Friday, September 13, 2013

Funzy Friday + Practice = Mamie Barlowe, Screenplay, First Tough Draft!



Lisa Carthy as Mamie Barlowe, PPI, Psychic Private Investigator
Ardnas Ullock as Sable Mink, GPP, Genuine Psychic Psychopath
Jony Pped as Chill Tornado
Billy the Chimp played by himself
Bert Dihero as Sable's father, Irk Mink
Neb Filler as KIrk Mink, Sable's bro
Ette Fidler as Mother Barlowe
Boldy Spawn as Auntie Flo Barlowe
Arol Cornett as Grandma Barlowe
Famy Madams as Roxy Clumper, aka Roxy Binghorton III
Glad Sitt as Bertie Clumper, aka Clarence Oberon Binghorton III

Sidenote: due to actor's salaries, and its alternate world status, this move will never get off the ground. 



The camera pans an extremely utilitarian office, except for two cheap chairs, and a tres expensive desk and leather chair. Private investigator, MAMIE BARLOWE, sits in the leather chair, eyeing her prospective client, ROXY CLUMPER, who's also sitting, but in a rickety wooden chair which cost $2.00 at a rummage sale. MAMIE doesn't want prospective clients distracted or comfortable. Roxy is talking to Mamie, but we don't hear any word of it.

Roxy's face.

                                                            MAMIE (V.O.)

Roxy Clumper is her name. She has short satiny blonde hair, the kind of hair you see on a mannequin before it slides right off; the kind of hair I could shoot a bullet at, and it would boomerang. Her cheekbones are angled so sharply, a mountain climber would stake her. Take the eyes. They are spaced far apart. It's a wonder she can look at me straight. Her nose and mouth practically kiss each other. With harlot red lipstick that's a no no. Makes me to want to reach for my Glock 22 .40 caliber pistol. Click the safety off.

Roxy's clothes.

                                                         MAMIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)

In short, Roxy resembles a dime-store hooker holding up a lamppost after a rainstorm.  But her clothes scream designer with a capital D. How do I know?  You don't have to be Holmes, see.  Take the rain coat: silk-lined pockets, with lapel flaps that stand at attention like two stiffs hanging from a meat hook.  A single price tag dangles from her arm pit; the kind of tag I see on Modeo drive. I shouldn't be looking at it. There's a belt, loosely tied around her waist, but wider than a leather strap used to beat the snot out of people. A white-lace bodice peeps out at me between buttons lined up like soldiers in a drill. I think she's wearing a dress. I don't know. I'm getting bored.

                                                                                                            CUT TO:

Mamie nodding her head at something Roxy has just said. Mamie's ennui is evident to the audience, but not to Roxy.

Photo of a man Roxy has just placed on the desk.

                                                         MAMIE  (V.O.)

My wannabe client misplaced her husband. Those are her words. These are my thoughts. I lose things: a car on occasion, a cellphone, a wallet, a coffee machine, just to name a few. I don't misplace them. Particularly a man.

                                                                                                           CUT TO:

Roxy, who we can now hear speak.  Although we wish we couldn't, given how whiny it is.

                                So, will you be able to find my Bertie, or not?

                               Wrong question.  Try again.

                               I mean, will you take my case?
                              A simple yes or no would be appreciated.
                              There are other Private Investigators, you know.

                              They're dicks.  I'm a psychic, see.

Mamie shifts comfortably in her chair.  But she now has a vision of steaming toward Niagara Falls, a barrel in tow.  The barrel has Roxy's name on it.

                                                     MAMIE (CONT'D)
                              Be $10,000 cash.  Upfront.

                             B-but that's ridiculous!
                             I don't carry that kind of cash.

Roxy's furious expression.

                                                     MAMIE (V.O.)
Her black eyes spawn twin tornadoes. Lethal. I'm sensing she's trouble. Trouble with a capital T!

Mamie takes a credit card machine from a drawer.

                           Or credit.  A 3% surcharge will be tacked on.

Roxy looks unsure.

                                                    MAMIE (CONT'D)
                          Look lady, this isn't Value Mart.
                         Are you telling me your husband's life isn't worth
                         a plugged corpse with gold teeth
                         and diamond-studded eyelids?

                         Of course, not. I love my Bertie.
                          I'll do anything . . . pay anything . . .
                          I just want to see him again.

Roxy takes out a black Diva card, surprising Mamie.

Black Diva card.

                                                MAMIE (V.O.)
Whoa!  Exclusive club; the kind where people jet to the moon and back for dinner. If they could.

Mamie swipes the card, taking extra time to feel the card up.

                     OK, so when's the last time you saw Bertie?

                    Yesterday. We went parachuting.
                     Bertie likes to live on the edge, you know?
                     Anyway, I landed, but he didn't.
                     I mean, I never saw him land.

                                       (Visibly bored)
                    And yesterday, birds were chirping.
                    Today, it's raining.
                    I would've gone bird-watching yesterday, capiche?

                   Well . . . Bertie does really odd things at times.
                    I wasn't too worried. Until this morning,
                   when he didn't return my frantic calls.
                   That's not like Bertie.

                   So, quick question, who let go of who first?

                  I-I'm not quite sure what you're asking.
                  I mean, at some point
                  we might've been together, but--

                 Together, you mean as in jumping
                 out the plane together, or rolling
                 out the plane together,
                 or accidentally falling out the plane together?

                Is that question really relevant, Ms. Barlowe?

               I wasn't conceived in a parachute accident, Mrs. Clumper.
               My mom and pop did it right.
               You two, on the other hand, did it wrong.

               How dare you suggest
               what it is I think you're suggesting!
               I don't have to sit here and--

               No you don't,
               but here's what you're gonna do.
               You're gonna leave now.
               On your way out, you're gonna
               talk to my secretary,
               and sell her the whole salami sandwich.
               Don't lie. Don't leave anything out.
               She'll give you a receipt for the ten grand,
               plus the 3% surcharge.
               Oh, and leave her something that Bertie touched recently.

Roxy glances down at her chest.

                                     MAMIE (CONT'D)
                                              (rolls eyes)
               Those don't count.
                                              (She stands)
               I'll be in touch.

Roxy quickly leaves, knocking over the chair she was sitting on.  Mamie shakes her head in disgust.

                                    MAMIE (V.O.)
People.  Gotta love 'em.  Or shoot 'em.  I'm good at both.

End note: FYI, this is NOT the screenplay I'm working on. I know, thank gosh, huh?