A very early script for a movie that was eventually shot without one. The final "animal game" movie was very different from this ...
[A basement, not mine. A young fellow of about 18 years of age, tall and generous of proportion, a local sort but not unthinkable as a movie star, is turning on a small camcorder in a very unfortunate and rough way. We will call him, for reasons that will be made clear later, RABBIT. He and most of the other characters are never given "real" names anywhere in the movie. As we fade, shakily, from black, he sets the camera safely on a tripod and sits down in front of it. He is, perhaps, holding a script, bound and marked "The Animal Game."]
RABBIT: Hello. ... (laughs, catches himself) You see, I've stepped out of character already. In a movie, you're not supposed to do that, you're not supposed to look at the camera, or acknowledge its presence, or the imagined presence of an audience, somewhere in the future. By saying "hello," I have done more than just extend a small, friendly greeting to you, whoever you are, the people I imagine in my head who will be watching this footage sometime in some conceivable future, should it ever be edited together well enough to be watched. But never mind. I'm proud to have just broken the rules and ruined the entire movie, in the first shot. I'm proud, and very glad! Do you want to know why? (laughs) The reason is, that this is not a movie. Not a real one, anyway. I bought this camcorder early last week, with the very last of my very own money, eight hundred dollars worth to be exact, including insurance, and I'm using it now because I want to capture on tape forever, in living color for all the world to see, a very important time in my life. I am using this camera to record my last moments on earth. I am about to die. I don't want to die, nor do I have any reason to. I don't have any terminal illness, to pull on your heartstrings and make you feel for me in my plight. I'm not about to commit suicide either, and no one is coming to kill me. But I am going to die, I promise you that. You wanna know how I know? Don't think this is stupid, because it's not. I know this now, with every cell and fiber in my body, because every night, for the past six nights, I've had the same damn dream. I'm walking home, when a, a strange buzzing begins in my ears. I-it hurts, more than anything I've ever felt, ever. And the wind stops dead all around me and it's hard to breathe, like there's no air at all only there is air, it's just that someone has stolen it. And this weird, awful cold wind flies up my back, as if it's trying to tell me something. I know at that point that I am being stalked by death, and I think, this is awful, it's just like something out of some bad movie, you know? Because I always thought that if death did come to get you, that death would have more style than that, than that cheap horror movie shit. And still all the time I'm scared shitless. It's awful. And I'm covering my ears but it only makes the-the buzzing, the ringing, it only makes it worse, and the air is standing still, like it's protesting or something, and it's warm, but a scary warm, a dead warm, a warm that's supposed to be cold. And it feels like static, like when somebody's pulled the cable out of the tv and left it running, at maximum volume, so all you see is the jangling snow, with its weird hiss, hiss, hiss that doesn't say anything but which leaves you cold all over, you know? And you see all sorts of weird shapes in the snow, and it's all scary. The cold bit, it was like that, like being chased by video static. Which is silly too. Only it's not, it's awful, because I know I'm gonna die. And I try to scream, but nothing comes out, because the air's too still to carry it, there's only this weak, beaten hissy whine, (ak ... ak ...), and I can't say anything, and I've got no control, and the static I think is slithering like a snake up my right leg, and my right leg goes dead. It's always the right side first. If you're right-handed that's the only side you ever break. And I try to run but I'm, I keep falling on the leg, because it doesn't want to move, it just wants to stay there in the still air and die, and never move again. Even the air, the still warm dead air, keeps pushing me and sticking in my nose, and catching like sand in my lungs, and I'm halway stuck there and halfway crawling, when I think, hey! This is stupid! Death is after me, even if it is a dream, because I've not seen Death. Even in a real freaking arty movie they'd show some hint of death. All I've got is the feeling. I don't even see that staticy snake, I just imagine it. It's all just thoughts, not images, and if you're gonna die in a movie you've got to have images. So I figure hey! I'm gonna live after all. And that's when I'm able to run. And I run inside as fast as I can, go down to my room in the basement and set up this camcorder I just bought, and hook it up to the tv so's I can see myself, and turn it on, and talk about what just happened, so that I don't go crazy. And I start to talk, only the picture starts to go static-y, and I'm trying to ignore it and just talk about the leg and the buzzing and all that, and little zips, little static zips start to streak across the picture, across my face, and across my neck, and it looks like they're cutting me up, but I know it's only picture interference, right? And I know I'm okay, because I haven't got a glimpse of Death yet. And that's when I see it. That's when I see Death. ... [he stops and takes the longest pause in movie history] ... I wake up after that. I've had that dream six nights in a row, every night ever since I bought this camera. I could hardly get to school in the morning I was so scared. It shook me to bits, I'm not afraid to admit it. Anyway, the reason I've turned the camera on now is, today the dream really happened. When I was walking home from school. The buzzing in my ears, the dead air, the static hiss, the dead leg, I dropped to the ground. I was paralyzed. I knew then that I was gonna die. I didn't know when, and I didn't know how. My whole life, gone, like that. I don't care for me too much, but I'm a writer, you know? And an artist, and I never finish anything. How's anybody gonna know how to make sense of my stuff when I'm gone? Anyway, I figured I had this camera, and I bought it to make a movie, with me and some of my friends in it. So if this is gonna be my last couple of hours on earth, I ought to get started right away. I called them up, three of my very best friends, and they're gonna make a movie with me. We're all gonna play animals, and they don't know I'm going to die. Yet. [As he's speaking he is putting on the first touches of a very subtle costume defining him as a rabbit.] See you in a bit. Peace.
---------------- SCENE 2
[roll opening credits over shots of very slowly-falling Barnum crackers - "THE ANIMAL GAME."]
---------------- SCENE 3
RABBIT: (now in full costume) What's my line here? Uh ... (reads notes) ... I AM RABBIT! ... No, that won't work at all. (tears up script)
CAT: (another semi-normally-dressed teen, scruffy and rumpled fedora-wearing, limping with his left leg in a thin cast and holding a large camcorder, opening door and entering) And enter, stage left.
RABBIT: Hello, Floyd.
CAT: (bows) And hello back. What's happening here?
RABBIT: Not much. Just killing time.
CAT: They'll arrest you for that, one of these days. I brought you a camcorder ... ah, but I see you've already got one.
RABBIT: No, it's fine, just set it up over there.
CAT: Never again, my friend, never again. (prepares his own camcorder)
RABBIT: You want to know why I called you here?
CAT: I want to know why you called me here!
RABBIT: You do.
CAT: The question had crossed my mind, yes.
RABBIT: I'm making a movie.
CAT: That I'd guessed. But your tone on the phone belied a more left-handed purpose, o rabbit-suited one. Making a movie isn't normally seen as a red-level emergency. If I didn't know your lack of initiative better I'd have sworn from your audio theatrics that not only had you landed a major Hollywood contract, but that that contract and your set were now on fire!
RABBIT: Nothing quite that pressing, Floyd. Only a minor matter of life and death.
CAT: Movie-making always is. Say no more.
RABBIT: No, Floyd, this is important.
CAT: If it's important, then I must provide all the aid I can. What is this camcorded epic about, exactly?
RABBIT: Can't say for sure. I've not read the script yet.
CAT: Oh, so you didn't write it then.
RABBIT: Oh, I wrote it. But I didn't have time to read it afterward, not yet anyway.
CAT: The old writer's coma, eh? Well, as it happens, my own personal status has changed a bit since we saw each other last. Do you know any professional writers?
RABBIT: I'm a writer, Floyd.
CAT: Not if you don't read your own stuff. A real writer, man, a published writer. How many of those do you know?
RABBIT: Personally? None.
CAT: Well, up that number to one, good sir! Meet Floyd Martini, writer-for-hire!
RABBIT: They published you?
CAT: Yeah!
RABBIT: What'd they publish?
CAT: The one about the guy who goes to Mars, only it's not Mars, and it's all broken-up, and he's not even a man, and he winds up eating himself by mistake.
RABBIT: I told you that was a good one!
CAT: All-consuming fire in the canyons of the blind, man, this is the bigger-than-big time!
RABBIT: Who was it? Who published you?
CAT: I forget, some thing in Oregon. The guy can't pay me or send me copies, but if it lasts beyond the first issue he says he'll call me again!
RABBIT: That's great!
CAT: I know! You really look like a moron in those rabbit ears!
RABBIT: I know!
CAT: I'm going to have to put on something like that next, aren't I?
RABBIT: Exactly!
CAT: Great. Well, as long as I don't have to be a bird, I'm okay with it. I hate birds, they scare me. Birds were not meant for this earth.
RABBIT: (rummaging through props bin on floor) Well, the Hawk costume's out then.
CAT: What's that?
RABBIT: Which that?
CAT: The grey that.
RABBIT: The grey that?
CAT: The grey that.
RABBIT: The grey that's a cat.
CAT: The grey that's a cat?
RABBIT: The grey that's a cat.
CAT: I can play a cat.
RABBIT: You can play a cat?
CAT: I can play a cat. Gimme.
RABBIT: (giving) Given.
CAT: Right. (begins to put on the touches of a cat costume. It suits him. But it's on very much cockeyed, and incomplete.) Ratsballs, I need a mirror for this.
RABBIT: There's a mirror upstairs.
CAT: Upstairs then.
RABBIT: Right, but after that there are a-a few important things I have to let you in on.
CAT: Rewrites, the actor's curse. Let me down gently, I'm fragile.
FOX: (small, socially-awkward yet not-at-all shy fellow who seems to be built of plaid, entering, also holding a much smaller camcorder) Uh, is this the ...
CAT: No.
FOX: I brought the ... (indicates camcorder)
RABBIT: Great.
CAT: Upstairs! Upstairs with you! (shoos him up the stairs) ... (to RABBIT) You didn't tell me you were bringing in outsiders!
RABBIT: You didn't ask.
---------------- SCENE 4
(Upstairs, a large well-lit bathroom mirror. The camera can clearly be seen in the shot, which is a reflection. CAT and FOX are putting final touches on their completed costumes and makeup.)
CAT: Oh, that looks good. In a bad way. You did want to make a bad movie, right?
RABBIT: I don't really know.
FOX: How do I look?
CAT: Like hell. It suits you.
FOX: (to RABBIT) Hey man, like, y'know, I just got here and stuff ...
RABBIT: And stuff.
CAT: That's the important bit.
FOX: I gotta ask ... what is this whole thing about?
RABBIT: Well, it's a movie ...
CAT: I'm in it ...
RABBIT: And it's basically about four teenagers conquering their fear of the world ...
FOX: Three teenagers?
RABBIT: Four teenagers ...
CAT: Don't interrupt the man. (slaps FOX)
RABBIT: They are dressed symbolically, and there is a strange, melancholy quality about the work, because one of the teenagers is about to die. But the others will live on and carry on his work, so long as he can instill the proper amount of spirit in them first. I hope.
FOX: That sounds ... interesting.
(in the distance, a doorbell rings.)
RABBIT: It'll work out. (pats FOX on the shoulder, and runs downstairs to answer the door. FOX and CAT look bewildered at each other.)
FOX: Is ...?
CAT: Y'got.
(They head downstairs to join him. What choice do they have?)
---------------- SCENE 5
[The front door. It is day. HAWK is outside, pressing the doorbell over and over and over again, and pounding it. He is thin, dark and wiry, and wears a long black overcoat, white gloves, and impressive boots. He is holding an old-fashioned Brownie home movie camera from about 1965, and a large sign reading "THE END IS NIGH." RABBIT opens the door, and HAWK jumps back in mild fear and astonishment at RABBIT's rabbity appearance.]
HAWK: Er, yes, well, I suppose you'd have to be. I hope you don't mind me providing my own props. Hold this. [hands RABBIT the "END IS NIGH" sign] Oh, and I brought you a camera. It's four decades old, but it does still work. [He flips something complicated-looking, and it rattles in a working manner. FOX and CAT gasp into view.] Ah, I see the herd's all here. Well.
CAT: Well!
HAWK: Don't repeat me. In fact, never speak again. You've got a movie going here, I take it?
RABBIT: Indeed!
HAWK: I'm in it. I may have trouble learning it, but I'm in it.
RABBIT: Wouldn't be the same without you, really.
HAWK: What is America without God? It is America, of course, any schoolchild knows this, come on Floyd old mate, try to keep up.
CAT: Never again.
HAWK: That's not the least bit clever. I may use it.
RABBIT: Right, well, we'll have to get you into costume upstairs ...
HAWK: Ah, costumes. Costumes are difficult.
RABBIT: Well ...
HAWK: But I respect difficult, you sad, silly small man. Costumes I respect. You, I respect for using costumes. You ... (indicates CAT) I don't know.
RABBIT: We'll have to give you whatever's left. I took the rabbit, he's taken the cat, and he's taken the fox ...
CAT: Oh, so THAT's what you're supposed to be!
(FOX cringes.)
HAWK: If we are the four Beatles in that sad travesty they tried to pass off as a Magical Mystery Film, then I must be John Lennon, for John Lennon was God, and what is God without John Lennon?
CAT: Or America.
HAWK: Watch the tongue or you may find yourself digesting it.
CAT: [dryly] Oh, you tease.
RABBIT: Well, I don't know if a John Lennon costume would fit into our scheme of things ...
HAWK: No, no, you amusingly foolish creation! Not a John Lennon costume, never!
CAT: Never again.
HAWK: Many thanks. Here's a quarter. (produces a quarter and displays it, then returns it to his own pocket) Think now! John Lennon was the walrus. Therefore, if you are making your small zoo here, I must be the walrus.
CAT: We don't have a walrus costume.
HAWK: Sacrilege! Peter Ustinov will be greatly displeased. Never mind, if we must be technical, our Mr. Lennon never wore the walrus costume anyway, it was, it was, it was it was it was it was (hits head) "Here's another clue for you all; the walrus was Paul." Paul McCartney! Probably.
CAT: Paul was dead.
HAWK: The walrus is a symbol of death. John might have done better to back the gentle carpenter instead. I therefore become not the eggman, nor the walrus.
CAT: Goo goo goo joob.
HAWK: Final words of Humpty Dumpty. Don't try to out-joob me, Floyd, I'm twelve hundred and eleven joobs ahead of you and it's not even lunchtime yet.
CAT: [indicates self] It's always lunchtime here.
HAWK: But this is irrelevant.
FOX: I agree.
CAT: It speaks!
RABBIT: There's only one costume we've got left ...
HAWK: John identified with the walrus lyrically, but judging from the video itself, the only one of the english garden squad to sport John's trademark glasses was ....
FOX: Was?
CAT: Was!
HAWK: The birdman!
RABBIT: Ah! Great! Wonderful! The bird man! So you get to wear the hawk costume.
HAWK: (jumps back, offended, mouth agape) You insult me, villain! Have at thee! (he produces a cap gun from nowhere and "shoots" the RABBIT twice before tossing it away.)
RABBIT: What? What's wrong with the Hawk?
FOX: (whistles)
HAWK: THE HAWK IS A SYMBOL FOR WAR! JOHN LENNON STOOD ONLY FOR PEACE!
CAT: Oh, come off it. What do you think you stand for? I'll wager you against a thousand quarters that you'd rather die than be a dove.
HAWK: Point taken. Right. Let's up and hawk me.
(RABBIT and HAWK head upstairs.)
FOX: He's a bit theatrical, isn't he?
CAT: It's his least endearing trait.
(FOX and CAT head upstairs.)
---------------- SCENE 6
(The same shot, from the same angle, a bit later in time. The entire crew is making its meandering way down the stairs. HAWK is now in full makeup.)
FOX: I don't understand the story, is it that they didn't believe in having sex?
CAT: It wasn't that they didn't believe in having sex, it was that they believed in not having sex.
FOX: And so the race died out?
CAT: Exactly.
HAWK: That's the worst idea for a story I've ever heard.
CAT: It's a commentary on society.
HAWK: Society is an illusion created by big government.
CAT: Big government is an illusion created by society.
HAWK: Society is an illusion created by population.
CAT: Population is an illusion created by an overabundance of people.
HAWK: An overabundance of people is an illusion created by aliens, plugging electrodes into we who are really isolated brains in jars to create the false stimuli that we naively assume to be reality.
CAT: Ah, now you're bringing religion into it.
HAWK: There will be no God once man has eaten him.
CAT: What does God taste like?
HAWK: A little overdone.
FOX: Why are we dressed as animals again?
RABBIT: It's in the script.
HAWK: It's a good script.
FOX: You wrote it, right?
RABBIT: I've not read it.
FOX: All right, now I'm completely lost.
CAT: You're not a writer, you wouldn't understand.
HAWK: I'm a writer, and I don't understand.
CAT: You're a coffeehouse poet, not a writer. Anyway, I thought you understood all.
HAWK: I'm making an exception to humor you.
FOX: WHY ARE WE DRESSED AS ANIMALS?
RABBIT: Each animal is its own spirit. It's symbolic, I think, or maybe just purely visual.
CAT: It's a commentary on society.
HAWK: Society is an illusion created by big government.
CAT: Big government is an illusion created by society.
FOX: Stop it, I get it now, really!
CAT: Well, I wish you'd let me in on the joke.
HAWK: How many copies of the script do you have?
CAT: Ah the practical man. Like it, like it.
RABBIT: I've only got two, but I can print out more if you'll give the computer 13.8 minutes to start up and another hundred and twenty-one minutes to print.
HAWK: No, that's all right, I like the challenge. Gives me the illusion of living. (RABBIT starts at this) Where can I find them?
FOX: Uh ...
CAT: Downstairs, I think. Or as the surrealists would say, un chien andalou ne donne pas un coup de pied au citron conduissant.
HAWK: Ceci n'est pas un pipe.
CAT: We'll mangle the language yet.
(HAWK, CAT and finally FOX exit. RABBIT stays behind, in thought.)
Property of Orange Cow Productions. ninc., 1999. This piece may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, altered, forwarded, or otherwise worked with in any way without the express written consent of Orange Cow Productions, ninc. We can be reached at TygerBug@mailcity.com.