Call Me Clark!

[ac_01]

Ok, so I read a poem on the net and I liked it so much I thought I'd adapt it into a screenplay. Anyway, here's my effort. I'd appreciate any thoughts.

FADE IN:
EXT. METROPOLIS HOSPITAL ? DAY
This opening sequence is shot in glorious black and white.

A beautiful, bright spring day. Picture perfect.

WOMAN (V/O)
It?s almost time doctor?

The voice is nothing more than a whisper.

FADE TO:
INT. METROPOLIS HOSPITAL ? DAY
We dolly down the long pristine, sterile corridor, towards a set of double doors. Shadows streak across the floor and up the walls.

In the distance a FAINT SOUND echoes towards us?

The SOUND of heavy breathing.

MAN (V/O)
(whisper)
Where?s Daddy?

We wait for the reply that never comes.

As we move in closer the sound gets louder?
The sound of agony? the sound of pain? the sound of a woman giving birth.

It?s getting dark. The shadows coalesce. We burst through the double doors into?

INT. UNKNOWN
Shadows appear, dark and murky. Slowly we become aware of a MUFFLED, PULSING sound; like a DISTANT, BOOMING HEARTBEAT.

Suddenly a bright light unzips the amniotic darkness; two great hands reach in to assist what we now realise is a Caesarean birth.

INT. OPERATING THEATRE ? DAY
Sunlight struggles to fill the room, impeded by the shadows.

The DOCTOR and the NURSE stand over the shrouded figure of the woman giving birth. The baby still hasn?t arrived.

DOCTOR
Almost there?

The voice is drowned out by the screams of pain to merely a whisper.

Agony, then a beat to breathe.

Then, for the first time, we see the mother ?- she looks no older than sixteen. Beads of sweat trickle down her face, searing with grief.

The screaming continues. Growing louder and louder. It shouldn?t be like this.

NURSE
(whisper)
There?s something wrong.

The mother seems in too much pain. The cries of agony are relentless, unnerving. And just as the scream reaches a crescendo another sound is added?

The PIERCING cries of the baby as it emerges.
The nurse immediately wraps the baby in a blanket.

We now follow the nurse as she hurriedly takes the baby out of the mother?s sight and places him in the incubator beside.

The sounds are almost deafening. The baby?s cry is the dominant force, echoing through the small room.

The premature baby lies in the incubator, crying out for his mother.

In the background the silhouettes of the doctor and the mother are clear in our view. Both still.

The nurse finally glances up. She makes eye contact with the Doctor for only a second. It?s enough. She looks shaken. She walks over to the bed and takes a long look at the mother who just gave up everything for her baby boy.

After a beat we realise? the mother is dead.

The baby?s cries are the only sounds we hear.

The nurse turns solemnly back to the baby.

It?s getting dark. Our view dims. The sunlight has lost in its battle with the shadows.

FADE TO BLACK:

FLICK, FLICK?

FADE IN:
INT. APARTMENT ? DAY
Full colour ? not that you would notice.
Two young hands fill our view. The right counting off the left.

VOICE (O.S.)
(whisper)
?Three? Four? Five?

The left counting off the right.

VOICE (O.S.)
(whisper)
?Six? Seven? Eight? Nine? Ten.

WIDER ANGLE, and we see him ? the little BOY. Shoe-polish black hair and sky blue eyes. Like his mother. A smile upon his face, one which he wears, like a mask.

BOY
Ten. I?m ten.

WIDER ANGLE, and the rest of the apartment comes into view. One room too dirty to live in. The apathetic Father sits in the only chair, back turned to the boy, TV blaring.
The apartment is a littering of empty beer cans and cockroaches.

The smile fades.

FADE TO BLACK:

FLICK, FLICK?

FADE IN:
INT. HALLWAY ? DAY
The little boy sits on his neighbour?s front step, next to the kind LADY next door. She reads to him. He sits munching on *******s.

LADY
(reading)
I can?t stand to fly. I?m not that naive. I?m just out to find a better part of me. I?m more than a bird? a plane? a train. It?s not easy to be me. Wish that I could cry, fall upon my knees. Find a way to lie about a home I?d never see. Even heroes have the right to bleed, to dream. It?s not easy to be me.

They share a moment.

GROANS and heavy footsteps echo from down the stairwell.

The little boy lifts his head up in horror.

The sounds get louder? closer.

He bolts into his apartment next door.

LADY
No? stay?
(beat, whisper)
You mustn?t be afraid.

Up from the stairs emerges the Father, clearly in a drunken state. He gives the lady a disgruntled look.

INT. APARTMENT ? DAY
The little boy sits in the corner, trying not to make eye contact, his gaze fixed on the blaring TV.

The father stumbles in and heads straight for a pile of beer cans on the table. But they?re all empty. He frustratingly searches through the pile in a drunken fuelled rage, grasping the knife on the table in the process.

A beat.

The boy looks down towards the floor in fear.
The father finally acknowledges his presence and turns towards him.

A beat.

The boy hurriedly wipes remnant crumbs from his mouth.

The father erupts, yelling wildly in a fit of rage.

FATHER
How many times have I told you about that lady next door?! Wasting your time with books?

The yelling continues but that isn?t our focus?

The knife gripped tightly around his hand.

The boy winces, waiting for the blow that never comes.

FADE TO BLACK:

FLICK, FLICK?

FADE IN:
EXT. COMIC BOOK STORE ? DAY
The little boy comes down the street with a cheerful eagerness. He enters.

INT. COMIC BOOK STORE ? DAY
The owner has just laid out a fresh batch of comics on the racks.

The boy gazes up towards them, not really looking specifically, but allowing the images to flood his consciousness?

Images of heroes: Men who were good and saved the day, filling his imagination and dreams in every way. He smiles in total contentment.

The door opens with a CHING, attracting his attention. Another little LAD accompanied by his MOTHER proceeds to the counter. The lad tugs at his Mother?s coat for some sweets. She smiles and adds the sweet to the rest of her shopping. His face lights up with joy. She strokes his hair.

The boy?s smile fades. He looks out of the store, across the way, to the decaying block of flats that he calls home.

He knows that life shouldn?t be this bad.

FADE TO BLACK:

FLICK, FLICK?

FADE IN:
INT. APARTMENT ? DAY
An old t-shirt, dirty and blue, lies stretched across the table.

The boy stands over it, applying masking tape.

After a beat he stops, takes a step back to admire his creation. Then swiftly puts it on. He turns around and we see it?
An ?S? made out of masking tape.

From his slouching position he stands upright, pushing out his chest to reveal the big, bright ?S?.

FADE TO BLACK:

FLICK, FLICK?

FADE IN:
EXT. COMIC BOOK STORE ? DAY
A chilly fall day. A slight breeze causes the leaves to dance along the ground.

FLICK, FLICK?

INT. COMIC BOOK STORE ? DAY
The boy sits on the floor, reading a comic book. Each FLICK of the pages brings him more delight.

The door opens with a CHING, but this time it doesn?t break his concentration.

A beat.

BANG!

That got his attention. He stands up and peers round the rack of comic books?
By the counter lies the owner, from whose head runs a warm river of red.

Over the body stands a masked man, hurriedly emptying the cash register into his pockets. The gun lays on the counter, still smoking.
He then bolts out of the store in a mad dash, not noticing the little boy. But outside the police are already there. The red and blue lights glaring into the store.

The little boy watches as pedestrians panic out of the way. The robber also loses his nerve, grabbing an old lady by the hair, and using her as a shield.

ROBBER
Let me go or she gets it!

A beat.

The police hold their ground.

The little boy stands upright once again, revealing the slightly more tattered ?S?, summoning all his courage.

With a deep breath he bursts out of the store.

EXT. COMIC BOOK STORE ? DAY
He runs so fast he?s almost flying, grabbing the robber by the bottom of his coat. Startling him. The lady falls to the ground.

BANG!

The robber runs, but the police give chase. Many more shots from a distance are fired ? but not as loud as they should be ? merely a faint whisper.

The boy lies on the ground, tired and breathing deeply.

It?s getting dark.

The old lady holds him in her arms crying.
The boy has no idea that he is dying. Still with the masked smile upon his face, happy because he had saved the day.

OLD LADY
(whisper)
May I know the name of the hero who saved me today?

Everything around the little boy is starting to get dark.

BOY
Don?t tell anyone my secret, but you can call me? Clark!
FADE OUT.
THE END

[emjen]

Cool. I like the end. It's kind of sad. Kinda Reminded me of American Beauty, the end is is sad, yet not.

UUuuuhmm...... the black and white scene.... i dont think its necessary. It could do without. Might be nice to capture the audience, but if you want to show that the boy has not a pleasent life, you can add more fathers-son conflict.

The writing is ok. Try to keep it as simple as possible without losing the 'mood'.

What was the poem?

[mjtate]

Yer man might be right about the black and white birth scene, but i liked it, you managed to get alot of charicterisation into a short amount of space. At first i thought you might be heading down an Unbreakable type road, glad to see you didn't. The birth made me think of the polo lupo advert. Good, good good, maybe the best screenplay i've read on this site.