One page

Through Fun Joel, I've learned of Michael Patrick Sullivan's Red Right Hand blog. He's another scribospherist.

He's drawn my attention with his challenge to other screenwriters to post a one-page sample of work. So here's mine. There used to be a GIF here, but the coded version looks so much nicer. (And if you pronounce GIF as "jiff", I will slap you. Hard G, people! The G is for "Graphic".)

This is part of the ten-page sample that so impressed Ian. Technically, it's a bit more than a page. Sue me. The scene starts before this bit.

• INT. BANDIT CAVERNS - DAY
• OLD MAN
• Damned cave canaries. Think they're dragons. Always pooping on one's finery. Rude is what they are, I say.
• BREN
• See! Cave canaries!
• HAWTHORN
• Are you a wizard?
• OLD MAN
• Wizard? Pah! If I were a wizard, would I be stuck in some infernal cave, suffering a plague of cave canaries?
• (to Tesha)
• No offense, miss, wizard-wise.
• TESHA
• Have you occupied this cell all the while?
• OLD MAN
• I saw the hooligans lock you up.
• TESHA
• Why did you never call to me?
• OLD MAN
• Didn't I? Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you were snubbing me. Now, which one of you will let me out?
• HAWTHORN
• Bren?
• OLD MAN
• Don't bother the boy. I'm with him. I want to see you break it down.
• Bren eagerly nods in agreement. Hawthorn resigns himself to try. He kicks the door - nothing. He shoulders it - it creaks, stays put. He takes a running start and throws his weight against it - a bigger creak, but it still doesn't budge.
• A canary flies to the door and settles on a crossbar. The door groans and falls outward. Hawthorn leaps out of its way. He looks at the fallen door, grunts.
• OLD MAN (CONT'D)
• I think you must have loosened it.
• Tesha giggles. The old man steps into the hallway. The canaries follow. Some fly ahead up the tunnel.
• BREN
• Do you have a name?
• OLD MAN
• Oh, I do, you know. But what is it?... No, that's not it exactly.... No.... Wait - my mommy always sewed a name tag in my clothes.
• He reaches back for a tag at the back of his collar. The canary on his shoulder flies up to avoid his reach. The old man circles like a dog chasing its tail. He grabs the tag and tugs it far enough forward to read.
• OLD MAN (CONT'D)
• Aha! Handwash!
• BREN
• Welcome to our little band, Handwash.
• OLD MAN
• Thank you... Bren, was it? I never forget a name.