Untitled Screenplay Collab, p. 5-6



An open area practically walled off by buildings, were it not for the four roads that merge to form a roundabout in the center. There’s a wide shot of the area, with all roads in view, from the top of one of the buildings. The area below is soundless, save for the gurgling of a water fountain and thin cries from two sources, one slurred and the other angry.

SUPERIMPOSE: Castle Square

Cut to the activity. FLANK, a carbon copy of Mickey’s look from the movie Snatch, is kneeling on the ground, straddling and wailing on an unknown tourist every now and then, who would be more concerned with breathing if he didn’t look so drunk. MEYER, a bear of a man, plain, with a trench coat that scrapes the ground as he turns one way and back around, is behind them keeping an eye out for Anthony.


(exerting with each blow)

Aye, Lemon, where’s Anthony?


Five minutes, Flank.


Five minutes was five minutes ago-


I’m not no fucking Lemon. Meyer. Not some tree in your mom’s backyard that blows over after a strong wind. Meyer-Briggs? The personality test? As in, why in the fuck are you bruising up the nards of this guy who was probably tiptop before you slammed him down by the tail?


(starts to correct him, but drops it)

Myers – you ever get peckish enough to eat in the restaurant, actually?


All the time. Food tastes better when you see who made it for you.



It’s like that, then. I fucked up and ate the burger where I got it, except it’s shite, but I don’t want to piss off the cook and the building full of people he’s paid off to fight me soon as I ask for extra mayo, now do I?



Oh yeah, smartass?


(one punch to the TOURIST, knocking him unconscious)

Wise ass, mate. This kind of bum only comes with age.



So you laid this guy flat to keep him happy?


It’s not about him. I’m not bonking him, mate, just…

FLANK loses himself in something far off.


You should never underestimate the predictability of stupidity.



Without a word between them, a bearded figure emerges from a bar, fighting through a plume of smoke. Raggedly and unannounced, he reaches back to fight and pull two other figures out and through the smoke. The struggle ceases as soon as they leave it, setting off down the street with backs to the camera. They pass streetlights that flicker on behind them, blind with purpose amidst mounting noise: streetside bands, droning flies, rustling leaves, roaring of costumed prophets of the end times. ZOOM IN on the wheels of a taxi as it speeds by them, on its way to a distant Castle Square.

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