3 raw and unedited script pages for a new project
This is what it looks like, raw and unedited:
PAGE 1 – FIVE PANELS
PANEL 1 – Alley, London – day
A drug dealer’s face – a SOMALI BLOKE in his early twenties, adorned with 5 – 10 piercings – is pressed against the red brick wall in a side-alley in South London. Although the side of his face firmly kissing the bricks, he’s still got a smug smile on his face.
Holding the drug dealer’s face against the wall is police lieutenant OLIVIA – full uniform on. Her face hard and angry, barely containing herself.
(o/p, from below)
Nothing on him. We have to let him off.
Pull out. Frida, Olivia’s partner, gets up after having patted down the drug dealer, looking for drugs or weapons.
Olivia still has a firm elbow in his neck, pressing his face in the wall.
SOMALI WITH PIERCINGS
Told you, ladies. This black boy ain’t got shit for you.
The bloke has turned around now, facing Olivia. Still a smug smile on his face. He corrects his collar.
Olivia stares at him, teeth gritted at his remark.
SOMALI WITH PIERCINGS
Except a hard on.
PANEL 4 (small panel)
Close up. Olivia’s fist clenches. She’s ready to punch him.
Frida is by the cruiser in the foreground. Ready to get in, door open. Olivia catches up with her.
In the background, the bloke lies curled up after the stomach punch.
SOMALI WITH PIERCINGS
Waste of time. Wish the Samaritan could show up again and just bring us the big
boys. Like he did with that Nazi, Gareth Coy.
Nah. Hell with that. That’s our job.
Yes. Picking nobodies off the street.
That vigilante git is hopefully gone. Or dead.
(Begins the dialogue for the next page)
Dad? You in there?
PAGE 2 – SIX PANELS
PANEL 1 – Jack Malloy’s apartment – day
Straight shot on Jack Malloy’s weary and depressed frame. He sits in his wheel chair in his study, hands on his lap. He looks straight ahead, at something off panel.
(Maybe not seen thoroughly here, but his study looks like a small library from the 1800s, with heavy wooden furniture and books adorning every wall. A single, large window lets the light in. And a study desk sits in the middle of the room. But add these details as you see fit, to show that he’s rich enough.)
Closer on Jack’s face. Same as previous panel, but his eyes look up slightly as he hears his son.
Jack looks back down at his vigilante gear in the drawer, still off panel to the reader. (What the gear really is will be revealed later.)
There you are.
Hey, you alright?
Jack closes his eyes, head drops and he sighs.
Yes. Just thinking…
Samuel, green ambulance uniform on, has come up to his side and squats by the wheel chair. Concern on his face, a hand on his father’s shoulder.
Jack attempts a smile.
(If possible, show the London Eye or Big Ben through the window behind Samuel. This indicated that Jack’s house sits by the Thames, which is an expensive area.)
Listen to the comedian.
Come on, let’s get some lunch before I need to go back.
Samuel wheels Jack towards the door of the study.
(The drawer with the gear, if seen, is still open.)
Have you told her yet?
PAGE 3 – FIVE PANELS
PANEL 1 – Same scene, but now in the kitchen
Samuel wheels Jack into the kitchen – a kitchen with modern appliances and a chrome, urban look. Jack looks straight ahead, as if reluctant to answer.
In the foreground, Samuel drops a fried egg from a frying pan on a plate which already has sausages and beans.
In the background, Jack looks up at him, about to sip his tea.
I can tell you all about it.
Samuel puts the frying pan back on the stove and pulls out his chair with his other hand.
We’ve been over this. Several times.
But you have the training. You’d be brilliant.
The two of them eat, eyes on each other. Conversation not over.
No. I do more good in green than in black. I’m here to help, not hurt people.
You WOULD be helping a lot of people. The police.
I already am. Without violence.
You’d be helping me.
Similar as previous panel, but now both of them are silent. The discussion is over.
Jack looks down at the table, admitting something.
I haven’t told her because she’s a loose canon. She’s reckless. I don’t trust her.
With this story I’ve tried to condense as much information as I can into the pages. Usually I tend to like – both to read and to write – in a more sweeping manner, letting moments breathe more. I guess I still do, to a certain degree here, but as I continue with the next batch of pages there is a lot of character set-up and information seeds to cram into the sparse space of a page. It might not work and I’ll have to squeeze it out some, or it might become a really information dense, but properly paced read.
Once I’ve written the first issue, which I’ve clocked at 24 pages, I will throw my net out to see if I can find the perfect artist to join me on this project.
Speaking of clocks. The one next to me is rushing up to 2AM, so I better crawl up and get some sleep. Up in four hours. You can shoot me then.