My Movies - Asking For An Honest Review

[Sage Hazzard]

Howdy. I've been thinking about doing something. That's posting a page or so of each of my scripts. I couldn't bare to post the entire script, I don't like to give things away. I don't even let some of my family members in on my endings. So, here's the question, before I post this, could I get an honest review? Without bias from me being a friend of anyone here? A completely honest review? If I can't, I won't post it. I just need one person to say they'll give me a honest review.

[Aura Allei]

Post away.. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/image/emoticons_classic/smile.gif ALT=":)"> I will check it out..

[Ryla Relvinian]

Sage - Go ahead, I'd love to read them. (I work part time as a short story editor...) :]

[sIlancy]

Most definately, please post <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/image/emoticons_classic/smile.gif ALT=":)"> My curiosity has been piqued <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/image/emoticons_classic/smile.gif ALT=":)">

[Sage Hazzard]

Here's the first movie. I've decided to post one at a time, and let them be reviewed. That way it's not too much to read at a time. Please exclude any grammer or punctuation errors from your judgement, it's a rough draft. These are the first few pages. Also, the format(the way it looks) is different from how I type it. I changed it to be more reader friendly on EZBoard. This one's called: The Annointed

<hr color="#ffffff">
Fade in.

Finlee Hope sits on a park bench with a companion, an old woman. Finlee carries a cane. He's in his mid thirties and balding slightly. His body is in moderate condition.

FINLEE: I do okay.

OLD WOMAN: I hear that when the sight goes, other senses are hightened.

FINLEE: And what senses would those be?

He shows his smile.

OLD WOMAN: Hearing, Smell, Touch?

FINLEE: I honestly can't remember what my smell was like before I lost my sight.

Finlee laughs. The old woman restrains herself, thinking it'd be inaproppriate. This leaves Finlee hanging.

FINLEE: I went blind when I was five.

Bringing it down to a more somber note....

OLD WOMAN: You poor boy.

Finlee smiles, thinking.

Pause.

FINLEE: Who knows, maybe I'll get those extra senses one day.

Finlee smiles again. He's obviously open with his handicap.

OLD WOMAN: I'm sure you will.

She smiles back, even though she knows he can't see it. But he does seem to feel it on his skin for his grin broadens.

CREDITS ROLL

INT. GROCERY STORE-DAY

Finlee walks as briskly as a blind man dares through the aisles, his cane clicking on the floor as he goes. He carries a hand held basket in his left hand. His right fingertips graze the items to his right as he walks. He smiles triumphantly as he finds the product he was looking for. His hand wraps around it and puts it in the basket.

A store hand walks the aisles, coming from another location and headed for a destination unknown. He notices the cane and the fact that Finlee has his eyes half closed.

STORE HAND: Excuse me, do you ne--.

FINLEE: No, thank you.

He's obviously heard the same thing before.

STORE HAND: Ar--

FINLEE: Positive.

The Store Hand goes about his buisness, just the least bit defeated.

Finlee stands there for a second. His head cocks toward the way the other man is headed. His eyes glisten slightly.

CUT TO:

Finlee is next in line for the cashier. The woman in front of him finishes. Finlee hears the customary "thank you. come again." line, a signal for him to move forward.

When he gets to the cashier he holds the approprate money in his hand, all counted out in bills. He puts the basket up for the checker to scan.

For the first time the cashier notices that Finlee is blind.

CASHIER: Um-- Let me get you some help.

Finlee ignores that sentence. He hands the money out, arm fully extended, forcing it to the cashier.

FINLEE: Fourteen dollars and fifty cents.

The cashier isn't familar with blind people's abilities, thinking them to be incompetent. She's puzzled slightly.

FINLEE: What can I say? I'm a creature of habit.

The cashier shakes off the bewilderment with a nervous smile. She takes the money and begins to scan the groceries. She does the regular routine of a checker.

CASHIER: Here's your change.
She hands him two pennies. Finlee observes them with his hand. He places them back on the conveyor belt.

CASHIER: And here's your bag.

She ackwardly puts the bag onto his hand.

Now she notices the pennies returned.

CASHIER: Wh--What's wrong.

Finlee's face and tone becomes stern as he leans into where the cashier would be.

FINLEE: I'm waiting for my change.

The cashier chuckles nervously as she looks at the long line behind Finlee.

CASHIER: I-I gave you the change. Now I have other customers to serve.

FINLEE: You are lying. Your voice cracks.
She brushes the hair on the side of her head behind her ear, a nervous tick.

FINLEE: Back in the early days of the modern quarter greedy nats would shave the sides of the quarter off for the silver. More bang for the buck. To stop this they ridged the sides. Plus the quarter has a distinct size, as does all change.

Pause.

FINLEE (cont.): You gave me two pennies. I gave you fifteen dollars. Give me my change.

The cashier pauses before putting the pennies back in the register and taking two quarters out. She hands them to Finlee. He closes his hand.

FINLEE: Go to church once in a while.

He puts the change in the shopping bag. His cane clicks as he walks out.

[Avolon Bisel]

Okay, a new one. This one has some profanity, but I changed them to "*"s. This one's called Myths, or maybe Mythos In Suburbia. Incidently, Jargon Kreem is the basis for Jargon Chasseur's character. Just the personality. Also, some of the grammer and such is terrible in the discriptions, so bare with me.

<hr>

FADE IN.

EXT. HIGHWAY-DAY

Blistering, hot, summer. A traffic jam. Two things that when combined are god's giant middle finger pointed at the masses.

We zoom over the hive. The view comes to focus on a dirty, rundown, brown mess. Very contridictory to it's inhabitant.

INT. CAR-DAY

A man, early thirties, is complacently driving. In fact, he's asleep. His face smudges against the driver side window. He wears a suit, but the jacket is on the passenger's seat. JARGON KREEM, incidently, is his name.

The radio is on, blasting. It plays "Bitter Sweet Symphony" by the Verve.

A small girl, no older than 6, spies on him. Her face is covered in ice cream.

His eyes open as the song ends but his body doesn't move. The air traffic report comes on.

TRAFFIC REPORTER(o.s.): Whoa!!! It's a nasty one out here folks. A ten car pile-up has stopped movement on I-31. It started when a blood carrier decided to take a shortcut--uh-oh!

Bells and Whistles.

TRAFFIC REPORTER(o.s.): The red cross will not be pleased. Eee-oh! Stay clear of this one folks. These poor bastards will be here a while.

His eyes move to the road under the window he is against. A stream of blood start to trickle down the road.

His eyes close.

CREDITS ROLL

EXT. SUBURBAN HOUSE #1-DAY

Jargon wears his suit, sans jacket. He's rung the doorbell. The door opens.

JARGON(lazily): Good evening, esteemed patron. Do you, or are you planning to own an automobile? If not, do you have a friend--

The house owner points to the wall inside the porch. A sign reads clearly "No Solicitors." The door closes shut.

Jargon stands there, silent, eyeing the sign.

EXT. SUBURBAN HOUSE #2-DAY

The door opens.

JARGON(pepped): Good evening, esteemed patron!

The owner shakes their head. The door shuts.

He turns and walks back down the walkway. Half asleep.

EXT. SUBURBAN HOUSE #3-DAY

The door opens.

JARGON(tiredly): Do you want to buy a bumper sticker?

He flashes one saying "Keep On Truckin'".

HOUSE OWNER #1: Got "Pimp Mobile"?

Jargon, his eyes half closed, doesn't blink.

JARGON(brain dead): Yes.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING(mail)-DAY

Jargon wears his jacket over his shoulders but not his arms. He opens his mailbox, revealing letters inside. He takes them out. Shifts through them.

A man next to him, getting his own mail, spies on him.

He comes across a credit card bill.

NEIGHBOR #1: Ouch.

Jargon shifts his eyes towards him.

Mental lapse as he drifts into someplace else.

JARGON: Um... Huh?

The man points at the credit card bill. He actually touches the letter with his finger. Jargon minor twinge gives the impression to the obsearvent he's peeved by the intrusion of privacy.

NEIGHBOR #1: Debt collectors. (scoff) Bastards. Am I right?

Jargon slams his mailbox. He gives a slight "evil eye" out of the side of his vision. Then he blinks rapidly, shaking his small anger. A new Jargon appears. A somewhat congenial one. He turns to face the neighbor.

JARGON: Yeah... yeah.

Jargon nods slowly.

INT. JARGON'S APARTMENT-NIGHT

The answering machine comes on as Jargon throws his jacket on the couch.

The apartment is lit, as of now, by a single lamp next to the recliner. The answering machine sits on the same small table that the lamp sit.

TELEMARKETER(o.s.): Have you ever wanted to better your life? Make enough money to retire young? If so: press 1. If not: press 2.

Jargon laughs as he sits down in his tired and torn recliner.

JARGON: ****.

He stops laughing with a scoff.

The answering machine switches to the next message.

DENVER(o.s.): ****!

Jargon's eyes widen. Not a voice he's heard for a while.

DENVER(o.s.): Where are you man? I was hoping I'd catch you. ****. Maybe another time, right? Anyway, I'm neither here nor there, so I'll call you. I just wanted to tell you: great advice. She's ****ing rich! I don't know how you got her number but... damn! Thank you, oh Jargon, for delivering it onto me. (laughs) That body of her's... ****, man. ****! She's a freak too, man, let me tell you. It's been a year, but I still can't thank you enough. (beat) We're on our way to Reno now, thought I'd drop you a line, ya know. We do need a witness. We were thinking it could be you...

Jargon flips the machine the bird casually.

DENVER(o.s.): .. but we're in a rush, sorry. Anyway, gotta go.

Jargon closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly.

The machine changes to the next message.

BOSS(o.s.): Congratulations, Mr. Kreem. I'd prefer telling you this in a conversation... but you're a hard man to reach. You got the job. You're United Parcels Express's newest employee. See you Monday

The machine shuts off.

Jargon turns off his lamp.

[Aura Allei]

Creative, Sage. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/image/emoticons_classic/smile.gif ALT=":)">

Im not much of a critic, but you may have something there. I really cant judge till the whole script is viewed, but seems like a unique and promising approach for both movie scripts. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/image/emoticons_classic/smile.gif ALT=":)">

[Sage Hazzard]

BTW, this script takes a turn for the wierd. I might post some more later, but it becomes very dark and sinister. Think of Jargon like Hermes, and he delivers packages to all the Gods. Some of my strangest work yet.

I WILL post more of this tonight, I've decided. So stay tuned.