Scene Exercises
I haven’t posted anything in a while so I thought I’d offer a couple of (three) scene comp entries for you to have a look at. I find scene challenges a lot of fun and a great little exercise. The fourth snippet is a teaser for my current feature.
‘Fork’ is a scene challenge I did for John August. We could write any scene so long as it included a fork, a phobia and a flashlight:
OLD LADY (V.O.)
FORK is a man living on the edge... The edge of your cutlery drawer.
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
Darkness. A small, red light illuminates the kettle and a few dirty mugs.
RUSTLING, much like that of a mouse.
OLD LADY (CONT’D)
Of course, you’ve never seen him... He’s barely the size of your pinky.
MUTTERING and RUMMAGING.
OLD LADY (CONT’D)
He lives at the back of your cutlery drawer, the part where no one looks and crumbs gather...
CHINK. Something metallic falls.
OLD LADY (CONT’D)
Only to venture out when all is still...
A miniature silhouette crosses the red light. It appears to be carrying something huge and rectangular.
OLD LADY (CONT’D)
When he was born, he saw his reflection in a Viners fork and smiled...
A crack of light.
The microwave door opens, revealing the tiny, smiling Fork; A tuft of hair, and trousers made of dishcloth.
He clutches a photograph of the ocean... which he holds up to the light.
OLD LADY (CONT’D)
So his mother felt Fork to be just the perfect name.
Determined, he turns, stepping toward a slightly opened drawer.
He pushes the photograph inside, sits down carefully on the drawer’s edge, and dangles his legs.
GULP. His little hands grasp the ledge tightly.
He looks down at the floor -- petrified.
OLD LADY (CONT’D)
Fork is a lonely, little man... For his family are long gone, and he can only dream of what lies beyond your worktop...
FOOTSTEPS. Fork scrambles into the crack of the open drawer... and vanishes.
FLICK. A flood of light.
The sound of a fridge being opened and shut.
FLICK. Darkness, penetrated by the microwave’s glow.
MAN (O.S.)
Bloody kids wasting electricity.
SHUFFLE. A giant hand closes the microwave door.
MAN (O.S.)
Messy buggers...
The giant hand lifts a spoon from the floor and places it on the worktop.
FOOTSTEPS fade away to SILENCE.
The small, red light illuminates the kettle and a few dirty mugs.
Fork’s little hands grasp the edge of the drawer. He pulls his nose up to peek out.
OLD LADY (V.O.)
But as you, and he are about to discover... small hands, can do big things.
The second scene was a challenge done for FilmmakerIQ. Very similar rules, we had to write a scene that involved a phone, a phobia and a torch.
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - NIGHT
RACHEL, 25 and pretty yet bedraggled, carries her heels and chats on her cell as she walks.
RACHEL
Are you nearly here? I can’t walk much further and I need my bed!
Beat. She laughs, dropping her shoes and bending to put them on.
INT. SPEEDING CAR - NIGHT
MIKE, 22 with an Armani suit and Salmon tie, flicks through radio stations.
DAVE, 24 and equally suited, clasps the wheel, a cigarette dripping from his lower lip.
DAVE
So what’s the plan for tonight then?
MIKE
Get fucked and shag someone really hot.
DAVE
But when’s this party kick off?
MIKE
I dunno, Clare’s gonna... Woah!
Dave swerves as they hit the corner a little too fast. The jolt sends the cigarette flying into his lap.
DAVE
FUCK!
Mike laughs and changes the radio again as Dave rummages between his legs.
SMACK. A more forceful jolt. Dave hits the breaks and the car quickly comes to a halt.
Beat. A red stiletto lands on the windshield.
Dave sits motionless at the wheel, staring at the shoe.
MIKE
Dave... You okay, mate?
IN THE FIELD BY THE ROAD
Rachel lays in the grass, twisted. The phone rolls from her hand, landing next to her face -- which it illuminates.
Her eyes flick open, her mouth twitches at the corner... her eyes widen with panic.
RACHEL (V.O.)
Shit, I can’t move! Someone help me! Please... Please...
Tears well in her eyes and her breathing accelerates. She looks at her hand, splayed in front of her face beside the phone.
RACHEL (V.O.)(CONT’D)
Jim...
IN THE CAR
MIKE
There’s no one around, no one saw... it’s dark, let’s just leave. Dave? Snap out of it!
Dave is still staring at the shoe.
MIKE (CONT’D)
DAVE! Hello?
DAVE
You’re going to have to go look.
MIKE
What?
DAVE
There’s a torch in the glove box.
MIKE
If we’re staying you can fucking go with me.
DAVE
I can’t... dead people... I, I don’t think I can move.
Mike opens his mouth to say something, but noticing how pale Dave is, reaches over and pulls out the torch.
This third scene, also done for John August, was actually the first challenge I ever did. It’s awful haha! I’m not sure what I was doing but the rules were evil. We could write any scene at all explaining financial derivatives, bearing in mind film is a visual medium:
INT. SPACESHIP - NIGHT
MERGUNFLAB and SWARGAR stare at each other intently across the table through their collective, thirty-one eyes.
Mergunflab raises a claw SLAMMING it down. A miniature, nodding Jesus wobbles.
MERGUNFLAB
It is merely a matter of derivatives Swar!
SWARGAR
I am not following... Is this one of THEIR terms?
Mergunflab slides out of his chair, squelches across the room to a stone trough and buries his face in the yellow liquid contained within.
Rising, he licks his face clean and turns.
MERGUNFLAB
You can not have Earth yet but we shall agree upon the transaction now. That way we safeguard our assets... You may have it in ninety-nine thousand suns, for one hundred bakkucha. If Earth is worth more than that in ninety-nine thousand suns, you have a good bargain. If it is worth less...
He pokes the nodding Jesus with a claw, feigning nonchalance.
MERGUNFLAB (CONT’D)
Well, you get the idea.
Swargar scratches his third nostril and ponders. beat.
SWARGAR
In ninety-nine thousand suns all of the cows will be dead and humans will have no limbs. I really wanted that Bush guy for my nephew’s intergalactic anomaly project too...
MERGUNFLAB
I will send him as a gift if we reach an agreement. They will not miss him ...and you’re forgetting the monkeys!
SWARGAR
Ahhh the monkeys...
He leans back in his chair with a dreamy smile; A little snot dribbles down his face.
Finally, a teaser for my current feature. This is something I flashed out when trying to gather ideas (so it doesn’t necessarily make a lot of sense, well not to you anyway =P ). It’s the initial inspiration for everything I’ve done over the last few months and, I have to say, I’m fucking over the moon about the whole thing. His name wasn’t originally Julius… but it feels only right to give him his proper name here now:
INT. THE STUDY - DAY
A photograph of a young boy with a wide smile holding a certificate.
Book shelves lined with Rimbaud, Chaucer, Yeats, Kafka and K.A. Stroud: Engineering Mathematics (Fifth Edition).
An expanse of map. A brown-tinged globe. The green lamp.
A cork board covered in symmetrical rows of carefully scribed note cards hangs just above the desk.
Beneath, a hand masterfully writes a list of tasks numbered from one to twenty-two.
The disquieting voice of... JULIUS. 29 years, 362 days, 4 hours and 28 minutes old -- but only if we’re going Gregorian.
JULIUS (V.O.)
I write lists.
ON THE CARD
#23 Learn brain surgery
The pen stops. Beat. Crosses it out.
The list is folded neatly in half, and half again. It’s placed on top of a growing pile of folded cards.
JULIUS (V.O.)(CONT’D)
That’s just something that I do. Something that I’ve always done...
A fresh card is pulled across the table and a new list commences.
ON THE CARD
#1 Buy Viking costume
JULIUS (V.O.)(CONT’D)
I sometimes get around to doing the things on my lists but, more often than not, I’m just too busy making lists.
#2 Can crabs even walk forward?
This time, a smudge. The hand SLAMS the desk.
The card is folded as before and placed on the pile.
The hand reaches across for another... returning empty.
JULIUS (V.O.)(CONT’D)
At least that’s how it was until the day I ran out of cards.
The BRASS PUNCHES of TCHAIKOVSKY: Piano Concerto No.1 in Bb Minor throw us out of the study, up the staircase and...
INT. THE BATHROOM - DAY
Every surface is sparkling White.
Julius sits on the toilet, pajama pants around his ankles, brushing his teeth.
Holding the toothbrush and slobber in his mouth, he pulls up his pants and walks over to the sink. Dribble. Beat.
SPIT.
He turns on the tap and washes his face.
JULIUS (V.O.)(CONT’D)
It’s a funny thing when routine is broken. Especially when your routine centres around, well, creating routine.
Looking up, the mirror has steamed. Beat. Slowly raising a finger he writes...
ON THE MIRROR
#1 Buy more cards
