its late. I'm writing.
Script. Its a start. I need a place to document my ideas. Comment if you want. Its called 'Funeral.' Think 'Rachel Getting Married' except now its Rachel's horrid Uncle whose kick the bucket.
INT. A CHURCH RECTORY. EARLY AFTERNOON.
We open mid-conversation to a discussion between ALEX BEAUX -mid twenties, natural tan meets midwest square jaw, dressed in a button down long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up half way to his elbow- and an elderly female Church CARETAKER -think white dress with quarter sized black polka dots and her glasses hanging on a lanyard.
CARETAKER
I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. Your Uncle’s. . .
The CARETAKER pauses for a moment. The strain in her eye clearly shows that she is struggling to find the right word to use.
CARETAKER (CONT'D)
patronship of St. Rose was valued among the community members.
ALEX
You mean his money?
CARETAKER
Look Mister (beat) Mister
ALEX
Alex. Alex Beaux.
CARETAKER
Mister Beaux. We are a simple Catholic Community looking to do God’s work and Mister Cope (beat) your Uncle (beat) allowed us to do it. The least you can do Mister Cotton
ALEX (INTRUPTING)
The name is Beaux.
CARETAKER (PUTTING ON HER GLASSES)
I know that Mister Beaux. You know how previous histories work. The past runs deep down here in our Parish. Literally both St. Rose and Pascagoula Parish. We can choose to selectively remember what we want to. I remember your Uncle’s money sitting in St. Rose’s building fund and I remember a young Alexander Fournet Cotton coming down the main aisle in the old Church for his first communion. remember that little boy going off to the big city and only coming back when someone beat his Mama too hard.
The CARETAKER and ALEX both stare into each others eyes. A slightly twitch in the corner of his eye. The CARETAKER wry smile and large pupils clearly show how much she is enjoying this. Outside the window, clouds cover the sin blocking out the sin and dimming the room as the outside world is linked to the emotions inside the room.
INT. A CHURCH RECTORY. EARLY AFTERNOON.
We open mid-conversation to a discussion between ALEX BEAUX -mid twenties, natural tan meets midwest square jaw, dressed in a button down long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up half way to his elbow- and an elderly female Church CARETAKER -think white dress with quarter sized black polka dots and her glasses hanging on a lanyard.
CARETAKER
I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. Your Uncle’s. . .
The CARETAKER pauses for a moment. The strain in her eye clearly shows that she is struggling to find the right word to use.
CARETAKER (CONT'D)
patronship of St. Rose was valued among the community members.
ALEX
You mean his money?
CARETAKER
Look Mister (beat) Mister
ALEX
Alex. Alex Beaux.
CARETAKER
Mister Beaux. We are a simple Catholic Community looking to do God’s work and Mister Cope (beat) your Uncle (beat) allowed us to do it. The least you can do Mister Cotton
ALEX (INTRUPTING)
The name is Beaux.
CARETAKER (PUTTING ON HER GLASSES)
I know that Mister Beaux. You know how previous histories work. The past runs deep down here in our Parish. Literally both St. Rose and Pascagoula Parish. We can choose to selectively remember what we want to. I remember your Uncle’s money sitting in St. Rose’s building fund and I remember a young Alexander Fournet Cotton coming down the main aisle in the old Church for his first communion. remember that little boy going off to the big city and only coming back when someone beat his Mama too hard.
The CARETAKER and ALEX both stare into each others eyes. A slightly twitch in the corner of his eye. The CARETAKER wry smile and large pupils clearly show how much she is enjoying this. Outside the window, clouds cover the sin blocking out the sin and dimming the room as the outside world is linked to the emotions inside the room.