INT. A coffee shop in Greenwich Village.
Lorraine sits at a small, two-person marble top table. The cafe is full, with many people on Macbooks. A few groups are discussing the World Cup. At a bar stretching across the back wall, the barista makes drinks. Lorraine types on her Macbook, checks her phone, and looks blankly at a piece of paper--her assignment sheet for the last few projects she has done.
LORRAINE
Good god. I have three hours to kill before I start editing. What am I going to do in that time...
Looks around sneakily at other people in cafe.
LORRAINE CONT
I feel like such a conformist with this new Macbook Pro. Almost every kid in here has one. Apple is taking over the world. Pauses. This is the last week of my film class. I'm done tomorrow, thank god. This week has been horrendous...
II
INT. Lorraine's apartment
Kyle is crouched on the floor, his mouth full of chocolate syrup. The living room is completely empty except for the skeleton of the futon, which is propped on its side against the wall. Lorraine is leaning against one of the walls, in a white tee-shirt covered in chocolate syrup stains. Her jeans shorts are smeared as well. She is sweating profusely, as the air conditioner is unplugged and three hot lights are set up on the opposing wall. Her Director of Photography, Ingrid, is standing behind the camera.
INGRID
Rolling!
Kyle begins to look panicked. He gags and suddenly spits out a mouthful of chocolate syrup onto the floor. His mouth is dripping with it. Ingrid gags and turns away from the camera.
LORRAINE
Ingrid! Cover the diopter!...All right. Cut. To Kyle. What the hell was that? Now my story is completely off-track. Why would you spit out blood everywhere?
KYLE
Laughter. He is crouched on the floor. Wipes his face with a tissue.
Because. It was cinematic.
INGRID
I can't take another take of that. That was disgusting.
LORRAINE
What am I supposed to do now?
Ingrid considers for a moment. Kyle shrugs. Lorraine squats and contemplates the puddle of spitty syrup.
KYLE
laughs. Lick it up. Do a close up of your tongue.
LORRAINE
After a pause. Okay. With emphasis. That's cinematic. What's more cinematic than a blood-covered girl licking up spitty blood off a dirty hardwood floor?
INGRID
Are you serious?
LORRAINE
Yeah. Let's do it.
Ingrid takes the camera off the tripod. She moves closer for the take.
INGRID
Rolling!
Lorraine squats down next to the puddle. She closes her eyes, attempts to grin maniacly, and leans over. Her tongue hits the syrup and she tries not to gag. She licks it up so it drips off her tongue, holds it for a moment
LORRAINE
yells. Cut!
She spits out the chocolate syrup onto the floor and runs for the kitchen.
INT. Coffee shop.
LORRAINE
That was gross. I hope Boris gives me credit for effort, at least. I gotta edit all night tonight to finish my film in time. AND I'm adding sound. Too ambitious? Maybe. We'll see.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Part I: The Introduction
INT. APARTMENT-AFTERNOON
A brownish tinted futon rests against the wall of a very small, Upper East Side apartment. The air conditioner is on, yet the apartment is only slightly cool. Shoes line the wall opposite the futon, framed by two open doors. Two guitars and an amplifier lean against the wall next to the shoes and in between the two doors. Several pink suitcases full of clothes rest under a wooden table loaded with textbooks, film reels, gaffer tape, and white/black leader on the third wall opposite the window containing the air conditioner. Overall the apartment exudes poor college student. A girl is sitting on the futon, wearing a wife-beater and gym shorts. She is typing.
A brownish tinted futon rests against the wall of a very small, Upper East Side apartment. The air conditioner is on, yet the apartment is only slightly cool. Shoes line the wall opposite the futon, framed by two open doors. Two guitars and an amplifier lean against the wall next to the shoes and in between the two doors. Several pink suitcases full of clothes rest under a wooden table loaded with textbooks, film reels, gaffer tape, and white/black leader on the third wall opposite the window containing the air conditioner. Overall the apartment exudes poor college student. A girl is sitting on the futon, wearing a wife-beater and gym shorts. She is typing.
GIRL
I live in the Upper East Side. Doesn't mean I'm rich. I go to NYU for film, but I'm on loans, have no job, and so I'm freeloading off my friend for now. My biggest concern at the moment: I've gotta get used to not spending money on shoes. I can't remember the last time I had to trade Steve Madden pumps for groceries.
Looks up at doorways, glances from one to the other. Both are shadowy and clearly unoccupied.
GIRL (CONT'D)
(matter of factly)
My two roommates live there. They're slobs. I found a moldy apple core on the living room floor this morning covered in what I hope was Nutella.
Nods towards the left door and continues speaking.
GIRL (CONT'D)
His name is Kyle. He's got a girlfriend--Melissa--that comes over sometimes. She's loud. I don't mind her so much. Kyle's irresponsible, lazy...loud. But very creative. Pauses. He paints, animates, and plays guitar...your typical hipster. The other guy I don't know so well--Josh--he lives in the other room. Right now they're both at work.
Smiles, and rubs the top of her head. Her hair is cut very short, in a pixie style, and her brown eyes squint a little as she stares at the screen. She is not slender, but not obese either. She is also wearing a brown-banded watch, backwards on her wrist.
GIRL (CONT'D)
(while stretching)
I'm Lorraine. Your average broke college student. What do I do in the majority of my time? Research film locations, read books, watch movies, run, eat, sleep--sometimes--and tour Manhattan. I just moved here last month. I'm a Californian, and to all those New Yorkers out there: this place has the worst summer weather I have ever seen.
Yawns lazily, checks the time.
GIRL (CONT'D)
There is a risk of this becoming an hour long monologue, so I'm off to cook dinner. Now that we're through the boring stuff, I can get to the grit. Just after I finish playing mom to these overgrown boys.
I live in the Upper East Side. Doesn't mean I'm rich. I go to NYU for film, but I'm on loans, have no job, and so I'm freeloading off my friend for now. My biggest concern at the moment: I've gotta get used to not spending money on shoes. I can't remember the last time I had to trade Steve Madden pumps for groceries.
Looks up at doorways, glances from one to the other. Both are shadowy and clearly unoccupied.
GIRL (CONT'D)
(matter of factly)
My two roommates live there. They're slobs. I found a moldy apple core on the living room floor this morning covered in what I hope was Nutella.
Nods towards the left door and continues speaking.
GIRL (CONT'D)
His name is Kyle. He's got a girlfriend--Melissa--that comes over sometimes. She's loud. I don't mind her so much. Kyle's irresponsible, lazy...loud. But very creative. Pauses. He paints, animates, and plays guitar...your typical hipster. The other guy I don't know so well--Josh--he lives in the other room. Right now they're both at work.
Smiles, and rubs the top of her head. Her hair is cut very short, in a pixie style, and her brown eyes squint a little as she stares at the screen. She is not slender, but not obese either. She is also wearing a brown-banded watch, backwards on her wrist.
GIRL (CONT'D)
(while stretching)
I'm Lorraine. Your average broke college student. What do I do in the majority of my time? Research film locations, read books, watch movies, run, eat, sleep--sometimes--and tour Manhattan. I just moved here last month. I'm a Californian, and to all those New Yorkers out there: this place has the worst summer weather I have ever seen.
Yawns lazily, checks the time.
GIRL (CONT'D)
There is a risk of this becoming an hour long monologue, so I'm off to cook dinner. Now that we're through the boring stuff, I can get to the grit. Just after I finish playing mom to these overgrown boys.
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