Stephen Metcalfe - Writer & Director

AN INNOCENT ABROAD

EXT. NEW YORK - NIGHT
Establishing.

CHRIS (V.O.)
It was once said by someone nearly famous - I forget who so I’ll take credit -

INT. AN APARTMENT BUILDING - NEW YORK - NIGHT
A crowded party in progress. “Arty types” in their 20’s and early 30’s. As we MOVE down the crowded hallway into the foyer and through the crowded LIVING ROOM:

CHRIS V.O.)
- that the need to express oneself in a public forum is nothing more than a manifestation of total insanity. Having said that, there are people - some of the wackos in this room in fact - who call that insanity art.
(a beat)
Art. Let’s see - an acquired proficiency in creating.

A trio, dressed in trendy black, far too serious even in the way they smoke their cigarettes.

CHRIS (V.O.)
Which implies practice as opposed to divine intervention.

- moving on into -
THE KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Equally crowded - more so.

CHRIS (V.O.)
A pursuit one follows as a means of making a living. That’s a laugh, most artists I know are starving.

A sloppy heavy-set guy is bent over checking out the contents of the fridge. He looks up, peers at us through thick glasses like a water buffalo and then goes back checking out the leftovers - - -

CHRIS (V.O.)
Most.
(a beat)
But here’s the one I really like. A skill in using cunning and/or subtle methods to achieve one’s ends.

CHRISTOPHER HARRIS, 20’s, is engaged in conversation with an attractive girl with a short, spiky haircut.

CHRIS (V.O.)
There, that’s me, the center of attention. As well I should be. Putting that skill to the test. Let’s listen in, shall we?

Not bad looking, Chris, and decidedly full of himself tonight. But then, he usually is.

CHRIS
- and the thing is, I got a part - George, Our Town - overrated play, but - I got the part and she didn’t and I hardly ever saw her again. But ever since then, I’ve always said that the reason I got into the theatre is because it’s a very, very good way to meet, well...

THE GIRL
Women?

CHRIS
People. Interesting people. Like you. May I...?

He reaches for a bottle of wine and refills her glass.

THE GIRL
But you’re a writer.

CHRIS
Hmm? Well, yes. Actors have a lot of free time on their hands - at least I did - and so I began writing.

THE GIRL
And you wrote the play we saw tonight.

CHRIS
Yes, yes, I did. I’m Christopher Martin. Chris. And this is your wine. So... what do you think? Of the play, I mean.

The heavy-set guy, - his name is FRED - is suddenly there. He is eating mayonnaise out a jar with a wooden spoon.
FRED
I thought it was glib and false and not your best work.

CHRIS
Thank you, Fred, but you’re a lighting designer and nobody cares what you think. Now put the mayo back in the fridge because that’s breakfast, okay?
(as Fred moves away)
Fred. In return for living here, we let him pay the rent. We were talking about my play.

THE GIRL
It was funny.

CHRIS
Funny is good. Anything else?

THE GIRL
Interesting.

CHRIS
Interesting. Now that usually means you didn’t like it but are too polite to come right out and say so. And you should be! There’s nothing a playwright hates more than honesty. Especially on opening nights.

THE GIRL
I didn’t like your women characters.

CHRIS
That’s... interesting too because - correct me if I’m wrong here - there were none.

THE GIRL
That’s what I didn’t like.

And now masculine looking girl steps up and drapes an arm over the girl’s shoulder.
THE GIRL
(not displeased)
Nice try.

She and her partner turn away. Chris takes a gulp of wine. His mind is on other things anyway.

IN THE LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
As Chris enters, a girl turns, cell phone in hand -

GIRL
It’s Saul! He’s on his way up with the papers!

Chris abruptly turns - - and heads down the hallway.

IN THE BEDROOM
Chris enters and closes the door, his back to the room.

CHRIS
...they're just reviews. It's the work that counts

VAUGHN ROACH (O.C.)
Bullshit.

Chris turns. A bearded man is reclining on the bed beneath the Brando poster. He has a hand-rolled cigarette in one hand and a flask in the other. He wears a long coat and has a scarf around his neck.

CHRIS
... hello?

VAUGHN ROACH has an English accent.
VAUGHN ROACH
Hello? Is that all you’ve got? No, you’re gonna have to do better than that, boy. You’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better, that’s all I’ve got to say.

CHRIS
(annoyed)
Okay - who are you and what the hell are you doing in my bedroom.

VAUGHN ROACH
Oh, don't you worry who I am, Sunny Jim. Who are you, that's what I want to know. Mr. Flavor of the Moment, Mr. Voice of his Generation. Who the hell are you?

Either Chris doesn’t know or he suddenly suspects there’s a hidden video camera in the room.

CHRIS
... uh...

VAUGHN ROACH
(amused, flicking ashes)
No, no, don’t say a word. I know all about it. Silent, angry young man, fag in the mouth, talent clinging to you like stink. I know.

CHRIS
Are you crazy or just English?

VAUGHN ROACH
Oh, stop. You're hired, damn you. I've no cards left. At your mercy. But then, you know that, don't you.
(rising with a sigh)
So. Enough with the idle chit-chat. Who's your shark, boy?

CHRIS
My what?

VAUGHN ROACH
Your point man, your killer-attack dog, your Shylock, Sunny Jim. Who do we go to acquire your esteemed services? Ah, never mind. We'll find out and call him in the morning. You're hired, boy. But don't think it's going to be easy. Don't think it's going to be all chocolate biscuits and frothy pints. It's going to be work and plenty of it. And just you remember one thing. I eat greasy, little shitbirds like you for breakfast.

He drops his cigarette, grinds it with a heel and exits.

CHRIS
...shit birds?

Chris is suddenly aware of something. Silence. It's as if in the other room, the party has stopped. He exits.

IN THE HALLWAY -
Chris comes down the hallway. The silence is ominous.

IN THE LIVING ROOM -
Chris enters. Everyone is sitting or standing in stunned silence.

CHRIS
What. What's the matter? Anyone? I hear silence.

The director, Chris's other roommate, SAUL, tosses The Friday Arts and Leisure section of the New York Times towards Chris - it lands with a thunk.
SAUL
We got killed, man.