A Collection of Script Extracts Evidencing Different Styles

of Dialogue

By

George B. Hewer

SCRIPT ONE: MONOLOGUE - JOURNEY TO UNIVERSITY

Wow. I actually don’t think my eyes can sink any further

into my skull. If I had the energy I might actually find

myself scary this morning. Why can’t I just please sleep

better, oh mighty God of sleep? Oh look George, you’re on

the train, how the hell did you get here? I don’t remember

walking to the station. Good job sub-conscious, good job.

Why is it that no matter what time I get the train in the

morning, there’s always these suits sitting here? What

happened to the classic 9 to 5, people? Well I’m not gonna

let one of them sit next to me, my bag needs to kick back

and chill in the seat more than they do, they’ve had a lay

in that they’re not entitled to as a London commuter. Ah,

Where would we be without armrests on trains? Station tunnel

station, tunnel station station, tunnel tunnel station.

Excuse me madam? You want this seat next to me that is

clearly occupied by my bag? As opposed to straining one of

the many free seats around us with that huge New Delhi of

yours? Of course madam, right away madam, how could I have

been so selfish madam. I turn the other way as she sits

down, for no other reason than to rely on the sense of

feeling my seat rise as she parks herself next door. Beep,

beep, beep, this vehicle is reversing. Were it not for the

several six inch-long, cross-headed, steel screws bolting

the chairs to the floor of the carriage, I’m sure my head

would have hit the fucking ceiling. She’s reading receipts.

Why would you scour over pieces of paper that tell you how

much you paid for something that you’ve already paid for

and, by the looks of her, already eaten? But just as

bamboozling, how can the purchase of a carton of skimmed

milk and a loaf of Hovis wholemeal (by the way love, I think

that ship has well and truly sailed) constitute the

traditional, and indeed compulsory, light reading that is

ever-present on todays trains? Eight clubcard points for the

purchase though, must be a double points week, fair play.

SCRIPT TWO: MONOLOGUE 2 - ZOMBIE ATTACK RECITAL

Right so there I was, holed up in this right tidy lil shop,

Paki guy owned it, wasn’t ‘round when I got there mind. Good

job too, don’t do so well wi’ people in small spaces. Right

so there I was, all tucked up good and proper on this dead

comfy sofa, first bit o’ sleep I’d gotten in a while, and I

hear this smash from downstairs in the shop. At first I

canne be arsed to go see, but then there’s this moaning, I

mean, nothing sexual nor nout, but like, dull moaning, as if

it was ne about anything specific, just for the sake of it.

So I go down to check it out and guess what I see? Go on

guess. Nah you won’t get it, I’ll tell ye. There’s these

deformed, ugly mother fuckers with all this flesh stickin’

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 2.

out their mouths, and their sticking their heads ‘n’ arms

through me window, my window no less! And tryin’ to grab at

stuff that was ne there. Well that pissed me righ’ off that

did, getting blood and shite all over the food and the

floor, and I was ne gonna get the mop out for love nor

money, I tell ye, s’not my bloody shop. So I tells ‘em to

fook off ‘n’ that ‘n’ they do ne pay any attention ta me, so

now I’m right dead pissed, aye, so I shouts at ‘em, “If ye

do ne fook off, I’m gonna get right dead pissed off,

alrigh’?. And they just carry right on wi’ wha’ they’re

doing. I do ne think shopkeepin’ is for me. I feel sorry for

that poor Paki lad.

SCRIPT THREE: CONVERSATIONAL DIALOGUE - PREVIOUS EVENING’S

DINNER

Realised I had a poker tournament at half six so I put some

stuff in the oven quickly, spicy potato wedges and southern

chicken, but then the oven took ages to get hot and I was

waiting for everything to cook, and then by the time it was

ready to eat, the tournament had started and I was trying to

serve up my dinner while carrying my laptop around the

kitchen. And then when I ate it, it was really unsatisfying,

it wasn’t hitting the spot, so I thought it would be better

to drive to Burger King and get a Triple Whopper.

SCRIPT FOUR: JARGON - MILITARY AIR STRIKE

GENERAL

Corporal, get the FSG to open up on

that hillside, 3rd squad need out,

their being flanked from their six!

CORPORAL

Both their .50 cals are dry sir.

GENERAL

I don’t give a damn, god damn it,

tell them to fire on the hostiles

approaching the compound from grid

5 or our boys’ll be full of more

holes than Swiss cheese!

CORPORAL

We have more tangos approaching the

second compound from grids 6 and 7

sir!

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 3.

GENERAL

Jesus Christ on a bike, Corporal,

do I look like a urinal cake?!

CORPORAL

No sir!

GENERAL

Then stop pissing on me and do what

I god damn tell you to do! Call the

big birds in, we’re going hot on

their ass!

CORPORAL

We have two F-18s in the area sir,

three clicks out, they can drop

their load in t-minus 60 seconds.

GENERAL

You, Private, get on the clicker

and tell those men that we’ve got

two birds checkin’ into this hotel

in one minute. They need to pack

their luggage and hold on till they

get here. There’ll be an LZ cleared

in grid 2 ready to take ’em back to

HQ and let that red, white and blue

fly high.

PRIVATE

(into radio)

Bravo, Lima, Delta, this is the

FCP-

The sound of approaching fighter jets errupts through the

desert action.

GENERAL

Alpha, Delta, Romeo!

CORPORAL

Adios desert rats.

The jets screech over the Forward Command Post and pass the

compound ahead. A second later, the adjacent treeline

combusts, following a huge thud as the sound reaches the

General’s ears.

4.

SCRIPT FIVE: SCENE WITH NO DIALOGUE - LUNCH BREAK

DESCRIPTION

FIRST DRAFT:

Tesco Express. Like a train at a fictional platform,

whisking special people away to a magical land of groceries.

The Tesco Express, enchanting. It’s still shiny, like a new

phone that’s just had the protective plastic cover taken off

of it, with the waves of students acting as the annoying

specs of dust that get stuck, and stay stuck, under the

corners of the screen. One guy with board shorts and what

can only be described as a stupid hair cut, clearly a

prospective alpha male, loudly attempts to start a

conversation on the range of choice and quality of

bread-based foods on offer. I bet his lonely winter nights

must just fly by. Despite the fact that it’s on the ground

floor of an office building, the solitary suit hovering by

the beer fridge is seriously outnumbered. He’s taking his

time, clearly wanting to make sure that he takes just the

right sort of edge off for the afternoon. The queue for the

checkouts snakes past the sweets stand, alluring to the

unhealthy youngsters who already cradle chocolate and fizzy

drinks in their arms. How very cliche. The same wannabe

alpha male from before announces the presence of condom

packets behind the counter, suggesting to his friend, again

too loudly, that they stock up. His friend, after giving the

necessary laugh, in similar fashion then points out the

pregnancy tests, explaining how many of them he’s had to buy

before. Must be a post-op. As the rush of students leave the

shop, a pigeon from the sky above unleashes a hurl of faeces

at the one of the shiny windows.

SECOND DRAFT:

Tesco Express. Like a train at a fictional platform,

whisking special people away to a magical land of groceries.

The Tesco Express, enchanting. It’s still shiny, like a new

phone that’s just had the protective plastic cover taken off

of it, with the waves of students acting as the annoying

specs of dust that get stuck under the corners of the

screen. Ants at a barbecue, if you will. One guy, with board

shorts and a hair cut that can only be described as

ludicrous, flails his arms extravagantly towards the

sandwich selection, clearly a prospective alpha male.

Despite the fact that the small shop is on the ground floor

of an office building, the solitary suit hovering by the

beer fridge is seriously outnumbered. He’s taking his time,

perfecting his choice, clearly wanting to take a specific

sort of edge off of the afternoon ahead. The queue for the

checkouts snakes past the sweets stand, alluring to the

unhealthy youngsters who already cradle chocolate and fizzy

drinks in their arms. The same wannabe alpha male from

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 5.

before points excitedly at the range of condom packets

behind the counter, turning to his friend and bouncing

animatedly on the spot. As they reach the till, his friend,

in similar fashion, points out the pregnancy tests,

gesturing for the cashier to add one to his order of

southern fried chicken with sweet chili sauce and lettuce in

tortilla bread wrap, salt & vinegar flavour Walkers crisps,

a large bag of Haribo Tangfastics, Mars bar, Galaxy bar and

Yorkie bar. The irony of purchasing a pregnancy test with a

chocolate snack that prides itself on being ’not for girls’,

is far too overwhelming for the mob of students, who leave

the shop as quickly and mechanically as they entered it.

They leave behind the necessary amount of detritus with

which to still uphold their stereotypes, just as the

solitary suit from the beer fridge strides from the

enchanted automatic doors, tucking a small bottle of gin

into his jacket pocket. The crisp sunshine is laid siege by

dark rain clouds, before eventually yielding to the invasion

of precipitation, providing the perfect cover for a lone

pigeon to unleash a hurl of faeces at one of the shiny, new

windows of The Tesco Express.

SCRIPT SIX: MINIMAL DIALOGUE - MURDER CONFESSION IN PRISON

INT. PRISON VISITATION WAITING ROOM - DAY

The grey stone walls of the waiting room cage in a young

lawyer, ABIGAIL FIELDS, who has perched herself on one of

the cold, plastic chairs. She sits defensively, crossing her

legs and folding her arms around a binder clutched to her

chest. A single CCTV camera observes the action from a top

corner of the room, it’s red light blinking as it watches.

Abigail is motionless, staring at the floor, the second hand

on her modest, silver watch the only thing moving.

A PRISON OFFICER walks through the open door and gestures

for her to follow. She snaps out of her trance at his

arrival and jerks into motion, shuffling quickly from the

dingy confines of the room.

INT. PRISON VISITATION - DAY

The prison officer shows Abigail into a new room, brighter

from the natural light let in by the bars, but the

atmosphere is no less somber. A bearded man in prison

uniform sits at the lonely table in the centre of the room,

his hands and feet shackled to the floor. This is NICK

FIELDS. He, as Abigail was in the waiting room, sits

motionless, staring at the table. Even as Abigail sits in

the seat opposite, all he can muster is moving his eyes onto

her as the metal chair legs scrape the uneven floor.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 6.

Abigail opens her folder and removes a clutch of papers

stapled together, turning to Nick.

ABIGAIL

Ok, so your appeal is scheduled for

the 12th of this month, so not long

to wait. Now, I’ve worked my magic

and spoken to my friend who’s a

clerk at the judges office, and she

reckons we’ve got a great chance of

winning because of the way you were

treated by the officers upon

arrest, and due to the increasing

unreliability of the witnesses, not

to mention your good behaviour

since being here... So it looks

like we’ve finally beaten this

thing... You’ll be coming home in

just over a week.

Nick’s eyes are still fixed on the table in front of him. He

is slouching to one side in his chair, expressionless.

ABIGAIL

Nick? This is good news, you know.

He remains motionless. Abigail sits back in her seat,

crestfallen. Moments pass, the two figures almost mirroring

each other’s poses.

NICK

Sis? You love me right? Whatever

happens, whatever I’ve... Done?

ABIGAIL

Of course, you’re my brother. I

love you, I’m here for you, no

matter what.

She reaches out to hold Nick’s hands in hers, carving a

smile on her tired face, as if it had been a while since

she’d done so. Nick, still slouching and staring at the

table, gives a slight squeeze back.

NICK

I did it, Abi... I killed her.

Abigail stares at her brother for a second, tears welling

up, before letting Nick’s hands go in disappointment and

disgust. She blinks uncontrollably due to the moisture in

her eyes and tries to catch her breath.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 7.

ABIGAIL

(whispering)

You, swore, to me... You swore you

were innocent... I have given up my

job, dropped everything in my life,

to fight for you... You lied to me.

How could you?

Abiagil grabs her papers, clutching them to her chest once

more, before striding from the room. At the doorway she

pauses, without looking back, to bring her hand up to her

face in an attempt to hold back the tears, before walking

off, head bowed, down the dark corridor. Nick’s eyes affix

themselves upon Abigail’s silver watch that she has left on

the table.

SCRIPT SEVEN: SUB-TEXT - ANIMAL METAPHORS IN BUSINESS

INT. POSH RESTAURANT - NIGHT

There is a light-hearted hubbub, spreading throughout the

restaurant. Couples enjoying a fancy meal together, families

celebrating a birthday, and two businessmen, MICK and DAN,

discussing the future of their company. Dan, thirty years

Mick’s junior, dons an expensive, tight-fitting black suit

as he swirls the red wine around his glass, leaning back in

his chair. While Mick, hunched in his grey M&S suit, sips

from his beer conservatively before clasping his hands

together between his thighs. The WAITER awaits Dan’s

decision on the wine.

DAN

Mmm, that really is rather

stunning, do pour some more.

The waiter fills Dan’s glass before setting the bottle down

on the table. Dan turns his attention to Mick, opposite.

DAN

So ma man, how are the figures

looking?

MICK

Well, er, they’re good, getting

better after what happened, slow

and steady.

Dan looks down at his glass, resuming his swirling, leaning

forward as he responds.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 8.

DAN

Well, that’s great isn’t it? Slow,

and, steady...

Mick looks concerned at the tone of his partner’s response

to the good news.

DAN

I like animals, Mick, I find them

fascinating. To think that we,

humans, were once that primal is

quite extraordinary. That’s

evolution for you, adapting and

evolving. It’s why we’re here

today, sipping this beautiful wine,

eating this magnificent food, and

actually being able to appreciate

the quality of such fine cuisine.

Marvelous... The polar bear, is a

particular favourite of mine. It is

100% perfectly adapted to not only

survive, but rule its environment.

Explosive in capturing its prey. A

stunning predator indeed. Are you a

fan of any arctic animalia Mick?

His confusion growing, Mick replies unassuredly.

MICK

Well I er, I do like penguins I

suppose.

DAN

Ah! The penguin. Yes I thought you

might say that. Another beer?

MICK

Oh, no I’m fine. Thank you.

DAN

Another beer here please, young

man... You see, Mick, the penguin

is popular because it’s cute. Ok,

it prospers to a fairly good

standard, it survives. But it’s not

dominant. It doesn’t corner the

market in arctic survival skills...

Dan sits forward completely now, resting his elbows on the

table and interlocking his fingers.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 9.

DAN

You see, the penguin is only left

to survive, because it has no

natural predators. It’s a

slow-moving bird that can’t even

utilise it’s two largest limbs for

flight. Should you take a penguin

and drop it right into the same

environment as a polar bear, I

don’t think there’s any doubt as to

who would come out on top.

The waiter sets another beer on the table. Mick’s confusion

turns to concern as he begins to understand the meaning of

the metaphor being used. Dan meets his concern with a stern

glare, the side of his mouth pulling up menacingly.

DAN

There’s no place for a penguin in a

polar bear’s organisation Michael.

Especially one’s who’s feathers

have all but lost their colour...

SCRIPT EIGHT: DIALOGUE-DEPENDENT TWO HANDER - KILLING A CAT

EXT. GLASGOW STREETS - DAY

It is May, and a rare day of sunshine on the streets of

Glasgow. The roads are empty, no pedestrians, no motorists,

no nobody. Apart from one, a rather scraggly-looking man

walking out of the hospital. Aside from his generally dirty

appearance, he looks healthy enough. This is ELLIOTT BRIGGS.

He carries a small portable radio in his hands, pressing it

to his ear. He bounces, ape-like on the tarmac as he

strides, his unbuttoned shirt rippling in the welcome

breeze. His face is already reddening from the beaming sun.

RADIO COMMENTATOR

McCourt spreads it out wide, lovely

pass-

ELLIOTT

Bet it were shite.

RADIO COMMENTATOR

Oh he’s sent the defender for a bag

of chips there-

ELLIOTT

Bet ’e didn’t.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 10.

RADIO COMMENTATOR

Oh he’s there, it’s gone in, he’s

turned the ball into his own net!

Celtic have the lead against

Rangers two minutes into stoppage

time-

ELLIOTT

God damn fucking, bastard shit

fuck, twat mother fucker!

A ginger tabby cat sitting on a wall, hisses in disgust at

the colourful outburst as he passes. Elliott, enraged that

even a small animal would dare test his temperament at a

time such as this, turns to the feline, wild-eyed. The cat

stands up, arching its back and hissing more. Elliott pulls

back his right hand, forming a fist, and punches the cat

square in its face, sending it hurling onto the gravel

driveway, where it lays, motionless. Elliott, realising the

consequences of his outburst, blinks himself back to life,

dropping the radio and gingerly approaching the lifeless

body. He falls to his knees, cradling the dead animal in his

arms. A YOUNG GIRL comes running out of the house to see

what has happened.

YOUNG GIRL

Kitty! What’s wrong with him?

ELLIOTT

Er, he er... He jumped off the

roof. I saw it happen.

YOUNG GIRL

What?

ELLIOTT

The poor guy, he jumped off the

roof... Suicide.

YOUNG GIRL

What’s suicide?

ELLIOTT

Er, well... No matter, what’s his

name?

YOUNG GIRL

Kitty.

ELLIOTT

No, what’s his name?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 11.

YOUNG GIRL

I told you, it’s Kitty.

ELLIOTT

Kitty? You called your cat, Kitty?

YOUNG GIRL

Yeah, cos he’s a kitty cat.

ELLIOTT

A kitty cat called Kitty?

YOUNG GIRL

Yes, I told you, a kitty cat called

Kitty.

ELLIOTT

Right. Well, er, little Kitty here,

had obviously, had enough of er...

Elliott looks up at the splendid home of the driveway he’s

standing on.

ELLIOTT

... This lovely home and, of life,

in general and, decided that he,

could no longer take living... And

jumped off the roof.

YOUNG GIRL

But cats always land on their feet?

ELLIOTT

No. No I’m afraid Kitty landed

right on his, little skull there.

Kitty’s dead. I’m sorry.

Elliott hands the dead cat over to the confused girl, before

shuffling off very quickly, shooting fleeting glances at the

surrounding windows and picking up his radio as he leaves.

SCRIPT NINE: LIFESAVER - HOSPITAL LIFT

INT. HOSPITAL - DAY

The plain walls of the hospital reflect the bright lights on

the ceiling, forming blurry tunnels of white. The lift doors

open, creating a welcome break in the monotone walls. A

young man, MATT, steps inside it, hands in pockets and head

bowed, wearing a solemn expression. He punches the button

for the ground floor and leans back against the side of of

the lift, closing his eyes.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 12.

Before the doors can close however, another young man,

better-built and taller, sticks his arms in the way, forcing

the doors to reopen. This is MARK. Matt looks at his fellow

lift-user and immediately snaps upright, removing his hands

from his pockets so as to fold them across his chest

defensively. Mark smirks, re-pressing the button for the

ground floor.

A few moments pass of Matt shooting nervous looks over to

his neighbour, before Mark removes his sunglasses, causing

Matt to flinch. The lift stops at floor thirteen to allow

TWO FEMALE ORDERLIES in. Matt’s posture relaxes slightly at

the arrival of two potential witnesses, but Mark doesn’t

move from his position in the centre of the lift, forcing

them to weave around him. They exit two floors down, leaving

the two young men alone in the lift once again. Mark takes a

cigarette from his pocket and lights up, exhaling the smoke

high into the box, keeping his chin aloft.

Another few moments of silence pass, the numbers above the

lift door reducing every two seconds. Ten... Nine... Eight.

As Mark blows out a stream of smoke rings, Mark finally

breaks the silence within the box.

MARK

So how was it then?

MATT

How was what?

Mark gives Matt a snide look out the side of his face before

returning his gaze to the front of the lift.

MARK

You know what I’m talking about

sonny Jim.

MATT

Erm, no.

MARK

Guess it can’t have been that great

then.

MATT

What can’t have been?

MARK

You really are a scrawny little

spitfuck, aren’t you boy?

Matt stares, frowning at Mark.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 13.

MARK

I’m talking about the night you

spent with my now ex-girlfriend,

squire, was it worth it?

MATT

Was it worth what?

MARK

Was it worth this, coming to the

hospital every week to have some

specky twat look at your dick and

give you some pills to make it less

resemble a dirty German sausage?

MATT

I don’t know what you’re talking

about...

Matt retracts into the corner of the lift, leaning once

again against the wall for support, his head falling to look

at the floor.

MARK

Indeed. You just happen to be on

the same floor as the one that I’ve

just been on, where they treat

people with the clap, acquired from

back-stabbing, cheating whores...

Or did you have another medical

condition that I wasn’t aware of?

Mark now turns to look at Matt intimidatingly, his cigarette

still billowing smoke upwards. Matt shuffles his feet and

begins to open his mouth.

MARK

Hmm? Has little Matty got something

to say?

Before Matt can retort, the fire alarm sounds and the lift

stops descending. Matt looks up worriedly while Mark grins

triumphantly.

MATT

Oh shit.

MARK

Excellent.

14.

SCRIPT TEN: COMMUNICATION BREAKDOWN - LAD WATCHING FOOTBALL

INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

The May sunlight streams through the open windows, painting

the carpet gold. A teenager, CHRIS, basks in the warmth as

he kicks back on a brown, leather sofa whilst watching the

television. His eyes are fixed on the football match being

played, leaving them to start watering at the edges before

providing a merciful blink.

After a few moments, Chris’s MOTHER enters the living room,

stern-faced and purposeful.

MOTHER

Christopher, what the hell do you

think you’re doing?

Chris is oblivious to his mother’s arrival in the room. She

speaks in a much more booming tone this time.

MOTHER

Excuse me, Christopher, have I

ceased to exist?

Once again, her son remains transfixed by the action on the

screen, giving no acknowledgment to the words directed at

him.

Chris’s mother, having had enough of being ignored, moves

across the living room to stand in front of the television,

to the outrage of her son, who sits forward on the sofa,

aghast.

CHRIS

What in the name of holy Christ are

you doing woman?

MOTHER

It would be nice if, when spoken to

Christopher, you gave at least an

ounce of your precious attention...

And have a bit more respect, we

don’t use language like that and

you know it.

CHRIS

Ok, ok, ok, I promise if you move

your arse out the way I’ll pay more

attention to you, please!

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 15.

Reluctantly, Chris’s mother moves out of the way of the

television, her arms folded in protest. Chris resumes his

previous position leaning back on the sofa, reacquainting

his eyes with the screen.

MOTHER

Why haven’t you done any of your

jobs today?

Chris ignores his mother yet again, choosing instead to

mirror the groans of disappointment from the fans and

commentators on the TV following a missed chance from one of

the teams.

MOTHER

Christopher, you promised you would

pay atten-

Chris raises a finger to silence his mother as he sits

forward in anticipation, before turning to his mother.

CHRIS

I said I would give you more

attention.

He turns back to look at the tele.

CHRIS

This is more.

Chris’s mother hangs her head for a moment before looking

back up at her son, impatient and raising her eyebrows.

MOTHER

Right, well, how about answering my

question then, hmm? Why haven’t you

done any of your jobs yet today?

Chris watches the football for a couple of moments before

replying, sounding distant.

CHRIS

Key word... "Yet"... Doesn’t mean

I’m not going to do them at all...

MOTHER

Well when can I expect them to be

done?

Chris sits further forward in his chair, raising his arms

above his head, ready to celebrate, only to throw himself

back onto the sofa in disbelief, matching more groans from

the TV.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 16.

MOTHER

When-

CHRIS

At half time!

Chris’s mother, still standing beside the tele, arms folded,

turns to the screen as a whistle is blown by the referee.

The players start to vacate the pitch.

MOTHER

So now then?

Chris picks himself up from his crumpled position on the

sofa and composes himself. He stares at the television.

CHRIS

No...

The adverts begin to roll.

CHRIS

... Now... What can I do for you

mother?

Taken aback by her son’s change of tone, his mother blinks

herself back into focus.

MOTHER

You can start with the bushes out

front, they need trimming.

As she exits the room, Chris checks the watch on his wrist

before appearing to work something out in his head.

INT. STUDY - DAY

Chris’s mother is sitting behind a desk with a laptop open

in front of her. The sound of a chainsaw roaring to life

outside, breaks her concentration. She leaps to the window

to see Chris, down below, starting to cut down one of the

small trees in their front garden.

MOTHER

Christopher, what in God’s name are

you doing?!

Without looking up from his work, Chris shouts up his reply.

CHRIS

Go hard or go home, Mum!... And

don’t blaspheme, it’s not nice and

you know it!

17.

SCRIPT ELEVEN: NATURALISTIC DIALOGUE - EAVESDROPPED SCENE

INT. TRAIN - DAY

The overcast sky outside the carriage windows reflects the

mood inside. An ELDERLY COUPLE sit opposite a MIDDLE-AGED

MAN on the phone, their son. In contrast to the usual

loudness of phone conversations on the train, this man is

reserved in his volume.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Mmm, yeah. No that’s cool, yeah.

Nah yeah exactly.

The elderly couple sit contentedly in their seats, the male

of the pair looking happily out the window at the passing

countryside, while the lady interlocks her hands on her lap

as she delivers smiles to a tired and impatient-looking

YOUNG MAN in the adjacent seat column.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Yeah that’s fine. Tell him that for

me, yeah cheers. When? Cool, I’ll

see you then, then.

The man chuckles as he realises he’d said the same word

twice.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Ok then mate. Yeah definitely.

Yeah, see ya.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and sits back in his

seat, looking up at the ceiling. After a few moments the

elderly lady breaks the silence.

ELDERLY LADY

Who was that then, one of your

mates?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Yeah, it was, yeah.

ELDERLY MAN

Oh, a mate was it?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Yeah.

ELDERLY LADY

It wasn’t ol’ Jimmy was it?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 18.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Nah no, wasn’t Jimmy.

ELDERLY MAN

Dave? Was it Dave?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Nah, Dave’s at work.

ELDERLY LADY

Oh, do they not let him have a

break then?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Yeah, they do.

ELDERLY MAN

Ah, is he not allowed to make

personal calls then?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Nah, yeah he is.

ELDERLY MAN

Ohh, funny that ain’t it?

The elderly man turns to his wife and raises his eyebrows.

The middle-aged man takes out his phone again and fiddles

around with it.

ELDERLY LADY

So who was it you were talkin’ to

then?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

When? Just now?

ELDERLY LADY

Yeah, just then, when you were on

your mobile phone, there.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

It was Bobby.

ELDERLY MAN

Ohh, funny that, eh? I thought it

was Dave.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Nah it was Bobby.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 19.

ELDERLY LADY

What did he say then?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

What, just then?

ELDERLY LADY

Yeah.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Just asked me if I was on the

train.

ELDERLY LADY

Oh, that’s nice. What did you say?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Just said yeah, I am.

ELDERLY MAN

You going out with him tonight

then?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Nah.

ELDERLY MAN

Ah, who you goin’ with then?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Goin’ where?

ELDERLY MAN

Goin’ out.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

I’m not goin’ out tonight.

ELDERLY MAN

Oh...

There is a few moments respite from conversation. The

elderly man has resumed staring out the window and the

middle-aged man is still playing with his phone.

ELDERLY LADY

You about tomorrow night, love?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Me?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 20.

ELDERLY LADY

Yeah.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Nah I’m goin’ out tomorrow night.

ELDERLY LADY

Oh, who with?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Bobby.

ELDERLY LADY

Oh that’ll be nice, eh?

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

Yeah.

SCRIPT TWELVE: IMPROVISED DIALOGUE - REMOTE CONTROL ARGUMENT

FIRST DRAFT (IMPROVISED):

THOMAS

Don’t touch the remote.

LEE

Er, what?

THOMAS

Don’t touch the remote I’m working.

LEE

What do you mean you’re working,

you’re just playing COD?

THOMAS

I get paid to do this, you know I

do.

LEE

We’re not going through this again,

your job is not to play Call of

Duty.

THOMAS

Well I receive a paycheck every

month so how is it not?

LEE

Well how much do you get paid for

that then?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 21.

THOMAS

I get paid a lot more than you get

paid.

LEE

... Right... So erm, I cant watch

my DVDs then no?

THOMAS

No, you cannot watch your beloved

Prison Break.

LEE

Well what if I just take the remote

then?

THOMAS

Then you’ll be paying me my

paycheck this month.

LEE

I won’t be paying you anything.

THOMAS

Probably something to do with the

fact that you don’t get paid

anything yourself.

LEE

I do actually, claiming benefits is

actually quite lucrative, when you

have as little outgoings as I have.

THOMAS

As your landlord I know exactly how

little outgoings you have, just

Prison Break DVDs.

LEE

It’s an amazing show. I like it.

It’s the best show on tele.

THOMAS

Yeah but you didn’t see it on tele,

you’re not even a proper fan.

LEE

Well I didn’t know about it when it

was being shown so...

THOMAS

Well is that why you spent what

should be MY rent money on a ton of

DVDs?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 22.

LEE

They’ve kept me entertained for

many an hour... I’m just waiting on

the day that dear Michael finally

breaks them all out... That is if

he does at all.

THOMAS

Of course he does.

LEE

What do you mean?

THOMAS

Well its called Prison BREAK isn’t

it?

LEE

Yeah, well, they could escape their

cells and then get caught just at

the last moment before they get

outside the prison walls.

THOMAS

Well then that’s not Prison BREAK

is it? That’s just prison, wander.

LEE

But that’d still be breaking out of

your cell though.

THOMAS

But the show’s not called CELL

break is it? it’s PRISON Break, so

they obviously escape all the way.

LEE

They could just be referring to the

plan to break out of prison.

THOMAS

Well that’s not clearly stated in

the show title.

LEE

Have you ever heard of subtlety?

THOMAS

I greeted you with ’don’t touch the

remote’, what do you think?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 23.

LEE

Fair enough, how’s this then? Let

me watch my show, or I’ll knock

your lights out.

THOMAS

Fine but you wont get the security

deposit back.

SECOND DRAFT:

INT. FLAT - EVENING

A weedy young man is sitting on a small sofa, positioned

before a huge flat-screen television fixed to the wall. This

is THOMAS, his eyes do not deviate from the shoot-em-up game

he is playing, while his fingers bounce from button to

button on the controller. The sound of shuffling feet on

lino can be heard approaching. Another young man, more

portly, enters wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown. This is

Lee. Thomas does not turn around to acknowledge his

flatmates entrance.

THOMAS

Don’t touch the remote.

Lee is taken aback but his greeting.

LEE

Er, what?

THOMAS

Don’t touch the remote, I’m

working.

Lee, in his tired state, looks in puzzlement around the

room.

LEE

What d’you mean you’re working?

You’re playing COD.

THOMAS

You know I get paid to do this,

we’ve had this discussion before,

so I’m not going to sink to your

low level of provocation.

Lee, rocks on his heels for a moment, brewing a retort.

LEE

S’not a real job though is it?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 24.

THOMAS

That’s rich coming from someone who

doesn’t even have an imaginary job.

LEE

I most certainly do, I’m a

full-time fuckin’ legend...

Lee looks very pleased with himself at is answer as Thomas,

without looking away from his game, raises one eyebrow in

response.

LEE

... And, of course, claiming

benefits can actually be quite a

lucrative living as well when you

have as little outgoings as I have.

THOMAS

As your landlord, I know exactly

how little outgoings you have,

nothing much past your subscription

to that dodgy website and your

DVDs.

LEE

Speaking of which, any chance I

could watch them?

THOMAS

No, you cannot watch your beloved

Prison Break.

LEE

Well, what if, hypothetically, I

was to just take the remote?

THOMAS

Then you’ll be providing my

paycheck for this month.

LEE

Well, what if, even more

hypothetically, you found it in

your heart of hearts to not let it

come to that?

Thomas remains transfixed by the screen, his fingers still

moving abnormally quickly.

LEE

Oh go on, it’s an amazing show, you

can’t deny it’s one of the best on

tele.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 25.

THOMAS

Yeah but you didn’t even see it on

television, you’re not even a

proper fan.

LEE

Well, I... I didn’t know about it

when it was being shown so...

THOMAS

Either way, I hope it’s been worth

what should have been my rent

money.

LEE

Well you’re in luck then, cos they

have been worth it. They’ve kept me

entertained for many an hour. I’m

living for the day when Michael

finally breaks them all out. That

is if he does at all, they could

throw us a big curveball.

THOMAS

Of course he does.

LEE

What d’you mean?

THOMAS

Of course he breaks them out, the

programme’s called Prison Break,

isn’t it?

LEE

Yeah, well... They could escape

their cells and then get caught

just at the last moment before they

can get outside the prison walls.

THOMAS

Well that’s not much of a prison

break, is it? That’s just a prison,

wander.

LEE

But that’d still be breaking out of

their cells though.

THOMAS

That’s all very well but the show’s

not called cell break, it’s Prison

Break, so they obviously escape all

the way.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 26.

Lee bows his head as he thinks of something to come back

with.

LEE

Well they could just be referring

to the actual plan to break out...

THOMAS

That’s not clearly stated in the

show title though is it?

LEE

Have you ever heard of subtlety?

THOMAS

Well I greeted you with ’don’t

touch the remote’ so what do you

think?

LEE

Fair enough... How’s this then? Let

me watch my show, or I’ll knock

your lights out...

Thomas takes a moment to complete his game, before turning

to his flatmate.

THOMAS

Then I’ll take the bulbs from your

room and you won’t get your

security deposit back.

SCRIPT THIRTEEN: DIFFERENT VOICES - £50 NOTE DISCUSSION

INT. KITCHEN - DAY

The Flack family sit in the kitchen around the dinner table,

encircling it like King Arthur’s knights, a £50 note sits in

the middle as their boon. The head of the household, STEVE

FLACK, is sporting a cast on his right leg, while his

crutches are propped against the fridge behind him. His wife

MICHELLE sits to his left, a mug of tea sitting in front of

her. A seven year-old girl, FAYE, the youngest human member

of the family, sits on the floor next to her dog, DAVE. He

is a rather portly, brown cocker spaniel, sitting upright,

tongue and tail wagging in unison as Faye scratches behind

his ears.

MICHELLE

I must say, I could do with a nice

pedicure, bin a while now and my

(MORE)

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 27.

MICHELLE (cont’d)toes are startin’ to look like

bloody Twiglets.

Michelle’s lipsticked lips smack as she chews her gum

loudly, while stroking a nail file across her fingers. Steve

is sipping a can of Special Brew as he leans back in his

chair.

STEVE

Give off Shell, where’s the point

in spending fifty quid on your

feet? ... Your hair’s what needs

doin’!

MICHELLE

Or o’ course we could always get

somethin’ to cover up that big

’ole?

STEVE

What big ’ole?

MICHELLE

Ya mouth, love.

Steve knocks back a long swig from his can, grunting in

retort, while Michelle removes the chewing gum from her

mouth to take a sip from her mug, before replacing the gum

between her teeth.

FAYE

Little Davey could do with a puppy

make-over... All his extensions

have come off now.

DAVE

(sub conscious)

You stay the hell away from me, you

cruel, twisted witch... Or I’ll

bite off that pretty little nose of

yours, then we’ll see who needs a

bloody make-over!

Michelle turns to her daughter on the floor.

MICHELLE

Oh no dear, I don’t think so, it’s

a lot o’ moneh for him to just

scratch them all out again.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 28.

FAYE

But Davey did find the money, and

he looked sooo cute!

DAVE

(sub conscious)

I looked like Beyonce after she’d

been dragged through a fucking

hedge!

MICHELLE

I know love, but we need to make

sure we spend it on something

worthwhile, s’all.

She smiles at her daughter who nods in resignation. Michelle

then turns back to her nails.

STEVE

I tell ya what, that’d be enough

for a couple o’ tickets to Bolton -

Wigan on Saturday...

MICHELLE

Oh but I bloody ’ate football,

Steve.

STEVE

I know ya do, s’why I was gonna ask

Barry if e’d go.

MICHELLE

You really are a thoughtless tw-

FAYE

Davey said he’d like to go to the

beach for the day, can we do that?

He loved it last time we went.

Dave’s eyes widen and he turns, puffing his chest out, to

Faye.

DAVE

(sub conscious)

You lying little bitch! Why on

earth would I want to go there

again? The floor wasn’t even

stable, for crying out loud! Who

knows what depths we could crumble

away into!

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 29.

STEVE

I know what we should do wi’ the

moneh...

Steve leans forward, smirking at the ingenius plan he’d come

up with, waiting for recognition. Michelle turns to him

expectantly.

MICHELLE

Well, what is it?

STEVE

What we do right, is we take this

babeh down’t bank, we chuck it in

one o’ them high interest accounts

and just watch our moneh, make more

moneh!

Steve kicks back in his chair, tilting his can into his

smiling mouth before slamming it down onto the table

triumphantly.

FAYE

But what about Davey? How much is

he going to get?

DAVE

(sub conscious)

Oh do shut up.

MICHELLE

(to steve)

Are you as thick as two short

planks or wha’?

STEVE

Eh?

MICHELLE

That’ll never work, ya fat spanner.

STEVE

Why not?

MICHELLE

Well you only get money from that

if the bank is interested in your

account don’t cha. What the ’ell is

interestin’ about us, eh?

Steve looks down at the table for a moment, thinking.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 30.

STEVE

Well, we could open the account in

a funny name? Then they’d be

interested.

FAYE

Open it in Dave’s name. I bet no

other dogs have bank accounts, they

usually just bury all their money

in the ground.

DAVE

(sub conscious)

I believe you are mistaking me for

a filthy, little labrador. That

kind of racist talk’ll get you

bitten out on the streets.

SCRIPT FOURTEEN: JOIN THE BEATS - GANGSTER CONFRONTATION

INT./EXT. BOB’S BAR - NIGHT

The frequency of New York taxis beeping their horns has

slowed. Distant police sirens can be heard amongst the

concrete jungle of Manhattan. MARTY throws the last mouthful

of Jack and coke down his throat and exits Bob’s Bar. He

throws his jacket around his shoulders and perches his hat

atop his head. He lights up a cigarette and stands outside

for a few moments, scaling the surrounding streets with his

eyes. After a few long drags he drops the cigarette to the

floor, pocketing his hands and moving on down the road. As

he does so, a HOODED FIGURE leaning on the wall behind him,

follows.

Hands still in his pockets, Marty strolls casually along the

pavement, taking in the neon signs and billboards as he does

so. The hooded figure still pursues, lumbering along some

ten yards behind.

Marty turns down a side alley. His stalker follows, but

stops when he is met by a towering wall of shadowy darkness.

He stands there for a moment, contemplating whether or not

to continue his pursuit. His mind is made up when the light

from a match lights up a cigarette, illuminating Marty’s

face. The stalker’s eyes narrow menacingly.

MARTY

Good evening Joey. You know when

you’re following someone, you’re

supposed to stay a lot farther back

than that. I would’ve thought

(MORE)

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 31.

MARTY (cont’d)they’d teach you that over at the

station.

Joey stops a few paces before Marty, narrowing his eyes

further, balling his fists.

JOEY

You been following me? How’d you

know I been squealin’?

MARTY

I know many things, Joey... Yes, I

do indeed know that you’re the

snitch who set us up back in New

Jersey... Of course, you weren’t to

know that it’s me you have thank

for not lettin’ Frankie find out...

Joey grimaces as he remembers the events that Marty is

retelling.

MARTY

How could you do that, Joey, let me

set up your own brother, to take

your fall... How was it, watching

his intestines fall out of his

body, and collapse in a heap on

your mother’s carpet? But, of

course again, you didn’t know that

it was me who’d helped you out.

JOEY

I... I couldn’t-

Marty tags a long drag from his cigarette, lighting up the

darkness in his eyes.

MARTY

You’re a coward, Joey. A

yellow-bellied, dirty, little

chicken, who runs off to the feds

as soon as he gets the tiniest

little sniff of potential failure.

Joey’s head bows. He speaks in nothing more than a whisper.

JOEY

Who knows?

MARTY

I beg your pardon?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 32.

JOEY

Who’ve you told about me?

Marty flicks the ashes from the end of his cigarette.

MARTY

What makes you think I’ve told

anybody Joey? How could I profit

from that?

Joey swiftly draws a knife from under his coat, jerking it

upwards to eye-level and pointing it at Marty, who throws

his cigarette to the floor.

JOEY

Well I suppose I could just gut you

right here then, make it look like

you’re the other snitch, and then

get on with my life as Frankie’s

new right-hand man.

He moves closer to Marty, pressing the end of the blade

against his chest.

MARTY

That’s quite a plan, but you’ve

made one little mistake in your

concoction... Obstacles... Always,

plan, for obstacles...

Marty shifts his weight to reveal a revolver in his right

hand, pointing at Joey’s stomach. Joey looks up in shock,

wide-eyed, before the flash and bang of a gunshot. His face

contorts in pain as he falls to the floor. Marty kneels down

next to him, clearing his throat and parading the gun in

front of Joey face.

MARTY

Beautiful things these aren’t they?

Hard to believe that they’re just

standard issue for coppers... So

are these actually...

Marty reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a police

badge.

MARTY

These are handed out to us as well,

as it goes.

Joey looks at the badge and back into Marty’s eyes, yet more

pain spreading across them. His mouth opens but he cannot

muster any words to come out.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 33.

MARTY

Sleep tight, Joey... Say hi to your

brother for me.

Marty stands up, lighting another cigarette, flicking back

his Zippo vigorously and pocketing his hands again as he

walks off into the night.

SCRIPT FIFTEEN: RHYTHMIC DIALOGUE - CAR CRASH INCIDENT

EXT. OUTSIDE HOUSE - DAY

The summer sun bears down upon the suburban streets,

heightening the tension of the conflict below. The sunlight

dances on the cracked windscreen of a BMW 5 Series, it’s

bonnet crumpled and crooked. A big, black Range Rover sits

almost unscathed next to it, a grinning, middle-aged WOMAN

behind the wheel. A good-looking MAN of similar age comes

running from the five-bedroom house of which the cars are

parked outside. His face is aghast with his hands raised

above his head.

MAN

What the absolute Holy mother of

Christ have you done?

The woman, smirk now gone from her face, exits her vehicle

and meets the man next to the heap of metal that used to be

his car.

MAN

What did you do?

WOMAN

Is your phone broken?

MAN

What? Why is my car smashed up?

WOMAN

Is your phone broken?

MAN

No my phone isn’t broken, which is

more than I can say for my bloody

car!-

WOMAN

Then why haven’t you returned my

calls?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 34.

MAN

Excuse me?

WOMAN

Why haven’t you returned my calls?

MAN

Who are you?

WOMAN

Don’t play games with me, you know

who I am.

The man stands before the woman, incredulous, his hands now

by his sides. She leans on one leg with her arms folded

across her chest and lips pursed.

MAN

Are you that unknown number who

keeps calling me up?

WOMAN

Oh so you have seen my calls then,

hmm?

The man continues to stare wide-eyed at the woman, before

standing upright and tilting his head back suspiciously.

MAN

I want your contact details, now.

Name, address, phone number,

everything, we’re gonna get this

mess sorted.

The woman’s expression changes to excitement.

WOMAN

Oh I thought you’d never ask, baby,

here give me your hand...

She takes a pen from her pocket and gestures for the man to

hold out his hand. He declines by turning to his car and

taking a notepad from inside the car door. As he slams it

closed, the wing mirror falls to the floor. He snatches the

pen from her hand and flips to a clean page.

MAN

What’s your name?

WOMAN

Ohh why don’t you guess?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 35.

MAN

Just tell me your name.

WOMAN

Geeuuss.

MAN

Just tell me your fucking name,

woman!

WOMAN

That was a bit rude don’t you

think, hun?

MAN

I don’t give a damn, god damn it.

WOMAN

Oh you are tetchy today, aren’t

you? Why don’t we go inside and

I’ll give you a massage.

She reaches out to stroke the man’s hair affectionately, but

he meets her act with hostility, beating her hand away with

his. She stares daggers at him, slowly clasping her struck

hand.

WOMAN

Well someone just talked their way

out of a happy ending.

The man steps forward, closer to the recoiling woman with

every point in his speech.

MAN

I don’t want a happy ending, I

don’t want a massage and I don’t

want any more of these stupid

bloody games!

WOMAN

Well, if you’re going to be like

that, I think I’ll go stay at my

sister’s tonight.

She turns away from the man and marches, chin aloft, back to

her car, turning back as she opens the door.

WOMAN

Don’t call me until you’re willing

to have a mature conversation. I

don’t care much for having another

argument like this one.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 36.

The man stares, speechless. He looks down at the

registration plate of the Range Rover and then at the car

itself and begins to wander towards it, his brow furrowing.

MAN

Hang on... This is my girlfriend’s

car...

WOMAN

Of course it is, silly.

MAN

How did you get it?

WOMAN

You know, Daddy bought it for me a

while ago, I do love the colour-

MAN

This is not your car.

WOMAN

Ohhh, you’re funny baby, haha you

got me, well done.

MAN

Listen to me you psycho little

bitch, you tell me how the fuck you

got this car right now or so help

me, I will strap you down to a

chair ’til the police get here.

WOMAN

Oh yeah? We can use my pink, fluffy

handcuffs if you’d like, hun?

She strokes her finger down his chest seductively. The man

roughly grabs her by the shoulders but she wriggles free and

tries to climb into the car. He pulls her back and slams the

door shut, pushing the woman against the metallic black

paint with his hand before looming over her threateningly

and speaking in a hushed tone.

MAN

What have you done?

WOMAN

Baby, you’re scaring me.

MAN

Where’s Rachel?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: 37.

WOMAN

Who’s Rachel?

MAN

My girlfriend.

WOMAN

You mean you’ve been messing around

with some skank behind my b-

MAN

Drop the act, lady! Tell me!

WOMAN

That’s not how we ask, is it?

MAN

Tell me!

WOMAN

... No.

MAN

Please tell me... Before my car

isn’t the only thing that gets

broken today.

WOMAN

I’m sure she’s fine.

MAN

What the hell does that mean?

WOMAN

It means she shouldn’t have gone

knockin’ around with another

woman’s boyfriend! The fat,

flat-chested hoe...

A police siren is heard coming around the corner of the

street. As the two hear this, the woman pulls a can of

pepper spray from her pocket, using it on the man. He cries

out in pain and staggers back, tripping on the curb and

falling to the floor, clutching his eyes. The woman runs in

the direction of the approaching siren, her high heels

clipping and clapping on the road as she shouts out.

WOMAN

Help! This man tried to run me

over! Help!