Script created with Final Draft by B.C. Software, Inc.
Script created with Final Draft by B.C. Software, Inc.
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"TANGLED WIRES"
BY
CHARLES R. FOX
Chuck Fox
877.810.8691
website@thinkvision.com
"Tangled Wires"
FADE IN:
INT. TELEVISION NEWS STUDIO - LIVE
PRODUCTION TITLES
The frame is of a TELEVISION IMAGE and has been CROPPED to
the CENTER POSITION of film frame.
ON ANCHOR
He is a "Walter Cronkite" authority figure. Briefly AD-LIBS
trivial minutae, then--
PULLING BACK
we reveal a large and grotesquely American rendition of the
"Election 2000" set and light design.
ANCHOR
More on Election Two-thousand...
Campaign for this, the new millenium!
DISSOLVE TO
The logo of Macrosoft.
ANNOUNCER
Election two-thousand... brought to you
by Macrosoft. Recognized as the world
leader in democratic voting tabulation
solutions. Solutions for today,
tomorrow, and...the next time.
(beat)
Where we going? We're going Macrosoft!
(hip and 70's soulful)
That's right! We goin' Soft!
FADE OUT
BLACK FRAME - THREE SECONDS, THEN--
MUSIC: HARRY CHAPIN, "Remember when the music came from
wooden boxes strung from silver
wire..."
SUPER IN WHITE:
Through clever and constant application of
propaganda, people can be made to see paradise
as hell, and also the other way around; to
consider the most wretched sort of life as
paradise.
Adolph Hitler
German Dictator
BEAT, CONTINUING
You may fool all of the people some of the time;
you can even fool some of the people all of the
time. But you can not fool all of the people all
of the time.
Abraham Lincoln
U.S. President
BEAT, THEN
I travel, walking in the muck that sustains this world
built of hype, awaiting the pain I'll feel when my toe
cuts hard and real against the truth.
Griff Jambo
Rock and Roll Production Manager
SUPER OUT
MUSIC UNDER
FADE IN:
EXT. BIG CITY SKYLINE - NIGHT
Establishing. A CUTTING BREEZE hazards against the
structurally galvanized canyons of corporate darkness.
INTERCUT - WIDGETS TRAVERSING ASSEMBLY LINE - COUNTERPOINT
The images viscerally POUNCE and DELINEATE against the
architecture and man-devised mechanic.
MOVING, TO
Industrial-age office building. Pretentious. Gothic.
Gargoyles.
MUSIC: ROLLING STONES, "Sympathy for The Devil" ("...and
who killed the Kennedy's...")
ON GARGOYLES
INTERCUT - PAST WORLD MISCREANTS AND A SHADOW - STACCATO
END ON SHADOW
INT. HIGH-LEVEL EXECUTIVE BOARDROOM - NIGHT
Old, and completely stenching a fragrance reminiscent of
industrialized must dominated by a strict mildew-laced
posturing.
A group of very powerful intriguers AD-LIB rhetorical dogma.
The dimly lit environment has no direct intention of
divulging body or feature.
Walls tacked and offering some of the finest art power can
buy.
The men play in shadow. Attire and active mannerisms reflect
light. Never complete people.
They remain men of discreet and utterly invisible power.
Foreign of the common mind.
Their pursuit is not a nature born of altruism, but out of
the complicated manipulation of a complacent society.
Their specific is a delusional status quo rendering of their
"capitalistic democracy."
MALE VOICE #2
Next discussion...
MALE VOICE #4
On the previous exchange?
MALE VOICE #5
What? We don't pass it on? What?
MALE VOICE #2
No difference.
MALE VOICE #5
Heard this shit before.
OTHER MALE
(looking for the "other guy"
connect)
Say...we pass it on!
MALE VOICE #5
Radical stench on this, what will remain
before us!
MALE VOICE #3
(to #5; angered)
Shit! Look! We don't provide customer
service, do we? This the position we've
assigned our business?
INSERT - EXT. DALLAS NIGHTCLUB - DISTORTED FRAME
MUSIC: INDIGO GIRLS, "Pushing the needle too far."
A LARGE NUMBER of MEN disembark a chartered bus. They arrive
for a federal drug agents' bachelor party.
BACK TO BOARDROOM
MALE VOICE #1
(with authority and effect)
Inevitably gentlemen, we will achieve our
specific.
MALE VOICE #2
(on top of #1; cold delivery)
...beginning with an external focus that
offers a quick relaxation to the current
paradigm...
MALE VOICE #5
(interrupting)
Guess we've ruled out sphincter relaxants
this operation?
INSERT - EXT. NIGHTCLUB
RAUCOUS. UNSTABLE. MANIC.
Nestled in the front, against the ENTERING CROWD, stands HANK
SPECIAL, twenty eight year-old DEA agent/bachelor.
JOHN FORESTOR, Undersecretary for the Department of Health,
hangs next to Hank.
MALE VOICE #1 (OC)
Remember gentlemen, exclusivity...
BACK TO BOARDROOM
MALE VOICE #1
(waving his arm, as if
cancelling out)
...without regard for association.
ON THE BOYS
responding in the affirmative.
MALE VOICE #6
Department of Health?
MUSIC: PSYCHEDELIC FURS, "President Gas." (mid-lyric)
MALE VOICE #1
(on red phone)
Rock, you in? You on the line?
(listening)
What?
(to the telco guys)
This line workin' for me?
(with disdain)
Fuckin' telco! Droppin' the stankie
stained fiber optic on us, then what?
(beat; looking around)
Anybody got a clue on the telco?
Where's my broadband, baby?
The telco boys know when to hold them and shut up.
MALE VOICE #1 (CONT'D)
(continuing)
Telco?
(beat; perturbed)
It's on, right?
PRESIDENT ROCK (OC)
(filtered through phone)
Uh huh...sir. I'm, uh...working the line
sir...
(beat)
And...I in, sir.
MALE VOICE #1
Listen, Rock! The spot the guys are
heavin' New Hampshire -- let's just say
this -- it's testing like a big fuckin'
crack joke in the city, pal!
(beat; smiling to guys)
We say you put balls on it, George, it'll
walk all the way downtown Peoria. No
refueling! Got it?
(good chuckle)
You saw the Leno gag? Know the one?
(with purpose)
I got pursed lips on "my line," Rock?
PRESIDENT ROCK (OC)
Tightly sir.
(through phone)
We...well...we pulled it.
MALE VOICE #1
(the controller)
Damn right we jerked it off, Georgie!
(beat)
Now don't you go put the fuckin' spin on
forgetting!
He hangs up the phone. Rock remains on speaker phone.
INSERT - EXT. NIGHTCLUB ENTRANCE - DISTORTED
(INDIGO GIRLS)
Hank and John are being held up by someone claiming with loud
posture of authority to be the CLUB MANAGER. Never offering
himself, he resides in SHADOW. A young Jack Valenti.
They enter into a HEATED VERBAL EXCHANGE.
SCUFFLE - ACTIVE ENGAGEMENT
John stands to the side as Hank and The Manager go to the
rope.
MALE VOICE #5 (OC)
And the level of trust?
MALE VOICE #2 (OC)
Trust, Bernie...
(beat)
will always remain our option.
Hank pulls his revolver.
The gun GOES OFF, missing The Manager.
The Manager pulls out his unit, aims toward Hank, then quite
pointedly reels toward John's direction.
BANG
John is HIT HEAVILY upside the cranium.
BRAWL ensues. FIGHT.
The Manager receives a very slight leg-wound.
Hank stumbles unfazed by the firepower.
John comatose and pronounceable. Pure plexus blowout!
MALE VOICE #2 (OC)
Merely "spec," brothers.
BACK TO BOARDROOM
MALE VOICE #3
And the "Dark" paper?
MALE VOICE #5
God-damn media-crap! Shit,
Henry! Look here...
(to guy #2)
Tito...
(drawing question)
More what?
GROUP REACTIONS
MALE VOICE #5
Even now, looking at the dark-end of this
fat ass...
(beat)
How further will we go? The background
this one purports to be, looks a solid
strategy. Looks, gentlemen! Looks!
We "boys" stuck on the position of ego,
again. Think.
(beat)
Smart early.
MALE VOICE #2
(interrupting)
Hey! Slow down, Speed Racer! We
appreciate your concerns. Duly noted
as we pass...
POV - SWEEPING PAN
MALE VOICE #2
...them about the room.
INSERT - EXT. NIGHTCLUB - DEAD BODY - MINICAM VIDEO
(INDIGO GIRLS)
DALLAS POLICE and LOCAL DEA analyze and track the dark event.
MEDIA CREWS blaze HOT LIGHT on the work detail.
Cockroaches scurry. Though it really seems a directed
effort.
MALE VOICE #2 (OC)
(interrupting)
The media squelches pipe, Bobby.
They push the Brillo.
(to #5)
They relax their sphincters.
Slight laugh from the boys
MUSIC - INDIGO OUT
BACK TO BOARDROOM
MALE VOICE #2
(continuing; to media)
Jack?
John "Jack" Turner, media magnate, nods in shadow.
MALE VOICE #5
Well, since my muscles have become
relaxed, my asshole's spitting a bit more
"Chore Boy" than I expected, my friends!
MALE VOICE #1
Option remains...
(to the "fellas")
Per usual, fellas.
They SNORT in unified agreement.
MALE VOICE #2
(following #1's lead)
Hot money will finance. Specific
accounts are currently soft. With
respect, they reside in your folio.
INT. ROCK CONCERT - NIGHT
MUSIC: JOHN MELLANCAMP, "You Got To Stand For Something...
or you'll fall for anything"
Show is over. The road crew begins another rigorous load
out.
FINAL TITLES - SERIES OF SHOTS - TECHNICAL LOAD-OUT
Ending on multi-cable DROPPING from the lighting truss into a
road case.
INSERT - INSIDE OF ROAD CASE
MAIN TITLE IN:
"TANGLED WIRES"
BACK TO SCENE - WIRES DROPPING
PULLING BACK
Various CREW MEMBERS wig about quickly.
WIDER, REVEALING
GRIFF JAMBO, somewhat large and ominous man, arrives--
IN FRAME
GRIFF
(looming; pointing)
Watch the tangle, boys. Figure eight...
CREW MEMBER
(mock interruption)
...Makes it straight.
BIG BOUNCE, very large black male in a yellow security
jacket, nears Griff and motions--
BIG BOUNCE
Yo, Holmes. Check me on this pancake I
be flap-jackin'-- this moment in rock
history.
Griff stops to greet Big Bounce.
BIG BOUNCE (CONT'D)
(continuing)
Got these guys, claiming they be rollin'
wit' the Treasury and shit -- I mean,
they got dem' official bogus lookin'
laminates on it -- be trying to snake up
their hypin' asses all the way back to
the camp. Keep triply babbling stuff
like...National Security...like "Jimmies"
are "fuckin' on the Hoffa" or somethin'
about the bitch "Sinatra and Nancy
Reagan..."
(beat; stern look)
Understand this, Holmes...we be the
fuckin' Treasury this show. "Nam" or no
"Nam" to these guys!
GRIFF
Sorry, Bounce.
Bounce discharges.
GRIFF (cont'd)
Guess that means clearance...
In the b.g., KENNY, Griff's assistant production manager and
chief background specialist systematically tracks near and
behind Griff.
BIG BOUNCE
I be seein' a sitaution that seem to be
'bout as fucked as that time we saw
McNamara squirting 'round that Vietnamese
bathhouse...
(beat)
Fuck! Shit on my desktop, Griffy! Doin'
"dis' and dat'" with them lobbyists. You
on the "gold paint," bro?
GRIFF
(loudly; to crew around him)
Kenny!
(looks to Kenny)
Come on, Kenny! Sound trucks will rock
my dock, now boys!
(to Bounce)
Look to you like I'm workin' like Freddie
Thompson spinnin' that good ol' campaign
reform left over, Iran-Contra
microwavables. You tagging me for
something as sinister as that, Bounce?
BIG BOUNCE
Whoa, Dennis Miller! What about that
loose bugger "huanging" on sloopy at the
China-White-House?
GRIFF
Huang, no Huang, huh?
BIG BOUNCE
You said it. I tried!
GRIFF
(smile)
Old school chum. Though mind you,
Bounce...
(cajoling)
He may think he's the "hot money" in D.C.
-- when he ain't nuthin' but warmin' up
on top your ass snot this hive, B.B.!
BIG BOUNCE
(as Ray Charles)
And the sun, it roll around Heaven all
day...
(on walkie talkie)
Bring um on, Cleatus...
(smiling; to Griff)
Clear as the light of day.
GRIFF
(loud; to working crew)
Load it out! Bus rocks on in fifty
hertz! Sock check, circle jerks.
(to Bounce)
Thanks, B.B..
BIG BOUNCE
(to Griff; friendly)
Ropin' fuckin' poetry...singin' dem'
purty words...all with skanky smellin'
chicken gristle spillin' out yo' mouth,
my man!
(quick smile)
Check ya' next time, Holmes.
A smiling Griff nears the production office.
FOLLOWING HIM ARE THREE FEDS.
The one wearing the "GOP Rules" baseball cap and "Metallica"
T-shirt is PUB, twenty-something Presidential aide. A
"republican" Stenapholous
He ambles toward Griff.
The other two are SWAMP and ROCKY, concert attired Treasury
agents and partying friends of Pub.
Pub sniffles repeatedly, owing to narcotic supplied via pouch
of diplomacy.
FRAME FOLLOWS--
.
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Script created with Final Draft by B.C. Software, Inc.