I know it's been a really long time since I've added anything to this blog (and that last new post (about the tabs) was really unfocused and lacking any sort of bite), but I'm back with a script. It's completely ridiculous. Over Christmas, I stayed with our dear author who inspires this blog. (I forgot to bring her copy of the worst novel ever and she forgot to ask for it, so, oh joy, you can look forward to future installments dissecting the worst novel ever.) I decided to look around for any of my old things that I might like to take back home with me. Somehow I decided I needed to make room for a script from 2001, a rough draft with my notes scrawled all over it in purple ink.
Let's ballpark this as the 25th screenplay written by our dear author. Let's assume that by now she really knows how to write a feature length screenplay—structure, character development, etc.—because she's read all about how to make a fortune as a screenwriter. After completing the first dozen, dear author should find it easy to move the story along from Page 1 to 120—especially when it's an idea she's really jazzed about.
Our dear author took the idea for this screenplay from a joke I relayed to her. My best friend and I were speeding down an empty interstate one morning and happened to pass a construction crew. They were maybe a hundred yards off the road and we were flying along, but my friend rolled down the window to scream a catcall at them. Then we laughed too hard. Mostly, it was hysterical to me because this was the only way I was ever going to be outgoing enough to hit on someone—racing by at a distance, hidden in a car, never saying a word. So, obviously, the idea of a couple of Amish girls trying to pull the same stunt instantly popped into my head. My friend and I continued laughing as we thought of two girls acting out, but then being stuck on the scene in their slow buggy. Just picture it...
Our dear author latched onto this! She saw it all! A couple of Amish girls sneaking off to Spring Break! It would be a blockbuster! She would be famous!
I asked for a first crack at it (I mean, sneaking off to Spring Break was my idea), but she was on fire! I would be allowed to
Our dear author did some research. Apparently the Amish need to make sure they really want to be Amish, so they go out and experience rumspringa (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rumspringa). She read young adult novels about groups of Amish kids sitting around smoking, drinking, watching TV, and driving muscle cars. The script seemed D.O.A. to me, but she was still sure this would be great. She took me for walks and blathered on about her ideas for who the characters would be and what would happen to them. My god... That sentence reads like I'm her pet dog or something. And with the state this script is in, I think the pet dog could have done just as solid a job. I mean, that's all she wanted from me—pant and run in circles because it's all just so exciting.
So, here we go. There's no title page or header on this document, therefore we shall call it "Rumpshaker." We know from the get-go that Rumpshaker is terrible because it's only 97 pages, a sure sign that the author is missing a whole act. (If the actual title had been Rumpshaker and someone anywhere in these 97 pages had said, "All I wanna do is zoom zoom zoom in your boom boom," the lack of story might have been forgivable. (Also, if our dear author had listened to "Rump Shaker" and stopped dwelling on "Where the Fun Is" and other Spring Break movies from the '60s for which I cannot track down, maybe this story would have had a fighting chance.))
Rumpshaker opens with scenes of Sarah the 17-year-old main character's quiet life. She works hard on the farm and loves her big Amish family. Her best friend, Rebeccah, 17, however, dreams of running away to become a movie star. (Guess where dear author's sympathies lie...) By Page 4 they have hit the road. By the end of Page 4, they have ditched the horse. (Yes, four pages into this story and our dear author has already abandoned the core inspirational visual. "EXT. - COUNTRY HIGHWAY - NIGHT / A horse draws a carriage as the sun begins to set" is the only appearance of a horse and buggy. No construction crew. No Amish Girls Gone Wild and dealing with the ramifications.) Rebeccah bullies Sarah into taking a Greyhound to Pittsburgh. At the bus station they meet an angry "Krishna convert" before being rescued from a farting homeless man by Jenny, 17, a feisty piece of white trash. We are 10 pages into this script now. This is it. This is our big set up. The main characters make a decision that will send us down the rabbit hole...
Jenny invites the girls to come home with her. She gives them new clothes to wear, takes them to a club, introduces them to other degenerates. Sarah, our good girl, finds herself attracted to Jake, one of the degenerates. Our Amish girls head to Florida to stay with Jenny and her friends. They smoke and drink their way through 30 or 40 boring-ass pages of driving. A love triangle is established: Jenny used to date Jake, but now he's way into Sarah, who will bend Amish will smoke and drink to impress him.
They arrive in Miami where Jenny's aunt lives. Everyone goes to the beach. The aspiring movie star immediately dons a bikini, but Cassie, the aunt, gives the good girl a "tasteful sundress" to wear. Too many pages are devoted to furthering the anti-climactic love triangle. Then they all go get themselves fake IDs. They go to a club for one page. They go back to the beach for another page. They go to dinner with Cassie, who reports that a movie is being filmed right now in Miami—"some teen flick, and they're looking for extras." Jenny, who can't wait for Sara to hit the road, tells Rebeccah that she has to go get herself a job as an extra so she can stay in Florida. Sarah decides (on the next page) that she will hit the road. In very much the fashion of our dear author, Rebeccah begs her to stay: "Please. One more day. I need you with me when I try out. You'll give me confidence."
We are now three-quarters of the way through this script... Rebeccah auditions, the group goes to celebrate Sarah's last night in town. The love triangle comes to a head (sort of) when a stranger at the club hits on Sarah. Jake rescues her. They get flirty. Jenny gets angry. Jake denies he has any feelings at all for Sarah. Sarah is crushed. The next morning everyone is shocked (for three seconds--seriously) that Sarah is missing. Sarah says she doesn't have enough money to take a bus home. No one offers her the cash, but Jenny continues to say she can't wait for Sarah to get lost. Rebeccah is offered two days of work as an extra—there's no going back now! "REBECCAH: Sarah. Don't you see? I'm on my way. After this it's Hollywood!"
We are now ten pages from the end of this script. "Cassie and the kids have dinner." The aunt suggests they all go to the county fair. There (where we lose all sense that this should be the Miami-Dade County fair) the aunt encourages Sarah to enter a milking contest. She wins first prize—$100. Now she can get on the bus and go back home.
But what to do about her never-really-got-off-the-ground-relationship with Jake? Sarah says she is going home to tell her family that she plans to never ever leave them again. Not unless it was for something—or someone—very special. The next day she kisses Jake twice before boarding the bus. The last thing we see is the bus rolling past a sign greeting travelers to God's country. The end. Barf.
And I know what you're thinking: Maybe it's not that bad. Maybe it's just the way the story is summarized here. I assure you, this story is awful. When you skim it, you get the full effect. Seeing as I created the idea, I will always look at it as a writer first. I want to immerse myself in each sentence and nitpick every last syllable. But normal people don't read scripts that way. What's happening here? Nothing. Five 17-year-olds stand around, flirting in a very non-committal way, saying nothing shocking, doing nothing extraordinary. They kind of flirt. They complain about being hungover. The end. No one's faith is tested. There is no journey of self-discovery. This is like a really tame documentary about an uneventful road trip. Aside from that, here are some reasons to hate this script:
1) The author obviously only likes three of the characters—none of whom are the main character. She seems to be relying on the fact that we will root for the main character because she is the main character. She seems to put more time into wanting the audience to like the aunt than anything else.
2) The author did not do nearly enough of the right kind of research (brushing up on "humor" would have been a start, not to mention "teens" and "Amish"). If she had wanted to be really cool (like the cool aunt), she should have said, "Hey, we should do this drive. Let's go to Miami!"
3) Nothing happens. And I don't like any of these characters enough to want to watch them do nothing.
When I first nabbed this script to critique here, I was excited to show off my rewrites. But, come on. This is a piece that's meant to be performed—every last word could change but the time filming wrapped. What matters is do we know who the characters are? Do we know what they want? Do we care?
Oh, okay. Let's just laugh at our dear author.
First we have Sarah, who wants nothing more than to be meek and pleasant. She has no memorable lines.
Then we have Rebecca. "Rebeccah sits up, faces Sarah. / REBECCAH: Don't tell me I can't. You hear? I want to be an actress. I'm going to be a star."
They meet...
JENNY, 17, steps between the girls and the homeless man.
JENNY: Beat it asshole.
The homeless man sizes her up.
JENNY: I said beat it, kumquat. Or do you need me to kick your balls from here to China?
We briefly meet Jenny's mother.
JENNY'S MOTHER: You bitch.
She throws a plate on the floor.
JENNY'S MOTHER (cont.): You sit on your ass, listening to music, snapping your gum and smoking all day. Why can't you do the dishes?
Jenny picks up a coffee mug, throws it on the floor.
JENNY: Whore.
Sarah and Rebeccah stand in awe as they watch this ridiculous fight unfold.
Somehow I think Sarah should have bolted for the door and broken out a Bible. But the three girls are fast friends, so they change clothes and hit a bar. They sneak through the window because they are, after all, only 17. There they meet Eric, 18.
ERIC: Aren't you going to introduce us?
JENNY: Sarah, Rebeccah, meet Eric.
Eric slides into the booth.
ERIC: Hey there. What're you drinkin'?
REBECCAH: Sloe Gin Fizz!
ERIC: Sloe Gin. Some of us call it Slow Sin. Makes you want to dance naked. With everyone in the room. (to Sarah) And what have you got?
This will be the height of Eric's humor. He is an aspiring comedian. It would be okay for him to be totally unfunny for 90 minutes if the rest of the ensemble were funny or anything funny happened to them. But Eric is it. He lobs joke after meticulously written joke.
Jake, 18, arrives a short time later. He works at the bar. It's his last night before he prepares to head off to MIT. "Jake spots Sarah, likes what he sees. They stare briefly, then Sarah ducks her head, blushing." This would have been a fine mismatch—the guy who aspires to create technology falls in love with the girl who's only used a phone once in 17 years—but Page 19 is the only place where MIT is ever mentioned. Jake could be Eric, but with fewer lines.
Oh, now we're on Page 24. It's time to be funny again...
JENNY: Come on, Jake. You and me... and two Amish girls. You'll have so much fun. I promise.
JAKE: I was thinking Colorado. Or maybe California.
JENNY: My aunt is a blast. Miami is wild.
JAKE: I don't know. Florida. All those people with mouse ears. Kind of creepy.
(Wait for it... If you know our dear author, if you know her idea of funny, it's coming...)
...Next thing you know, you're talking like Minnie Mouse.
ERIC (Minnie voice): Come on, Jakey. Let's party. This is Miami. We'll ditch that Mick Mouse (sic) and chase each other's tail.
The biggest distinction between Sarah and everyone else is that she's supposed to speak properly. All that amounts to is her lack of contractions. In the writing process (way back in 2001 or whenever), I decided this needed to be called out as a joke. It falls completely flat. Because it was lame? Maybe. Because we were trying to mash two different senses of humor? Maybe. Again, though, it should have been Sarah's devotion to her faith that set her apart, not her use of "I shall."
Eric is extremely obnoxious. Someone in this group needs to be obnoxious and he serves that purpose. It could be funny. What could be much funnier is the reactions to him. It's an easy opening to conflict, problems, drama, memorable scenes... That might have led to a better script.
Hmm... Nothing seems that awful or that brilliant as I scan this again. When you're looking at it as a poorly researched rough draft. When you think of it as a major blockbuster... Well, that's just completely absurd. No one was going to pay to produce this script. Even with all my brilliant running jokes. (Jenny's birth name is "Moon Beam" and somehow the author never revisited that! Where are the references to rumspringa?) So, I'll leave you with this... (Quick, get yourself a tissue first.)
JAKE: Rebeccah's not the only one who'll miss you.
SARAH: No?
JAKE: I'll write you, too.
SARAH: That would be good.
JAKE: And one day I'll come see you.
SARAH: Will you?
JAKE: As soon as I can. But I know you have no telephone, so I'll have to write to let you know when that will be.
SARAH: Yes, write.
He takes her hands.
JAKE: Will you write back?
SARAH: Of course.
JAKE: And do you want to see me?
She blushes.
SARAH: Yes.
JAKE: I know you're Amish and I'm not, but I have to believe there's hope.
SARAH: Maybe.
So moving. I take it all back. Rumpshaker is amazing!
