Look, its a script for a thing, which you should read, because you're not doing YOUR homework.
This is called a Script for a Comic. This is like, the first seven pages. It does not take long to read, but it is a script, not a story in prose. That said, everyone should read it, tell me what is dumb and what is obtuse about it. If I cry, its okay I'm way over here.
Page 1:
Panel 1:
A bustling, turn-of-the-century looking city square full of well-dressed people. Posters advertise a variety of upcoming musicals and plays. Gibson’s poster is frequently seen but not overwhelming.
Female Voice (offpanel): Miss. Leightly, your last performance was simply astounding.
Miss Leightly (offpanel): Thank you so much.
Male Voice (offpanel): It seems your entire family is blessed with a talent for the stage, Miss Leightly, but please allow me to say that I do find your dances to be the most captivating of all your brothers' performances.
Panel 2:
A beautiful young woman, Marrigale Leightly, 17, in a fine but demure dress and hat blushingly accepts the accolades on the front steps of a grand theatre. She is carrying some bags. An older, equally dandy couple, Mr. and Mrs. Salvador, have stopped her while she is on errands.
Marrigale: Oh well thank you very much for saying so. It’s really a different thing, though, as they’re all musicians.
Mr. Salvador: Altogether too humble.
Panel 3:
Three panels broken over the same background include each speaker.
Mrs. Salvador: You know though, Herman, I believe the youngest young man in her family has his debut coming up very soon, isn’t that right?
Marrigale: (Genuine) Oh yes, and you know, he’s really very good, I’m certain that you would enjoy seeing him.
Mr. Salvador: Well, I doubt he can give you a run for your money, but I’m certain we’ll turn out - along with the rest of the town.
Panel 4:
Drawn back to include the grand front of the theatre and some of the daily crowd. The marquee does indeed advertise Marrigale’s brother Gibson in the foreground. He looks like an important act.
Marrigale: I look forward it extremely, Mr. Salvador. I’m so sorry but please excuse me, if you would, I’m still looking for a gift for my mother’s birthday and… (trails off into the general mumur).
Page 2:
Panel 1: An extremely grand old building houses a local parochial school, lined with trees and fountains and reeking of money. What looks like a collection of mismatched cathedrals may be visible in the far background next to the ocean.
Panel 2: A formal looking classroom houses an odd mix of ornate rococo furniture and rustic, dangerously wired things. They should look like they were added as an afterthought as electricity is still relatively novel to this community. The room has an anachronistic look about it. The students are hard at work, bustling freely about the room, well uniformed and occasionally having an out of place piece of technology.
Panel 3:
Students in a hubbub. The professor is orating something inconsequential.
Student 1: … so I’ve heard you can’t even get into that school unless you’ve already been published.
Student 2: My family will murder me if I’m not published by the end of this term anyway. I mean, Scoffield over there has already been published in Motor Year, I mean, talk about cutting edge….
Panel 4:
Close up on a paper of school notes with caricatured doodles in the margin, its author’s writing hand having gone lax to the side, tapping its pencil.
Student 1: (offpanel) Damn… that’s ridiculous. I’m just worried about my grades now, much less publishing...
Panel 5:
Still close up on the doodler’s hands, he’s gathering up his things to leave.
Student 2: (offpanel) Whatever… I wish my family would just let me go into something bullshit, like painting or dance or like that stuff everybody seems to be into here.
Panel 6:
In a wider shot of the busy room, Gibson Leightly, the doodler, is getting up to leave. He is slightly disarrayed, mop-haired, attractive but distant. He would be listening to headphones if it were culturally appropriate. His doodles are still visible in hand.
Page 3:
Panel 1:
The professor notices Gibson about to leave. None of the other students seem to take notice.
Teacher: Mr. Leightly. Mr. Leightly!
Panel 2:
Gibson looks over his shoulder with only mild concern. We look over the professor’s shoulder at Gibson leaving, and a few students have stopped to look.
Teacher: Mr. Leightly, excuse me, but class isn’t yet half over. May I ask where you are going?
Panel 3:
Gibson looks bemused.
Gibson: I guess I’ve got to go to the bathroom, professor.
Class (offpanel): giggles.
Panel 4:
Teacher: Am I to assume you’ve finished your graduating thesis already here in the beginning of the term?
Panel 5:
A wider shot of the class more or less from the professor’s POV. Everyone has stopped. A clique of girls explain.
Female Student 1: That’s Gibson Leightly, sir. He never has to stay for class. He’s too busy… practicing.
Girls: Giggles.
Panel 5:
The professor looks slightly uneasy. He obviously hasn’t ever had Gibson for class, and isn’t sure what to believe. He’s probably seen posters around and is trying to place Gibson’s name and face.
Female student 2: He always leaves around noon, all the Lieghtlys do, they take private classes with Sir Mason Rodigal. You know.
Panel 6:
One of the girls holds up a flyer.
Female student 3: (more politely): He has a debut performance coming up, sir, everybody knows about it.
Panel 6:
Gibson at the door:
Gibson: So all right with you then? That’s great. Thanks Reba, hope to see you up front.
Panel 7:
Looking through the door from Gibson’s angle. The professor looks a bit put out but has capitulated to the flyer. Reba, (Female Student 1) waves coyly as the door shuts on the room.
Page 4
Panel 1:
A close up of long, lanky fingers on guitar, still at the moment.
Teacher (offpanel): …and its absolutely integral that you constantly monitor and vary your volume. Musicians your age often make the mistake of playing loudly throughought…
Panel 2:
Panning across a very splendid parlor type room.
Teacher (offpanel): which is not the same as projecting.
Panel 3:
The teacher’s feet, gloriously shoed.
Teacher: It’s vulgar, not musical, and it will reduce your work to a reprehensible monotone.
Panel 4:
Gibson listens grimly, his former flippancy completely absent. He is gripping the neck of his guitar tightly in front of a picture window looking onto a lovely garden with red birds.
Teacher (offpanel): You’ll be tempted to just blow them out of their seats at your first performance. Work through it again, this time monitoring your louds and softs.
Panel 5:
Gibson bending his head just a bit over the guitar, still very intent.
Teacher (offpanel): One two three One ready and ---
Panel 6: Pull back to Gibson playing in the fine parlor with the teacher, standing, keeping time as he smokes absently. The room is scattered with awards and musical instruments.
Page 5:
Panel 1:
Closer to the new gentleman’s face, puffing a bit.
Teacher: Hmm…. Hmm….
Panel 2:
Same shot, pulling the pipe from his mouth.
Teacher: mmm - no! No! What was that?
Panel 3:
Gibson looks up, startled but generally blank. He stops playing.
Panel 4:
A longer shot, from slightly behind and under the standing professor. Gibson looks a bit small under his arm and clearly has to look up. The professor is slightly silhouetted as he and Gibson are facing into the large picture window.
Teacher: What did we just say Gibson?? What did we just say?? We have a debut in three days. Three days! Pianissimo, Gibson, subtlety--!
Panel 5:
Wide shot of immediately outside the parlor door. An award or sign or clipping of some sort declares Sir Mason Rodigal the finest music performer/instructor/everything in the world, or whatever. He is actually in a photo with Gibson’s father, whom we have yet to see. It should be distinct but not overwhelming.
Gibson’s older brother Murrough, 22, is leaning casually beside the door to the far left. He’s waiting on Gibson. He has a general unfettered look about him, like a refined version of Gibson’s apparent carelessness.
Mason: (offpanel): Lets do it again, Gibson. You can’t panic with stress, but you can’t forget how important this particular performance is. Not just to you, mind you, but your father and mother expect the best from you of all your siblings who have passed under this roof.
Panel 6:
Murrough, looking thoroughly amused and unbothered by this overheard slight on his own ability.
Mason: In fact, your father told me himself - don’t tell him I told you that.
Panel 7:
Murrough checks his watch. He is deciding when to interrupt.
Mason: And also, Gibson - I agree with your father.
Panel 8:
Murrough raises his hand to knock.
Page 6:
Panel 1:
The professor is advancing towards Gibson in front of the picture window, slightly silhouetted. Gibson still sits over his guitar.
Panel 2:
Gibson’s fairly blank face in profile, hands on the guitar neck. The teacher is directly before him but only his hands are visible by his sides.
Mason: I know you’re the best of my pupils, Gibson, but you can’t lose focus -
Panel 3:
Same shot, Mason alights a warm, professional hand on his student’s shoulder. Gibson stares straight ahead and grips the guitar.
Mason: You’re far too good for that.
Panel 4:
Eyes shut, Gibson is choking the guitar as the hand rests too long and too gently on him, and Murrough knocks.
Panel 5:
Mason walking back across the room in foreground, face still partially obscured by lighting, Gibson still seated behind him somewhat. Mason has regained all his professionalism.
Mason: Time’s always so short. Don’t forget that as you practice! Three days, Gibson.
Panel 6:
Gibson has tilted his head just enough to stare out the picture window, though we’re stuck looking at the back of his hair.
Mason: Come in, Murrough. Good to see you again!
Panel 7:
Exactly the same.
Murrough: Thank you, Professor Rodigal. You’ve been well.
Mason (jovially): Indeed, but only so long as this young man is! We’re very excited, of course.
Murrough: Very, sir.
Page 1:
Panel 1:
A bustling, turn-of-the-century looking city square full of well-dressed people. Posters advertise a variety of upcoming musicals and plays. Gibson’s poster is frequently seen but not overwhelming.
Female Voice (offpanel): Miss. Leightly, your last performance was simply astounding.
Miss Leightly (offpanel): Thank you so much.
Male Voice (offpanel): It seems your entire family is blessed with a talent for the stage, Miss Leightly, but please allow me to say that I do find your dances to be the most captivating of all your brothers' performances.
Panel 2:
A beautiful young woman, Marrigale Leightly, 17, in a fine but demure dress and hat blushingly accepts the accolades on the front steps of a grand theatre. She is carrying some bags. An older, equally dandy couple, Mr. and Mrs. Salvador, have stopped her while she is on errands.
Marrigale: Oh well thank you very much for saying so. It’s really a different thing, though, as they’re all musicians.
Mr. Salvador: Altogether too humble.
Panel 3:
Three panels broken over the same background include each speaker.
Mrs. Salvador: You know though, Herman, I believe the youngest young man in her family has his debut coming up very soon, isn’t that right?
Marrigale: (Genuine) Oh yes, and you know, he’s really very good, I’m certain that you would enjoy seeing him.
Mr. Salvador: Well, I doubt he can give you a run for your money, but I’m certain we’ll turn out - along with the rest of the town.
Panel 4:
Drawn back to include the grand front of the theatre and some of the daily crowd. The marquee does indeed advertise Marrigale’s brother Gibson in the foreground. He looks like an important act.
Marrigale: I look forward it extremely, Mr. Salvador. I’m so sorry but please excuse me, if you would, I’m still looking for a gift for my mother’s birthday and… (trails off into the general mumur).
Page 2:
Panel 1: An extremely grand old building houses a local parochial school, lined with trees and fountains and reeking of money. What looks like a collection of mismatched cathedrals may be visible in the far background next to the ocean.
Panel 2: A formal looking classroom houses an odd mix of ornate rococo furniture and rustic, dangerously wired things. They should look like they were added as an afterthought as electricity is still relatively novel to this community. The room has an anachronistic look about it. The students are hard at work, bustling freely about the room, well uniformed and occasionally having an out of place piece of technology.
Panel 3:
Students in a hubbub. The professor is orating something inconsequential.
Student 1: … so I’ve heard you can’t even get into that school unless you’ve already been published.
Student 2: My family will murder me if I’m not published by the end of this term anyway. I mean, Scoffield over there has already been published in Motor Year, I mean, talk about cutting edge….
Panel 4:
Close up on a paper of school notes with caricatured doodles in the margin, its author’s writing hand having gone lax to the side, tapping its pencil.
Student 1: (offpanel) Damn… that’s ridiculous. I’m just worried about my grades now, much less publishing...
Panel 5:
Still close up on the doodler’s hands, he’s gathering up his things to leave.
Student 2: (offpanel) Whatever… I wish my family would just let me go into something bullshit, like painting or dance or like that stuff everybody seems to be into here.
Panel 6:
In a wider shot of the busy room, Gibson Leightly, the doodler, is getting up to leave. He is slightly disarrayed, mop-haired, attractive but distant. He would be listening to headphones if it were culturally appropriate. His doodles are still visible in hand.
Page 3:
Panel 1:
The professor notices Gibson about to leave. None of the other students seem to take notice.
Teacher: Mr. Leightly. Mr. Leightly!
Panel 2:
Gibson looks over his shoulder with only mild concern. We look over the professor’s shoulder at Gibson leaving, and a few students have stopped to look.
Teacher: Mr. Leightly, excuse me, but class isn’t yet half over. May I ask where you are going?
Panel 3:
Gibson looks bemused.
Gibson: I guess I’ve got to go to the bathroom, professor.
Class (offpanel): giggles.
Panel 4:
Teacher: Am I to assume you’ve finished your graduating thesis already here in the beginning of the term?
Panel 5:
A wider shot of the class more or less from the professor’s POV. Everyone has stopped. A clique of girls explain.
Female Student 1: That’s Gibson Leightly, sir. He never has to stay for class. He’s too busy… practicing.
Girls: Giggles.
Panel 5:
The professor looks slightly uneasy. He obviously hasn’t ever had Gibson for class, and isn’t sure what to believe. He’s probably seen posters around and is trying to place Gibson’s name and face.
Female student 2: He always leaves around noon, all the Lieghtlys do, they take private classes with Sir Mason Rodigal. You know.
Panel 6:
One of the girls holds up a flyer.
Female student 3: (more politely): He has a debut performance coming up, sir, everybody knows about it.
Panel 6:
Gibson at the door:
Gibson: So all right with you then? That’s great. Thanks Reba, hope to see you up front.
Panel 7:
Looking through the door from Gibson’s angle. The professor looks a bit put out but has capitulated to the flyer. Reba, (Female Student 1) waves coyly as the door shuts on the room.
Page 4
Panel 1:
A close up of long, lanky fingers on guitar, still at the moment.
Teacher (offpanel): …and its absolutely integral that you constantly monitor and vary your volume. Musicians your age often make the mistake of playing loudly throughought…
Panel 2:
Panning across a very splendid parlor type room.
Teacher (offpanel): which is not the same as projecting.
Panel 3:
The teacher’s feet, gloriously shoed.
Teacher: It’s vulgar, not musical, and it will reduce your work to a reprehensible monotone.
Panel 4:
Gibson listens grimly, his former flippancy completely absent. He is gripping the neck of his guitar tightly in front of a picture window looking onto a lovely garden with red birds.
Teacher (offpanel): You’ll be tempted to just blow them out of their seats at your first performance. Work through it again, this time monitoring your louds and softs.
Panel 5:
Gibson bending his head just a bit over the guitar, still very intent.
Teacher (offpanel): One two three One ready and ---
Panel 6: Pull back to Gibson playing in the fine parlor with the teacher, standing, keeping time as he smokes absently. The room is scattered with awards and musical instruments.
Page 5:
Panel 1:
Closer to the new gentleman’s face, puffing a bit.
Teacher: Hmm…. Hmm….
Panel 2:
Same shot, pulling the pipe from his mouth.
Teacher: mmm - no! No! What was that?
Panel 3:
Gibson looks up, startled but generally blank. He stops playing.
Panel 4:
A longer shot, from slightly behind and under the standing professor. Gibson looks a bit small under his arm and clearly has to look up. The professor is slightly silhouetted as he and Gibson are facing into the large picture window.
Teacher: What did we just say Gibson?? What did we just say?? We have a debut in three days. Three days! Pianissimo, Gibson, subtlety--!
Panel 5:
Wide shot of immediately outside the parlor door. An award or sign or clipping of some sort declares Sir Mason Rodigal the finest music performer/instructor/everything in the world, or whatever. He is actually in a photo with Gibson’s father, whom we have yet to see. It should be distinct but not overwhelming.
Gibson’s older brother Murrough, 22, is leaning casually beside the door to the far left. He’s waiting on Gibson. He has a general unfettered look about him, like a refined version of Gibson’s apparent carelessness.
Mason: (offpanel): Lets do it again, Gibson. You can’t panic with stress, but you can’t forget how important this particular performance is. Not just to you, mind you, but your father and mother expect the best from you of all your siblings who have passed under this roof.
Panel 6:
Murrough, looking thoroughly amused and unbothered by this overheard slight on his own ability.
Mason: In fact, your father told me himself - don’t tell him I told you that.
Panel 7:
Murrough checks his watch. He is deciding when to interrupt.
Mason: And also, Gibson - I agree with your father.
Panel 8:
Murrough raises his hand to knock.
Page 6:
Panel 1:
The professor is advancing towards Gibson in front of the picture window, slightly silhouetted. Gibson still sits over his guitar.
Panel 2:
Gibson’s fairly blank face in profile, hands on the guitar neck. The teacher is directly before him but only his hands are visible by his sides.
Mason: I know you’re the best of my pupils, Gibson, but you can’t lose focus -
Panel 3:
Same shot, Mason alights a warm, professional hand on his student’s shoulder. Gibson stares straight ahead and grips the guitar.
Mason: You’re far too good for that.
Panel 4:
Eyes shut, Gibson is choking the guitar as the hand rests too long and too gently on him, and Murrough knocks.
Panel 5:
Mason walking back across the room in foreground, face still partially obscured by lighting, Gibson still seated behind him somewhat. Mason has regained all his professionalism.
Mason: Time’s always so short. Don’t forget that as you practice! Three days, Gibson.
Panel 6:
Gibson has tilted his head just enough to stare out the picture window, though we’re stuck looking at the back of his hair.
Mason: Come in, Murrough. Good to see you again!
Panel 7:
Exactly the same.
Murrough: Thank you, Professor Rodigal. You’ve been well.
Mason (jovially): Indeed, but only so long as this young man is! We’re very excited, of course.
Murrough: Very, sir.