Post by The Walkers on Mar 26, 2023 22:00:35 GMT
The exterior of 8241 Primrose Lane comes into frame with a slow zoom as the exterior of the ideal American home stands perfectly symmetrical before us. From the lawn to the trees to the bushes guarding the sides of the front steps which seem to flicker with orange embers for a few intermittent glimpses, all is exactly as it should be.
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
A tapping echoes out gently, growing closer as the camera approaches the foot of the stoop.
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
The door swings open and we’re greeted by a man standing in the entrance. His eyes look vacant, emotionless even. The fist previously heard rhythmically tapping is still held up, its grizzly and burnt exterior stuck in a sort of clenched stasis.
APPLAUSE
He swings around at the sound of commotion behind him and the sound of shattering. His son Will stands frozen in place, the “uh oh” look plastered over his face. His daughter Abby throws both hands up, an attempt to make clear her innocence.
Abby: Smooth move.
Alice: Will, how many times have we told you?
APPLAUSE
Alice: No football in the house!
A few rapid blinks later and the man’s lips part for response as he seems to come to.
LAUGHTER
Will: Sorry, guys. I’m just a little on edge about the game this week. Woodsboro is as tough as they get. This state championship is no joke.
Robert: No pressure, son. You’re the best QB this town has ever seen. Well, after your old man, of course.
LAUGHTER
Will: Here we go again.
Robert: You know that’s why your mom married me, right?
Alice: Yep. That’s exactly why.
LAUGHTER
Alice: You’ll do great, Will. I’ve already cleared a spot in the trophy case for you.
The case did indeed have a newly leased vacancy, right between a ribbon that Robert won in a chili contest and Abby’s trophy for the hundred meter dash.
Abby: Guys?
Alice: Yes, dear?
Abby: What’s the spot above the fireplace for?
The mantle itself was mostly bare, yet well decorated. Just above it, three blank mounts, each adorned with their own nameless plate.
LAUGHTER
APPLAUSE
A phone ringing off the hook, a room half full of hopefuls with scripts and pitch materials in their hands, and tension so palpable that you’d choke on it if you left your mouth open long enough. This is the recipe that has one waiting hopeful riding a wave of anxiety and adrenaline to the point of near blackout, his knee bouncing aggressively enough to nearly dent the flooring beneath his feet. The man pulls out his phone just long enough to check for out of place mustache hairs and to realign the glasses on his face.
?: That’s me.
He clutches his own few dozen pages under his left arm as he trails the young woman through a pair of double doors.
?: Thank you.
She turns and leaves quietly as the man takes a seat in front of the single desk.
Stop.
?: I’m sorry?
The man behind the desk lifts his head up from tired palms and lights a menthol, pressing it to his lips and drawing hard before letting out a voice that echoes like a fever dream to the ears of the man currently walking the line of a stress induced panic attack.
?: I-
Cooking show? Reality TV? One of those niche pseudo sports that nobody knows exists prior to a network deal? Let’s get that out of the way first.
?: None of those.
Talk show? Clip reaction show? Documentary?
?: It’s a sitcom, actually.
Pass.
?: No, you don’t understand. This one’s special.
You seem like a nice guy. I’m sure you’ve put your heart and soul into whatever that is there just like everyone who walked in here before you and everyone that will come after and believe me, I don’t take joy in being the prick who has to tell you it means nothing to me, but that’s where we’re at. If you were to come in here with someone whose name carries weight and say the word “sitcom”, you might have a chance, but you don’t have that.
?: If you just looked at what I’ve got written here, you’d feel differently. This is family centered. It’s going to work for everybo-
Nobody is trying to buy Full House in 2023. Judging by the air you have about you, I’m guessing a lot of people like myself already told you no.
?: No, wait. You just need to-
Next!
?: But, I came all this way. You’re not even going to-
Next.
I’ve struggled for so long as the only one to believe in me, to believe in my show and what I could bring to the masses. I can’t begin to tell you how many sleepless nights that I spent dwelling on every rejection and thinking about how easy those who turned me away might be resting. It was no skin off their backs, they were just doing their jobs, yeah? They were just steering ships towards their version of the now, the things that they think are going to torch carry for the networks they’re tasked with keeping afloat. I suppose that it wouldn’t be fair to fault them for that, would it?
Yet, I still did.
Bitter, angry, and seemingly at the end of the road.
What could I do?
Maybe I could just lay down and take it. Maybe I could shuffle my pilot away into a box in the attic and go back to thankless editorials. I could bury my dreams six feet deep and accept the daily grind, resume my role as a cog in a machine, a role that I was admittedly good at. Then again, what’s the point in that? What’s the point in accepting an unhappier version of life and letting a laundry list of “what ifs” haunt me from sunrise to sunset? I’d done everything the right way, the admirable way even.
Then you fell into my lap.
I should be thanking you and singing your praises right now, Mr. English. You’re the one who greenlit all of this when nobody else was willing to take a chance on it and in doing so, you gave me what I needed to bring to life I was told was dead on arrival. All I had to do was scratch your back in response to you scratching mine and at first, I wasn’t sure how to feel. The carnage that you foster under your roof wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for my vision, but closed minded people are what had me searching in the first place.
On the other hand, there’s a level of co-dependence here and if it wasn’t clear already, will be made obvious upon premiere. I came to you, but only because you were flashing your signal long before you were even a blip on my radar. It wasn’t myself and my family that you sought out specifically, but you did have vacancies to fill. You need now what you’ve needed all along and that’s selfless people, people capable of lifting one another up and willing to throw all the caution to the wind to garner gasps and pump out fleeting shock value.
Needless to say, your current standard bearers make sense in that regard. A trio of carnies thrown into a medium assessed as being inherently carny is like comfort food for your ticket holders. They manage to perfectly balance a meticulous craft with the sideshow environment, both in your company and theirs. Both outlets sharpen their respective abilities in the other and that’s why save for a small misstep here and there, they’ve yet to be knocked off the platform they find themselves occupying while largely unopposed. These trials aren’t for the faint of heart and that’s what raises the question.
Is it the circus or its performers that have driven away those who fall short?
Show business, am I right?
So..kill or be killed.
It breaks for them.
13-9.
The score and clock above it served to push the sense of urgency at Carpenter Field, evoking nervousness for those in the bleachers. Among them, Alice and Robert stand against the rusted back rail and fencing at the very top of the seating on the home team’s side of the field. Their stiffer posture hardly blends in, but the circumstance seems to make them invisible to anyone else in attendance. While others turn the dial up on the applause, the couple stare out blankly towards the turf.
Clock ticking down. Thirteen seconds left to go in this one and you have to think that we’re looking at a make or break situation for Coach Flanagan’s offense, folks.
Out on the track surrounding the field, Abby Walker stands a few paces ahead of the cheer team, her smile stretched unnaturally far as she waves towards her parents.
Will gets into position and looks ahead to the mob of black and white uniforms staring back at him.
Robert: I almost can’t look.
Alice: Yet, you are.
Robert: I said almost.
LAUGHTER
As the ball hits his hands and Will shuffles backwards, the area around him becomes warped. The sky blackens and the sound of thunder builds in the background. With a defiant rumble and the clouds break loose, giving way to drops of crimson that turn from sprinkles to a full on downpour. In the crowd, individuals become mere monochromatic shapes, indistinguishable from one another.
When it rains, it pouuuurs.
The announcer's voice loses all life, trending downward into a sinister warp. In a fraction of a second, the scene shifts from still to live again while individuals become individuals once more, completely void of the red that had coated them before.
Walker gets it out! That one is deep, folks! Going back! Going back! TOUCHDOWN! A FIFTY YARD BOMB! WALKER WINS IT! WALKER WINS IT!
The crowd goes berserk while Alice and Robert smile back at Abby and Will on the field.
Robert: This isn’t that.
Off on the sidelines, Gatorade comes crashing down upon QB1 and in one fell swoop, Will is hoisted onto the shoulders of his teammates in celebration. He peers out into the stands as his parents now join in on the ovation. Alice leans over towards her husband with a nudge and a toothy grin.
Alice: I think we’re going to need a bigger mantle.
LAUGHTER
APPLAUSE
CREDITS ROLLING
