An Original Motion Picture - Script
Third Revision
Written by: L T Hunter
[Tight shot of man’s face in the blackened reflection of an
opened laptop computer monitor, the unlit however reflective
surface of its screen. Hope, and desperation. Icicles on his
face, running nose, cheeks red and flushed, the hard breath
hanging in the cold air. Cut: From behind him as narration
begins, he sits in front of his sleek plastic laptop computer.
The scene cuts back and forth from various angles to reveal
distances, angles showing isolation, and how he sits alone
with a small material posession far from any civilation. Small
whisps of crystalized snow beating against the barely visible
wreck of airplane. Cut: Tight shot of edges of case where damage
occured from a high-speed impact. Toward end of first, pan to
the “on” symbol, represented in an oversized button.]
Narrator:
‘I named her CarLisa. I picked an old name, for a new computer. I’ve loved fast muscle-cars, and the first I ever drove, had been built by my first girlfriend Lisa. My best friend since I was nine was named Carl; he died in an ‘accident’ with a drunk-driver, that same week Lisa left in her hot rod, for college then her career. Love and heartache, I believe, is the embodiment of technology. Sometimes, at least for me, I tend to name things important to me. It tends to alienate some, since most never stick around to hear the backstory. It’s the fact that loss isn’t always felt until after it happens. I didn’t want to try a startup, especially in subzero temperatures. In fact, I’d never tried to turn a computer on outside, let alone here. I had to know. All the research, all the photos, all the answers were behind that black screen. My last computer ended up as a chock for the frathouse pool table. I guess, I tend to be hard on equipment. But, this one had been built by a pro. All I can do is cross my fingers.’
[Cut: Tight shot of man’s face in the blackened reflection
of an opened computer monitor. Icicles on his face, cheeks
red and flushed, the hard breath hanging in the cold air.
Cut: From behind him as narration begins, he sits in front
of his sleek plastic laptop computer.
Cut: Back to blackened reflection, then illuminated to white,
which is instantly replaced by a fancy, generic start-up screen.
Cut: Tight shot of man’s bloodshot eyes, a tear from worry,
lack of food and no sleep.]
Computer voice:
‘Battery detected. Now in power saver mode.’
[Cut: The first vocal outburst from the computer speaker
should be unexpected. The man sweeps off a small whisp
of snow that blows across the keyboard. Cut: Back to his
hopeful and anticipating eyes. Cut: To the very thin
segmented row of lights, that turned from all but faint red,
slowly to slightly brighter amber, then to a very deep and
satisfying green glow. Cut: The wind dies down to nothing,
stillness, in the audio mix, true silence settles, as the
straining sounds can barely make out a whirring almost servo
like noise coming from within the thin piece of plastic.
Movements in his clothing, clothes rubbing together are thunderous
by comparison. The computer voice repeats itself briefly,
unexpectedly. It’s an eerie female voice, obviously a hodge-podge
digital recording controlled by a computer. The female voice
is somewhat slower than seems it should be, but only in metered
speed, not in pitch or duration. The volume and mix should
incline a person to listen more closely, however not strain
to hear. The voice is soft, demure, somewhat sensual, even
slightly lonely itself. The second outburst from the slender,
sleek, laptop computer should be equally unexpected, causing even
more anticipation.
Cut: Series of visuals should show the futility of technology
when compared with the truth of nature, an arctic deserted desert.
A man looking for answers with no one, and nothing else around
for miles, alone and very much in trouble.]
Computer voice:
‘Running full system scan, please wait.’
Narrator:
‘Looked good so far. Although she was acting rather wierd. It should just jump through the hoops for a bit, and show me some pictures from the hard-drive while it runs a self diagnostic. I had been somewhat prepared for the unexpected, having filled the tiny box with every book in the library, and a hundred years of research. I had a setup for it to give me audible cues, even read me from the archive, and to recognize my voice; realizing that in the artic I’d more than likely be wearing mittens. Besides, just like my mentor, I can’t type anyways. The last expedition had sent him, along with an old mechanical typewriter that must have failed at some point, with little documentation from the endeavor ever to make it back to the office.’
Computer voice:
‘Running full system scan, please wait.’
Narrator:
‘Just the sound of a woman’s voice was enough to bring almost total calm. Perhaps it goes back to my childhood. The need for reassurance that everything would be alright. In a lot of ways, I was totally nuts for voluteering for this trip. Ironically, the screen saver photos started rolling by of Snoopy and the flying doghouse. I guess, if I was one of the peanuts, then I’d be Linus, and this marvelous piece of plastic would be my security blanket. It was the nucleus of my research equipment, since the satellite phone, global positioning system, sensors, remote cameras, everything, all plugged into it and recorded, compiled and transmitted my work. My helper, confidant, and secretary. Only annoying thing was that I had to say her name everytime, to get her attention just like my first girlfriend.’
Computer voice:
‘Complete. Ready.’
Narrator:
‘CarLisa, open comm., dial home.’
Computer voice:
‘Opening communications channel. Searching for network. Error 9221.’
Narrator:
‘CarLisa, cancel. Open comm., dial home.’
Computer voice:
‘Opening communications channel. Searching for network. Error 9221.’
Narrator:
‘CarLisa, cancel. Record voice.’
Computer voice:
‘Recording. Say ‘Break’ three times to end recording.’
‘This is Leo. It is day two, of the expedition to find Lupis Base. I have crashlanded approximately five hours into small aircraft flight north-northwest of nearest major civilized community. My pilot is dead. I am alone. I’m unable call for help or even to make a simple broadcast or signal of my position at this point. I am going over options. I have little food, water, or method for making and sustaining a fire. I am uninjured, however somewhat shaken by the past forty-eight hours. I am going to assemble everything I can salvage from the wreckage. I will enter it, for a revised inventory. Sorry guys, if this is the only thing you find that’s left behind, I guess you won the bet after all. Leo out. Break, break, break.’
Computer voice:
‘End recording. Do you wish to replay?’
Narrator:
‘No CarLisa. Cancel. Save recording. Send to home.’
Computer voice:
‘Recording saved. Searching for network. Error 9221.’
‘Recording added outgoing-queue folder will be sent ‘home.’ [editor note: misspelled ‘cue’, my bad]
Narrator:
‘CarLisa, Open EarthMap. Show current position.’
Computer voice:
‘Opening EarthMap. GPS Detected. You are here.’
Narrator:
‘CarLisa measure distance from current position, to point…’
[After a lengthy stall, several cuts at various
distances, one at five hundred yards from his position,
one at a half a mile, one at one mile, last cut at a mile
and a half from him with the last cut using a wider-angle
lens to take in even more of the scene. The framing should
maintain continuity so that the viewer doesn’t seem to
readily lose perspective of where the subject is as the
camera retreats. The man alone at the center of the lake
should remain framed at center of screen reguardless of the
distance in the series of cuts, and the camera pulls away.
Cut: Tight shot of bottom of screen, framing in part of the
keyboard, once again covered by a small bit of snow, and ice
chips wiped from his face.
Cut: Tight shot showing his mouth, exhaling in the cold, his
lips beginning to turn colors. Cut: Tight shot of the bottom
of the screen as the text is written across the quips of marquee
subtitling the female computer voice, which interrupts his
long thoughtful silence, since no second point had been indicated.]
Computer voice:
‘Repeat request.’
Narrator:
‘CarLisa measure distance from current, to point…’
Computer voice:
‘Repeat request.’
[Cut: Back and forth between shot from behind man in front
of screen, to distant shot encompassing his position on lake.
After second repeat request, man stands up, looks around.
Walks in a circle. Several times, pausing, looking in around.
Cut: Then returns to his perch in front of the screen.]
Narrator:
Problem is what to ask at this point. Let alone, how to get to another on the map. I decided to continue my search for whatever I could find, sift through the ashes so to speak, and try to put together a survival stragedy. Maybe there was enough time left, before the sun disappeared again. On the bright side though, there was actually more daylight tomorrow. According to the weather and location data from the GPS. Five minutes more, in fact, from today. Things will get better, I just have to keep telling myself that. Five more minutes of light. I needed every second I could get, since I knew at some point out here in the wild, it would end up being a race against time.
Computer voice:
‘Stand-by mode. Press any key.’ Screen goes blank. Amber light glows.
[Man continues to search through wreckage. Next series of
cuts/shots review his inventory. These occur rapidly, as he
fights to stay warm. Background orchestral theme, entire brass
of orchestra, versus lone violin, playing opposite piano,
in a call and answer. The violin his search, the piano the
discovery of an item, and the overature the weather slowly
closing in again, becoming more and more windy, the sun passing
across the horizon, with a moon already somewhat visible although
the sun had yet to fall from the sky.]
_______________________________________End of Scene
1 year ago
