The intent of this installment is to juxtapose art, content, audio, imagery, prose and poetry in an original screenplay, Trench People (TP). Explode is a product of the antagonist’s art in TP. TP is the framework for a virtual walk-through art installation like Christo and Jean Claude’s Wrapped Walk Ways or The Umbrellas — a mind-scape if you will.
Data for how many thoughts we have per minute and the speed of thought has not been measured and analyzed, so WYSIWYG — Wordpress is space for ideations.
TP follows the established rules of the industry, and in this space a JUMP CUT may signal a deviation, a temporary change of direction, an aside, a self indulgence, that hopefully holds your attention until the next FADE TO, CUT TO, DISSOLVE TO, or SMASH CUT TO — the antagonist’s art and the protagonist’s idealism. When I started reading at the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge Massachusetts, I read master scenes as prose and epic poetry. TP was well received and even requested!
What concerns me is decorum. I hope my audience is not averse to poetry in medias res… Once upon a time there were… Trench People!
TRENCH PEOPLE
(Original Screenplay — a Period piece)
by
E. MARIA SHELTON SPELLER
Copyright ©1996, 2015. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
WGA Registration 2005
I. The Erastes and Erominos (White letters on black background)
CLOSE – ON ANGELA AND JUNE
They laugh out loud. Angela throws her head back in FULL-THROATED LAUGHTER and June BANGS the table in approval with her fist.
JUNE
(out loud)
That was brilliant!
ROSALIND
That was careless! Talk
about artistic irresponsibility!
ANGELA
Oh, come on, Ros!
ROSALIND
A warning would have been APPROPRIATE,
instead of SURPRISE — mayhem,
and blaming the white man, again.
ANGELA
It’s not HER fault Preachers,
Politicians, and the gatekeepers
of black consciousness jumped
to conclusions.
ROSALIND
What’s with this about-face?
ANGELA
I never said I thought it was
wrong, Ros… YOU did!
CLOSE – ON ROSALIND
who RAISES both brows at Angela and WAVES the subject away.
CLOSE – ON JUNE AND LISA
June leans closer to the BABY-DYKES, specifically Lisa.
JUNE
(shouts)
One Hundred Nooses was crazy
art! Was it a political pun
against the pathos of black
art, or a brazen political
statement…?
CLOSE – ON LISA
who OVERHEARD Rosalind’s opinion and although she is talking to June, she LOOKS at Angela. She LEANS across the table as far as she can and talks in a curt monotone like Lisa Bonet.
LISA
(shouting)
I will not offer an explanation,
which is to say, an apology
for my art. Not to be understood
or over-stood… Everything IS Political.
Sex is politics. The day we swam to
the egg or were propelled, by stronger
swimmers behind us, was politics!
Art without politics is passion
without pluck. Sterile like
Impressionism! An allusion of
The Great Gatsby. Who… who
dreams in pastels?
(beat)
Maybe one percent of
the population?
(quickly)
The only way to have dreamed
about, A Sunday Afternoon on
was to have been there. Those
were elitist dreams. The
poor and vulnerable don’t dream
about wearing iced-cream pants!
They dream about, Starry Night,
The Scream.
(beat)
One Hundred Nooses is a
commentary on truth and
reconciliation. It’s
an unnecessary postmortem
for a committee that has
not happened.
CLOSE – ON GODDESSES AND BABY-DYKES
The GODDESSES are SILENT. Mardou breaks into a chilly smile.
CLOSE – ON MARDOU
looking at Lisa.
MARDOU
(loud)
It’s not who is going to let me,
it’s who is going to stop me.
I thought we plugged the
Fountainhead!
Let’s channel…
(whispers)
The Subterraneans, tonight.
BACK TO SCENE
Lisa’s eyes WIDEN and she feigns IRRITATION. Soon everyone CHUCKLES. People sitting around them look in their direction, as if acknowledging that theirs is the dominant table in the room. Then Mardou watches Lisa REV up again.
CLOSE – ON LISA
LISA
It’s Bukowski’s Coffeehouse tonight.
Except, you’re beautiful,
(beat)
and you’re beautiful… and you’re
beautiful… and we know Bukowski
only trusted the company of
desperate people, with broken minds,
broken ways, and broken teeth.
CLOSE – ON GODDESSES AND BABY-DYKES
They AHA in unison.
MARDOU
(sarcastically)
Fuck levity, then!
LISA
Mardou, you want
something, superficial!
CLOSE – ON MARDOU
looks long at Lisa.
MARDOU
Why? Why are you so…
(frowning)
dissatisfied?
CLOSE – ON ANGELA
PULLS the edge of her glass to HER tongue. In SLOW MOTION, it lands softly.
CLOSE – ON TONGUE
The tip of her tongue behind the rim of the glass.
CLOSE – ON GODDESSES AND BABY-DYKES
Angela is the only MOVEMENT at the table.
CLOSE – ON LISA
who LOOKS at Mardou.
LISA
What is satisfied?
Is that like wanting to
be the black girl of Jack
Kerouac’s dreams? And
precisely when — when he
woke up and was repulsed by
her puffy sleeping lips the
morning after?
CLOSE – ON ROSALIND
feigning boredom. She looks at the crazy crowd. Then turns back to what she considered baby-talk.
CLOSE – ON TONI
looking at her friends.
TONI
(sighing)
Levity!
CLOSE – ON TONI
moving her hands as if describing a spiral staircase.
TONI
(continuing)
I don’t want to be the
only one laughing tonight.
CLOSE – ON LISA AND MARDOU
They BURST out laughing.
CLOSE – ON THE GODDESSES
They look at each other.
CLOSE – ON JIMMY – SAME TIME
an imposing man, like Ving Rhames’ Marsellus Wallace in Pulp Fiction, owns Pushkin’s Coffeehouse. He spots Lisa, wearing a long black skirt over those long narrow flats with toes that turn up almost like elf shoes that she often wears, and a cropped black motorcycle jacket with white raised lines and letters of cycle iconography. He looks SURPRISED because she seldom wears color. Jimmy gets an ERECTION when he LOOKS at Lisa. He reaches down to ADJUST the SWELLING under his fly. He waits a minute and then makes his way through the crazy crowd in Lisa’s direction. He SIDLES beside Lisa — LEANING on the edge of the table with the palms of his hands.
JIMMY
El (Lisa)… How you
doin’, Baby?
LISA
(smiles)
What’s up, Jimmy?
JIMMY
I know you’re flowing
tonight, right?!
CLOSE – ON LISA
who looks up at Jimmy, and says nothing.
JIMMY
Don’t look at me like
that! You read here,
at Pushkin’s first.
I know you’re gonna
read!
LISA
All the coffeehouse and cafe
owners say the same thing.
Everybody gave me a break,
but nobody wants to pay me…
You want me to read for free!
Then you get an attitude when
I won’t. Pay me! Show your
appreciation. I’m a working
artist. A proletariat!
JIMMY
OK, OK. How much you
chagrin’?
LISA
(frustrated)
Jimmy, you know how much
I charge… I’m sick of
having to give the same
speech every time I want
a cup of coffee.
JIMMY
In Fifteen?
LISA
Let’s do it now!
CLOSE – ON LISA (MOVING)
rising from the table focused on space. Her entourage ceases to exist. SLOWLY PAN the CRAZY CROWD.
JIMMY (O.S.)
Ladies and Gentlemen, Pushkin
is proud to present, our very
own, El Cherry… Snap!
LISA’S P.O.V. – CROWD
Lisa and her P.O.V. is filmed in black and white. People step aside at the last minute, greeting her on her way through, while snapping their fingers.
LONG – ON LISA
On stage, you cannot HEAR her FOOTSTEPS. The toes of her shoes SWISH the air. At the microphone she STANDS straight almost in a NAPOLEONIC pose. The room is QUIET. She launches into “One Single Act of Love.”
LISA
(curt, ferocious monotone)
I sold a rock opus to the best
Black rock band on the planet.
A band that lost its capacity
to dream. Formulaic guarantees
skewed their imagination for plati-
num discs. The male coward covered
their lifework, literally.
My story reminded them of what
‘rushing’ felt like, how complete,
how deep blushing could be obvious.
And they bought it, and produced it.
And it was good — it was better
than good. It was thought provoking
and it was an African-American affir-
mation of our realities and our
fantasies no matter how unrealistic.
Suddenly, they were very significant
and the world truly believed that
rock music is black music and black
music is everything. Power is
aesthetic. Aesthetics is politics
and being black is philosophical
and our philosophy is phenomenology
and being black, is being real…
The uninitiated FIDGET, while obvious followers recite some of the passages like Allen Ginsberg’s audience did when he recited, Howl in the Sixties. Lisa does not raise her voice.
RESUME – ON LISA
shoving her hands deep in shallow pockets.
LISA
(less ferocity)
No Hip Hop could say as much as
this rock opus did, ever–no matter
how many stories they sampled.
So, this black rock band were
crowned kings and were exulted,
and revered, incandescent icons,
the envy of friends, the
consumption of man, the image
of immortality like the stained-
glass heaven you summon before
you close… And they loved me…
I was the wick in their candle-
stick and without me there was
no burning flame. I was the
source of their energy. I was
the unstained virgin encamped…
CLOSE – ON LISA
leaning closer to the microphone.
LISA
(continuing)
When we huddled over a page it was
a psychological bristling, a patho-
logical fear, a sexual entreaty.
I wanted them, and they wanted
me. So when opportunity knocked,
I told them so. Sooner than anyone
imagined, there was nothing more
important, than our collaboration.
The media was our medium. They
stopped referring to me as a writer,
and started calling me a Love Supreme.
Annie Leibovitz wanted to take our
pictures–together. But, there was
something unnatural about the photo
session. Instinct was lacking.
There was a tame and conspicuous
outsider on camp. After taking
off too many shades, we asked
Annie to come back tomorrow and
blamed our ubiquitous danger on
some tribal angst about picture
taking and soul stealing…
When she was gone, I suggested
that they fuck me…
CLOSE – ON ANGELA’S EYES
Her eyelashes flutter.
MATCHCUT TO:
Angela’s lips, opening slowly.
RESUME – ON LISA
who at this moment, personifies the rebirth of COOL.
LISA
(continuing)
Not unlike the man in the movie
and the dancing whore… My
honest response to the love
between us left them exposed.
So exposed, their breath rushed
past their lips in staccato
proportions. Although they all
did, the one that really cared
about me began to pace the room.
His eyes watched how his feet
travailed. Another, would have taken me
right then and there had we been
alone–he would have used his
shoestrings and tied my thumbs
behind me if that were all he
had. But he was not the only
one I wanted, so he waited
anxiously. Another, had the
strange and curious stare of an
intellectual trying to figure me
out. And the other, simply smiled
at me from some private place, now
public, and I knew he would hurt me…
deliberately. The intellectual asked
me if I really thought it would make
a difference, and I couldn’t help
watching him as if he were some…
clear liquid. How could it not
make a difference? The pacer turned
and admitted he cared and said he
could not and would not participate;
furthermore, he did not think it
should happen. The anxious one
stood and started barking at him.
If I moved in any direction, it
would be provocation for premature
ejaculation and the anxious one,
while still barking would be the
first to straddle me…
LISA P.O.V. – CRAZY CROWD
A man in the audience barks. Another howls. Women smile to themselves.
CLOSE – ON GODDESSES AND BABY DYKES
SMILING. ENAMORED, Angela FALLS in love.
RESUME – ON LISA
She raises her voice.
LISA
(continuing)
If I raised my hand or my voice,
they would think I might change
my mind. Trapped, I sat there
watching this frenzy I’d started.
The air grew hot but I did manage
to express, “All or no one.” They
turned to look at the one who cared.
He looked at me, and I decided
that he would be the one that
would hurt me… deliberately.
And because he cared, because
he was the one holding back,
he would have to be the first.
He would have to get his reser-
vations out of the way so that
they could proceed. “It’s on you
man.” Said the intellectual and
then I decided the intellectual
would be the last one. Was I
afraid? I was practically trem-
bling on that single futon. My
laptop at the head of the bed
would have to be moved–gingerly.
The point was, I slept with my
work, I ate with my work and now
I’d fuck my work–but we would
never tell Annie the latter.
“What the fuck is the matter with
you?” The one who cared blasted
at me. Oh, I thought, he would
fuck me angrily–he would punish
me this way…
CLOSE – ON ANGELA
closing her eyes.
DISSOLVE TO:
CLOSE – ON LISA
whose nostrils FLARE slightly.
LISA
(continuing)
All I had to say was something
stupid like, ‘What the fuck is
the matter with you?’ Then,
giving him an excuse to fuck
me to death like June Jordan’s
“…unidentified victim of her
own neglect…” gang-raped on
a Brooklyn rooftop and thrown
to her death, screaming but
‘inaudible’.”
LONG – ON LISA
RAISING her voice for what is clearly her favorite passage.
LISA
(continuing)
Conscious decisions are all that
I can respect. Don’t cling to
insanity, or criminal passion,
or peer pressure, or social
expectations. Don’t talk to me
about losing control–momentarily.
Or, the poverty and violence of
pain heaped upon more pain
because you’re black. This is not
a gang-rape. This is not dionysia
all over again, where women
and children are sacrificed, and
blood is beer. If I change my
language, the outcome will still
be the same. And, if I am woman
enough to resist surrender, are
you man enough to know the
difference, between love
and violence–without conditions…
INT. BAR – JIMMY – SAME TIME
He dispatches a NEAT Remy Martin to her table.
LISA (O.S.) (continuing)
“You want her don’t you?” Somebody
said. Then he asked me a private
question, not at all furtively,
“Why?” I dropped my eyes and then
I looked askance at the one who
cared and said, “My fascination
with poetic themes is like–a
serenade already in progress…
isn’t this poetry, in effect?”
LONG – ON LISA
PAN the Crazy Crowd — spellbound.
LISA
(continuing)
He kneeled at the foot of the bed
and that was their cue, but I was
not ready and he knew it–but what
the hell! The love between us
was trapped between power and lust.
His hand covered my neck like a
bridge over a dam I could not escape.
The intellectual secured my wrists
exactly the way I described in my
dreams. I whispered to the one
who cared… that while I waxed
my dream before it faded–
I knew he would halt before he
turned the page. Like the man
in my dreams, he was too big for
me, but he did not hurt me delib-
erately. Under violent power
strokes, I broke under him in a
cadence I could not count in a race
out of water. A rhapsody played in
fusion. The anxious one ejaculated
too soon, and the one that smiled
from some private place took me
to the basement in some tenement
and hurt me deliberately, pushing
in unyielding directions. So, I
screamed finally and the one who
cared pulled him off me and he
came all over my thighs. That is
what he wanted, to be restrained
by somebody, anybody because he
was an animal after-all. The
intellectual rocked me gently
to peace, licked the tears from
my ears and my face. When it
was over, the one who cared untied
my arms that felt like ribbons
draped over my shoulders. He was
the only heat for my cold tremble,
my soul stirring complete. In one
single act of love we were bound
together and in unison they
screamed to the stained virgin…
you’re mine! It was…SURREAL.
LISA’S P.O.V. – AUDIENCE
The crazy CROWD and her entourage give her a MUCH LOVE.
WIDE – ON LISA (MOVING)
PIVOTS like a feline to leave the stage. APPLAUSE lasts until she is well seated. She reaches for the drink Jimmy sent to the table. Mardou and Toni HUDDLE with LISA.