Treatment for a film involving a man leaving a party to get some beers
Shot from behind a dark haired, really cool guy, leaves the front door of a terraced town house, it’s probably in Islington, London.
“Oh yeah OK if they’ve got Newcastle Brown I’ll get one of them. Just one? OK, hah! two then.”
Letting out a small sigh and a large fart Ben closed the front door behind him. It’s safe to say that this party wasn’t exactly his thing.
Having known Tom and Jess for as long as he had, it really shouldn’t be this awkward but since he’d moved down South he really rarely saw them, they had all new clothes since he’d last seen them along with a bunch of new people that stood closer to them that Ben did.
They stood closer with their New Balance on the end of their legs. At the end of their New Balance there was a sort of 3–4mm gap between the soles of the shoes and the laminate flooring of Jess’ Dads flat.
Present day, Night, Internal ; Jess’ Flat:
A man no bigger than a 6 year old boy enters from outside of shot carrying a large piece of paper, probably A2 although one side has a torn edge implying the paper was at one point A1 or a different ISO sizing format, maybe American or possibly even a handmade unique sizing, could have been off a roll.
Paper in both hands and noticeably dressed as a miniature magician the small man brings the paper down from waist height in a swooping motion, meeting the floor just before the group of friends stood in a crescent half circle.
The paper slides seamlessly underneath the soles of those standing casually around the room, only stopping in a crumple at the table leg meeting the floor at the far side of the group, the folds of the paper, catching the now strange ambient light are shadowed green and dark violet.
Extreme close up of a Stella Artois premium lager can.
Extreme close up of a craft lager 12 oz can.
Ben had hung around the neighbourhood for a bit to ensure turning up a bit later than they had said. Sitting on the bus a little longer till Hoxton and walking the long way from there had added a few choice minutes to his arrival.
Present day, Night, External:
Heavy footsteps on the concrete stairs up to the front door a pair of skateboarding shoes, used, but not heavily worn make their way towards the front of the house.
In the space between a soft pink hand and the grey cast iron railing spanning the four stairs of the stoop is a full-sized promotional ice luge. Originally a Smirnoff backed venture the full-sized promotional ice luge now bears the branding of new, up-and-coming vodka company set on entering an emerging market.
Slowly melting as the friction between the pretty little mitt and the cool grey railing a groove emerges in the full-sized promotional ice luge cutting through the logo of the up-and-coming vodka company set on entering an emerging market.
Pretty sure that it was flat A Ben rang the buzzer lightly. Of course on second thoughts he had realised that velocity didn’t matter, this was a binary switch, on and off it was always obnoxious. always a pain to answer.
Still shot of graffiti on a brick wall that reads in brown ‘feelings’
Buzzed in Ben pushed the heavy front door and travelled over the doorstep, a rubber sealant strip, brass runner, hardwood door liner, rubber sealant strip, a small strip of dark blue hard wearing carpet (corrugations orientated in parallel to the corridor), round edged brass doormat runner, a larger expanse of inlayed doormat reading WELCOME, round edged brass doormat runner, around 2.4M of dark blue hard wearing carpet (corrugations orientated in parallel to the corridor).
Pushing the internal door to flat A. A 3 screw brass carpet runner on to a dark oak effect mid range laminate flooring led him to the kitchen in which Tom and Jess were entertaining, Hi.
Shot of a man carrying a cardboard box, large and unweildly he struggles along a corridor
Shot of a mittened hand taking crisps from a bowl.
‘Yeah things are OK’
Yeah busy I guess’
‘Nah she wasn’t really feeling like leaving the house.’
‘She’s with her parents this weekend.’
‘She’s gone away with work, yeah, I know, it is a really demanding job.’
‘She’s getting sick.’
‘We broke up.’
Present day, Night, Internal; Jess’ Flat:
The camera quickly tracks across the room following a large antique spear flying through the air.
With an oddly muted thud the spear, obviously made by indigenous people, a spear that will later be referred to by a complete dick as ‘definitely Maasai’, hits the stud wall on the far side of the living room. Perfectly pinning two items directly to the wall, both a small 4 x 6 35mm print of a group of friends at a BBQ in 2004, the top left hand corner of which is obscured by the photographer erroneously placing their index finger over the lens and a neatly smouldering half smoked hand rolled cigarette.
Awkward, now that he was getting a look of both sympathy and vindication from a sort of friend of his now ex-girlfriend, Ben placed his hands. Feeling the usual grit and the stalk of an apple in the front right pocket of his trousers Ben touched his index finger to his thumb, willing the grains of dirt and strands of fluff to produce a small fire.
Forgoing spontaneous combustion the next move was obvious, he’d planned this all along, it was just now time to execute.
Smiling with teeth and cheeks but not eyes, leading with both knees and head Ben turned 10 degrees left.
‘I’m going to get a beer from the fridge’
Now moving fridge-wards and turning his head 12 degrees to the right Ben sees, on the mantle right by the fireplace the top of a drawing Ben had done at school now almost perfectly occluded by an invitation to a garden party the year before last.
This was going fine, Ben opened the fridge and thought that the magnet that kept it closed was a little too strong for its purpose but then he thought that in fact he was probably a bit weaker now that he was surrounded by baddies. Looking inside he had hit the jackpot, an empty blue bag sat on top of an absolutely divine homemade tabouli, no beer, he’d have to go out.