAY - FROM THE CHEVELLE

                              The SHOTS echo into the frame... More firing... A handgun is held steady at the driver side mirror... More SHOTS... They hit their mark, shattering the back glass of Cavenaugh's car, piercing the frame near the gas tank...

                              The LEAKING FUEL drains the vehicle of all its power...

                              Carerra's car pulls to the shoulder as the agents inside realize something is wrong...

                              INSIDE CAVENAUGH'S VEHICLE

                              Cavenaugh unbuckles... Looks over to his driver slumped against the wheel, the back of his head covered in blood... Cavenaugh slinks from the passenger seat...

                              The agents emerge from Carerra's vehicle, weapons raised... FIRE at will as the black Chevelle charges...

                              INSIDE THE CHEVELLE

                              A gloved hand slams the gear shaft and cuts the wheel hard...

                              As the car goes into a slide the driver side window turns to face the agents, LIT UP as the handgun FIRES... Three of the agents drop and a fourth bullet hits the puddle of fuel, suddenly engulfing Cavenaugh's vehicle in flames...

                              CARERRA stumbles through the wreckage... He takes one of the deceased agents' guns... SHOOTS the remaining live agent... Then closes on Cavenaugh...

                              Both look up to see a FIGURE approaching from the parked Chevelle... As the figure nears Cavenaugh enters delirium, struggling to breathe through the choking fumes... Carerra's face takes on the likeness of a demon as the desert becomes a landscape from Hell...

                              The FIGURE'S SILHOUETTE breaches the firelight... Crouches only a few feet from a listless Cavenaugh... We catch the twitch of a tail at its boots, which every now and again look more like cloven hooves... The nightmare is interrupted as:

                              CAVENAUGH
                              This isn't what we talked about...

                              The silhouette looks away to the desert, its movement casting a HORNED SHADOW that overtakes Cavenaugh and Carerra...

                              CARERRA
                              I don't make the rules of the game, councilor. I just got you in...

                              AT THE BORDER PATROL

                              Helen's limo is on fire, her body prostrate on the roof...

                              CARERRA (OVER)
                              Even now they're clearing your daughter's body from what's become a bloody shoot out at the border.

                              CAVENAUGH breaks down...

                              CARERRA (OVER)
                              A conspiracy will unravel. I'll be cleared of all former allegations. You'll become a hero. The sympathy from America for your daughter's death will propel you into office. Not just congress, Mr. Cavenaugh...

                              Carerra's hand reaches out as the FIGURE'S GLOVED HAND reaches forward... Cavenaugh's tears stream down his face... For a brief moment we see the devil before our eyes...

                              CARERRA
                              Welcome to power...

                              Their hands meet... SNAP TO BLACK

                              END

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                              • #60
                                Re: Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

                                An Accountant learns that the World is ending.

                                ON THE LEVEL
                                by
                                Adam Parke


                                FADE IN:


                                INT. DARK OFFICE-NIGHT

                                Books abound the walls of the dimly lit office room. A television is on without any sound. There, a shadow slowly moves across the wall.

                                The roar of thunder and lightning compose a fitting score to the darkened dwellings of the office.

                                A young man sits opposite the television, behind a desk. He is writing a letter on a piece of yellow paper.

                                INSERT – YELLOW NOTE, which reads:

                                “Alert the media. Alert everyone you can. It’s on our money-our currency. That’s how easy it enters our systems: by touch. It will spread faster than any plague or virus the World has on record. My five-year old son, Ricky, was the first to be infected. He died tragically, along with many others. I am merely an accountant who must warn the World of the severe effects of this epidemic. For I also have been infected…” Joe C

                                Joe reaches for a small cardboard box in the drawer beside him. He removes a bullet from the box, and holds it up to a desk lamp to examine details on the bullet. Joe loads the bullet into a chrome revolver sitting on his desk.

                                Joe holds the gun to his temple. Then he jams it into his forehead, immediately shaking his head, as if the position of how he held the gun to his head really matters.

                                Joe grins wryly as he sees Edward G. Robinson and Humphrey Bogart together on his television screen. He turns the volume back up, and sits back in his chair.

                                JOE
                                Bullets Or Ballots!
                                (laughing)
                                Five seconds. Damn, I’m good.

                                A heavy cloud of smoke passes into Joe’s view.

                                VOICE(O.S.)
                                Yeah, you’re good kid, but as long as I’m around you’re always going to be second best. You mind as well learn to live with it.

                                Joe knows the voice and the little round man who it belongs to. Drowning in his own smoke clouds, it was the very same EDWARD G. ROBINSON that is on his television screen. Joe puts on his glasses and goes to greet his long since deceased visitor.

                                Edward G. Robinson looks like he has stepped straight off the screen. His cigars look just like the ones from Looney Tunes that blow up in your face when you light them.

                                JOE
                                It’s been a long time, Eddie.

                                EDDIE G.
                                Yeah. You’re uglier now than you were the last time.

                                JOE
                                Things have changed, pop. Mentally, I mean. I’m back in control.

                                EDDIE G
                                You’re still a schizophrenic, Joe. That’s something that hasn’t changed.

                                JOE
                                It’s different this time.

                                EDDIE G
                                (stern voice)
                                That’s what you said the last time! How about we skip the tap dancing, and get right down to the point?

                                JOE
                                My time is running out. I’m infected with this hellish plague, and it got…
                                (choking up)
                                Ricky, my son, he’s dead. So tonight, I'm going to unload a hand cannon into my brain, and I'm also going to have to ask you to stay out of way.

                                Eddie G. moves from the black leather couch to the chair opposite of Joe. Eddie lights up another cigar.

                                Joe dumps out the rest of the bullets on his desk. His nerves are shot all to Hell. He’s shaking like someone suffering from Parkinson’s disease. He tries loading the other five bullets, but he drops four out of the five back onto the desk.

                                Joe puts the gun into his mouth, laughs maniacally, and takes it right back out.

                                EDDIE G.
                                Look, kid, I’m sorry about Little Ricky. Nobody deserves breaks like that; especially a little mug like him. You said he caught this virus or something? How much do you know about this virus racket anyway?

                                JOE
                                Racket? I think they might have shut those down in the 1950's. Sit tight.

                                Joe hands Eddie the yellow note he wrote a few minutes earlier.

                                Eddie finishes it and lays it back down on the desk.

                                Joe hides his face with the palm of his hand, and begins to weep.

                                EDDIE G.
                                How did you find out about this?

                                Joe begins to fight back the tears, and regains his cool quickly like all men try to do when their emotions fall on the floor.

                                JOE
                                Um…I don’t remember the exact place. Ricky and I went for a walk. We didn’t speak to anyone, and no one spoke to us. Wait. There was a homeless man. He scared Ricky, so I gave him two dollars and told him to bug off.

                                EDDIE G.
                                What did he say to Ricky that scared him?

                                JOE
                                He said something to both of us; something about the Apocalypse being: “made by man’s own hands.” He kept repeating himself. Shortly after that, Ricky started feeling dizzy. I tried to help him. He kept saying he was hot and like there was something moving around in his stomach. So, naturally I…


                                Last edited by Adam Isaac; 01-23-2007, 12:05 AM.
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