Single-camera film format
Sample Script Pages
FADE IN:
EXT. VAN NUYS APARTMENT — MORNING
A 12-year-old tagger, not unlike a pit bull, leaves his mark on a fire hydrant outside this dreary stucco complex.
It’s a picture-perfect day in the Valley. Not a cloud in the beige sky.
An ALARM CLOCK GOES OFF.
INT. STUDIO APARTMENT
A feminine arm shoots out of the covers and gropes a bedside table for the ALARM. Knocks a pair of glasses onto the floor. Keeps searching. Tips an empty coffee mug onto its side. Finally finds the clock and hits snooze. The ALARM GOES SILENT.
The arm drops back onto the bed.
The ALARM CLOCK TICKS.
VENETIAN BLINDS
RATTLE almost imperceptibly.
OVERTURNED COFFEE MUG
rocks gently back and forth.
WIDE ON APARTMENT
Silence for the longest time. Then all hell breaks loose.
The ROOM SHAKES VIOLENTLY. The bed hops like a spastic rabbit. Pictures drop off the walls.
The COFFEE MUG falls and SHATTERS.
ASPIRING SCREENWRITER
explodes from beneath the covers, eyes wide with terror as her APARTMENT QUAKES around her. GRETCHEN PFLUM.
Beside her bed a computer monitor sways violently, tips and topples.
Gretchen dives. Gets tangled in the sheets. Hits the floor just as the MONITOR SMASHES over the top of the printer.
And then it ALL STOPS. Just like that. Gretchen looks around the apartment. It’s an unbelievable mess. So’s she. Early 20s, she’s rumpled and badly shaken. But sodarn cute you don’t care.
Seven seconds of silence. And then the PIPES over her head BURST. WATER DRENCHES the apartment.
EXT. GRETCHEN’S APARTMENT — MORNING
The door is flung open. Gretchen staggers outside. Rumpled, shaken and now soaked. But still cute. CAR ALARMS are BLARING. DOGS are BARKING. Neighbors are spilling from their apartments. Gretchen looks around, spots an elderly woman in a muumuu.
GRETCHEN
Stella, what just happened? What
was that?!
STELLA toddles toward Gretchen, utterly unruffled.
STELLA
Oh, I’d say about a six point one
or six point two. Have a muffin,
dear.
(hands Gretchen one
and glances at her
watch)
Didn’t you have a meeting this
morning?
Gretchen blanches.
GRETCHEN
Oh no.
INT. GRETCHEN’S APARTMENT
She appears in the doorway. WATER continues to RAIN DOWN.
GRETCHEN
Oh no.
She plunges into the room.
Steps over fallen items to her computer. Sees the shattered monitor atop the printer.
GRETCHEN
OH NO.
(a cry from the
depths)
MY PITCH!!!!!!!!!!
She starts to dig. Heaves the monitor to the floor. Her PHONE RINGS. She looks for it. Can’t find it. It KEEPS RINGING. In frustration she kicks the monitor shell. Unearthing the phone. She answers.
GRETCHEN
Hello?
GRETCHEN’S MAMA (V.O.)
Baby?
INTERCUT WITH:
EXT. KANSAS FARM — ENDLESS WHEAT FIELD — DAY
GRETCHEN’S MAMA in the air-conditioned, glassed-in cockpit of a massive, modern combine, mowing down wheat. She’s got a cell phone to her ear. A RADIO PLAYS LOW in the b.g.
GRETCHEN
Mama?
GRETCHEN’S MAMA
Listen, baby, I can’t talk long
but I want you to Fed Ex me some
more of that good mango salsa.
Gretchen picks gingerly through the broken glass that litters her computer equipment. She pulls a stack of soggy pages from the printer.
GRETCHEN’S MAMA
Your father and I drizzled it over
our grilled salmon last night
and — —
GRETCHEN
(starting to cry)
Mama, I just had an earthguake.
GRETCHEN’S MAMA
An earthguake? Are you sure,
baby?
GRETCHEN
(crying harder)
Of course I’m sure — —
GRETCHEN’S MAMA
Because I’ve got on C.N.N, and
they’re not saying a thing about
an earthguake.
Gretchen looks at the destruction all around her. Doesn’t know what to say.
GRETCHEN
Mama, I’ve got to go. I have a
very important meeting and I
overslept and then the earthguake
woke me up — —
GRETCHEN’S MAMA
Well there you go! Blessing in
disguise.
(then)
Gotta go, baby. Don’t forget the
salsa. Kisses.
She clicks off. Leaving Gretchen remembering why she fled Kansas in the first place.
CUT TO:
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING — PARKING LOT — GRETCHEN’S CAR — DAY
A WHIMPERING sound as Gretchen rushes up, dressed, her hair still wet. She hears the sound and looks around. Sees nothing. Unlocks her door. The WHIMPERING again. She looks beneath her car.
HER POV UNDER CAR
A dirty, frightened CHIHUAHUA cowers, CRYING.
GRETCHEN (O.S.)
Hey there, Taco Bell, what’s
wrong?
BACK TO SCENE
Gretchen extends her arms. The dog races from under her car and leaps into them. She laughs.
GRETCHEN
Earthquake scare you, little guy?
(beat)
Listen, I’ve got to run. Where do
you belong?
The little dog licks her face.
EXT. STUDIO GATE — DAY
Gretchen pulls up to the guard shack in her ’83 Civic. A GUARD steps up to the car.
GUARD
Going to see?
GRETCHEN
(intimidated)
Ian von Blitzenkrantz.
GUARD
The producer?
(looks over her sad
little car)
Here to dust his Oscars?
Something rises up inside Gretchen. She is, after all, a screenwriter.
GRETCHEN
No, I’m not here to dust his
Oscars. I’m here to win him
another one.
The Guard is duly impressed by her moxy.
GUARD
Name?
GRETCHEN
Gretchen Pflum. P-F-L-U-M.
The Guard checks his list.
GUARD
Don’t see it.
(looks inside car)
And you can’t bring in the dog.
The little chihuahua sits on the passenger seat. Eating Gretchen’s pitch.
GRETCHEN
No, no, no!!!
She pulls the half-eaten pages from the dog’s mouth. They’re beyond salvage.
GRETCHEN
Oh nooooooooo!!!
INT. PRODUCER’S OFFICES — RECEPTION AREA — DAY
A hard-driving young executive WANNA-BE jabbers into a telephone headset while he surfs the Web. Everything he says he says fast.
WANNA-BE
Von Blitzenkrantz Entertainment…
He’s in a meeting can were turn?
He looks up as Gretchen enters.
WANNA-BE
(to phone)
Hold please.
(to Gretchen)
Help you?
GRETCHEN
Gretchen Pflum. I have a meeting
with Mr. von Blitzenkrantz. I
may be a little, um … late.
WANNA-BE
Have a seat I’ll let him know you’re here.
Want anything to drink?
Coffeesodawater?
Gretchen takes a beat to decode his spiel.
GRETCHEN
Oh. Well. Um. Water.
She smiles.
WANNA-BE
Bottled or tap?
GRETCHEN
Oh. Um. Bottled.
WANNA-BE
Perrier or Evian?
GRETCHEN
… Perrier.
WANNA-BE
Room temperature or refrigerated?
Gretchen just stares.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. RECEPTION AREA — LATER
Time has passed. Lots of time. The bottle of Perrier is empty. Gretchen’s trying to piece together what’s left of her tattered pitch. The Wanna-Be is still on the phone.
WANNA-BE
No I haven’ tread the script I’ve read the
coverage. Great coverage. Huge
coverage. Best coverage I’ veever
read. Plugin Or lando or Mattor Will
and you’ vegotahit.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. RECEPTION AREA — LATER
The Wanna-Be is gone. Gretchen still waits. Finally, a voice like a foghorn bellows from O.S.
VOICE (O.S.)
Jason?!… Jason?!… Jason?!…
Jason?!
A puffy-faced guy in his 50s pads out in his bare feet. IAN VON BLITZENKRANTZ. He sees there’s no one behind the desk. Spots Gretchen.
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
Who are you?
GRETCHEN
Gretchen Pflum. I’m supposed to
pitch to Mr. von Blitzenkrantz.
He stares at her an uncomfortably long moment. At long, long last:
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
Okey-dokey.
INT. VON BLITZENKRANTZ’S OFFICE — DAY
Movie posters from his Oscar-winning films cover the walls. Statuettes litter the desk. Gretchen sits on the couch, dry-mouthed and tongue-tied, leafing through the pages of her prepared pitch. Von Blitzenkrantz waits.
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
So, sweetheart. Now’s when you
tell me a story.
Gretchen looks up like a deer caught in the headlights. Clears her throat. Sets the pages aside. And begins.
GRETCHEN
A studio apartment in Van Nuys.
An alarm clock is ringing.
There’s a girl — —
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
How old?
GRETCHEN
Early twenties.
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
Good. We’ll get that chick from
“Alias.”
GRETCHEN
The girl’s in bed. She’s
overslept.
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
Who’s she with?
GRETCHEN
Who’s she with? Um… she’s
alone.
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
She’s alone?
(guffaws)
How interesting is that?!
(then)
No, seriously.
GRETCHEN
Well … okay … she’s not
completely alone. There’s a dog.
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
What kind of dog?
GRETCHEN
Chihuahua.
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
Chihuahuas are hot right now. I
like the way you think.
GRETCHEN
Then this massive earthquake hits.
BANG!!!
She slams her hand down on the coffee table. Von Blitzenkrantz nearly jumps out of his skin. He cocks his head and studies Gretchen. At long last throws his hands straight up in the air and exclaims:
VON BLITZENKRANTZ
I love this stuff!!!
(stands)
I gotta pee.
(heads for the door)
But you keep going. You’re doing
great.
He disappears. Gretchen looks around the empty office. Shrugs. And keeps going.
GRETCHEN
So the bed starts jumping around
like a spastic rabbit, the girl is
like insane with fear —
Gretchen gets up and crosses to the enormous desk. Admires the Oscars there.
GRETCHEN
But she doesn’t care, she’s got
the first pitch meeting of her
life and nothing is going to stop
her.
She spots a little dust on one of the statuettes. Buffs it with her sleeve.
GRETCHEN
But then she sees her computer
monitor about to crash onto her
only copy of her perfect,
wonderful pitch. She dives! And
snatches that bad boy out of the
air!!!
Gretchen smiles like the sunrise. ’Cause she’s in Hollywood now.
FADE OUT.
THE END