STAGE AND SCREEN

I've won awards for both my stage plays and my screenplays. Writing for the stage or screen is a very different experience to writing books or articles. When you write a book, the words are all your own. You look at the end product and feel a sense of ownership of it, and also a sense of familiarity.

When an actor reads your lines, it's quite the opposite. Entirely new shades, new meanings, new experiences and worlds are layered over the original. With the actors' breath comes life. Writing for the screen is like being an architect drawing a plan. It's the builders and tradespeople who take that flat papery thing and make it into something real.

I've included a short film script here for your interest. This script was made into a 7 minute film with the assistance of the Pacific Film and Television Commission. I think the budget was in the order of $60,000. It went on to win an ACS gold medal for cinematography.

This script may be of particular interest to readers of "I Knit Water", because writers often re-use things, and I incorporated this story into the book. Errol was a character who wanted to appear again, and his triumphant failure was thematically relevant to the novel.

 

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The Fencer

 A 7 minute Screenplay

 By Craig Bolland

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FADE IN:

  

EXT.  BACK YARD  -  DAY  -  FLASHBACK

ERROL’S hand, gnarled with age, reaches into a ceramic urn.

Errol has his back to us. He is wearing a crisp white suit. Errol flings the handful of ash in a wide arc across the lawn. The ash is a grey smear against the primary colours of grass, sky and suit - an extravagant arc of grief.

 

ROLL TITLE

 

INT. LOUNGE  -  DAY

In the background is the steady roar of traffic and earthmoving equipment.

The room is in a state of disrepair. The window is missing, replaced by ill-fitting boards. Light streams through the cracks into the dim house.

Litter and dust line the room. There is an air of decay. A large mirror rests on the mantelpiece. At its base are old trophies (a man holding a fencing foil) and a black and white photograph of a younger Errol and RACHEL (his wife).

Errol is reflected in the mirror.

Errol sits on the couch, clutching an unwrapped gift to his chest. He is dressed in an old suit that’s seen better days. Errol is dishevelled, unkempt. His eyes are like the eyes of a frightened animal. He flinches at the noise of the equipment outside.

 

EXT.  STREET  -  DAY

A late model car speeds along the street and comes to a stop outside the house. The house, old and falling down, is on a main road. An “application for objections” sign and a billboard proclaiming “Future Home of the Big Burger” (with a picture of the proposed monstrosity - a restaurant in the shape of a huge hamburger) are prominently displayed out front. The neon lights of other fast-food joints are visible in the background.

An EXECUTIVE steps out of the car, frowning. He is casually, expensively, dressed. An obsequious FOREMAN in a hardhat (with appropriate logo) approaches him.

They talk as they walk toward the house.

FOREMAN

He’s still in there.

 

EXECUTIVE

It’s the fifteenth.

 

FOREMAN

Yeah.

 

EXECUTIVE

He talking?

 

FOREMAN

No.

 

EXECUTIVE

Shit.

 

BACK DOOR

The back door to the house is also in disrepair. A large eviction notice (with appropriate logo) is plastered over it.

The Executive grabs an axe that’s leaning against the house with some other tools. Motioning the Foreman to step back, he rams it against the door.

 

INT.  HALLWAY  -  DAY

The interior of the house is dusty and still. Abruptly, the door flies open, flooding the hallway with light.

The Executive, silhouetted in the doorway, tosses the axe to one side. He steps in, looking around curiously - a soldier entering unfamiliar territory. The Foreman steps in close behind him.

EXECUTIVE

Mr Bradman?

There is no reply. The house is ominously silent.

EXECUTIVE (Cont.)

OK. You boys knock off. Schedule the dozer for tomorrow.

 

FOREMAN

Right.

The foreman leaves.

The executive takes another step inside. He peers into the bathroom.

 

EXECUTIVE’S POV

The bathroom is terrible. Dust covers everything. A wad of eviction notices has been stuffed into the toilet.

 

HALLWAY

The executive walks cautiously down the hall, glancing this way and that. The house is surreal. Old photos, rubbish, dust and icons abound.

The executive reaches the dining / lounge room area. He turns and looks into the kitchen. A cat scampers out the open window. Food is putrefying on plates on the floor. The corner of a scrapbook, peeking out from behind the fridge, catches his eye.

 

KITCHEN

The executive walks over and looks down at the book, covering his nose against the stench of rotting food. The scrapbook is opened to an old, yellowing news cutting. The cutting is headlined “Olympic Hopes Dashed” The picture is one of a young fencer.

The executive grunts. He nudges the book with his foot. A cockroach scrambles out.

 

LOUNGE

The executive walks into the lounge room. He picks the wrapped gift Errol was holding up off the couch. The executive carries it with him over to the mantelpiece. He looks sympathetically at the trophies, the picture of Rachel, and then up into the mirror. A ghostly white figure is visible.

The executive spins around, wide-eyed. Errol stands behind him, in full fencing regalia, mask in place and a dangerous-looking foil drawn.

EXECUTIVE

Mr Bradman?

 

There is no response. Errol advances, the end of the foil hovering dangerously close to the executive.

 

ERROL

You can’t have it!

 

EXECUTIVE

Hey. . .

 

The foil traces the lines of the executive’s neck and face.

The executive makes a grab at the foil.

Errol pulls back, ripping the foil loose. He gathers himself for a second and lunges. The foil plunges towards the executive’s chest.

It bends ineffectually against his shirt.

 

EXECUTIVE

Listen. . .

 

ERROL

You can’t have it.

 

The executive pauses for a moment, uncertain. He hands over the gift.

 

EXECUTIVE

You’re Errol Bradman, right?

(a beat)

Is this your wife?

 

ERROL

She’s in the grass.

 

The Executive shakes his head gently. He doesn’t understand.

 

EXECUTIVE

Mr Bradman, I hate this shit. We’ve tried to contact you, we’ve done. . .

 

Errol makes a surprisingly sprightly feint and moves forward with the sword. He levels it at the Executive’s neck. The executive sighs.

 

EXECUTIVE (Cont.)

I’m sorry mate.

 

Errol tenses himself and then sags. He lowers the sword. Errol removes his mask and sits down. He cradles the gift.

 

ERROL

She gave me this.

 

The executive circles towards the door. He opens it.

 

EXECUTIVE

You’ve got until tomorrow. It’s all I can do.

 

The Executive leaves.

Errol rubs his eyes. With trembling fingers, he breaks open the gift.

Inside the wrapping is a book entitled “The Fencer”. On the cover is a young swordsman.

Errol looks at the picture wonderingly. He turns the first page.

In the cover is an inscription. ‘There’s more than one kind of hero. I’ll Love You Forever, Rachel.’

Errol, lost in emotion, turns the pages. Inside “The Fencer” are diagrams of how to recess the horizontal rails into the posts. How to countersink screws. How to attach palings. How to make a “z” frame for the gates. Pages and pages of diagrams. 

Errol’s face is at first stunned, and then devastated. He makes an inarticulate groan, closes the book and clasps it to his chest. He begins rocking.

The book falls from Errol’s fingers.

 

EXT.  YARD  -  NIGHT

Errol creeps from the house, red-eyed and a little crazy. A bulldozer looms in the background, a monstrous silhouette.

Crickets chirp in the silence as Errol takes slow steps to the middle of the lawn. He lies down and spreads out his arms.

CLOSER

Errol smooths his hands tenderly along the grass.

Hot tears squeeze from Errol’s eyes. He rolls over onto his stomach and looks towards the house.

The axe lies discarded against the wall.

Slowly, Errol raises his head. A tear trickles down his cheek. His eyes narrow.

 

INT.  LOUNGEROOM

Errol tests the edge of the axe for sharpness.

Errol walks to the dining table, and in a savage move smashes it with the axe.

 

EXT.  YARD

Errol walks out, the smashed up table legs in his hands.

 

INT.  KITCHEN

Errol has removed his shirt. He levers the cupboard door from its hinges.

 

EXT.  YARD  -  DAWN

The sun is rising.

Errol, dirty and exhausted, hammers a piece of wood onto a makeshift post. He straightens, panting. He looks pleased. A cat rubs against his legs.

From the broken bits of his house, Errol has built a fence.

A large, weird, makeshift fence - all the way around the bulldozer.

 

FADE OUT: