It’s official. My lifelong
aspiration has been achieved. People
Magazine, my guilty-pleasure “literature” of choice, has finally become an
actual reading assignment for school. Yes, I did assign it to myself. But still
impressive, none-the-less.
In his “how to” book, Save the
Cat!, Blake Snyder advises us as novice screenwriters to write for our
audience. And since the culture of today is heavily influenced my media-based
technologies such as Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, I didn’t think it was
too much of a stress to assume that my audience also reads People Magazine.
The influence that the media has on
the world has always fascinated me. This idea that people would follow you
around on foot to take your picture based on what you do for a living attracts
me like watching Meerkat Manor on the
Animal Planet. It’s a predator. It’s primitive. It’s “primal”, as Snyder would
say. There is something that sucks you in about this kind of gossip.
The most classic example of the
media running rampant is the tragic story of Princess Diana. For those of you
who don’t know, Princess Diana died in a car crash on August 31st,
1997, as her driver was racing away from the pursuit of men with cameras. After
this, you would think that the paparazzi would leave this poor family alone.
(Well, not so poor, but you get the point.) However, a mere 15 years later, I
picked up a People Magazine issue at
the grocery store with the following cover story: “The Naughty Prince!”. On
principal, I felt like a scumbag for buying it, even if my mother’s always
argued that People is the classiest
of the gossip magazines. I’ve always thought that the people who continue to
buy the magazines are just as much to blame as the people who take the pictures
for them. And it’s ironic how the grocery store provides your two necessities:
food, and that article on Taylor Swift’s latest boyfriend.
After reading the article entitled
“Sexy, Royal, and Wild”, I started to imagine the media from Prince Harry’s
point of view. At first I figured he would hate the media, and for just
reasons, until I looked closer at the pictures in the People four page spread. Whether it’s by spitting champagne in the
face of a Polo opponent or by wearing an Angry Bird hat to the WOMAD music
festival, Prince Harry is always acting for the cameras. Even when he’s not
goofing around, Harry gives the paparazzi a confident smile that reminds us
all, he’s got the upper hand. Not just that he’s royal, but that Prince Harry
grabs each camera-plagued situation and takes full control of it. While many
have criticized him for his recklessness, I always find myself sticking up for
him. It could be the fact that he’s a fellow redhead, but I truly admire his
unwillingness to change for the crowd of men behind that retractable lens.
Christopher Keane reminds us in his
book, How to Write a Selling Screenplay, that we as writers must look
for good stories everywhere. When I first read this article in People Magazine, I realized that Prince
Harry would make a great main character, rich with complexity. Inspired, I wrote
a poem about him for my English class assignment. It went like this:
There’s
a Picture.
Princess Diana died on August 31st, 1997,
and the world cried. But what they didn’t know, the world, was that they stole
those tears from a young boy who needed them.
There’s
a picture
of
a brick house
with
three brick chimneys.
My thumbs smudge
finger-print
paths on the front
so
I can smell the sweet grass.
Flowers
wrapped like Fig Newtons
sink
into the lawn
and
keep me from reaching
the
rust haired Prince of Wales.
There’s
two men in black suits,
and
a boy who claims
he’s
three-fourths of a man.
Tight
black ties
choke
back a chuckle on the verge of
cracking.
He
looks down and can’t believe
only
the dirt is staring back at him.
And
I pretend I am
the
rust haired Prince of Wales.
I
set a flower down but
take
it back because
I
know the bees will sniff it first.
I
cross my fingers behind my back
and
hope the other hand-written letters
are
just a ghost writer from Missouri.
I
hope the only one who cares is me
but
I say this to the dirt beneath my Sunday shoes
because
I know it isn’t true.
Because
he is the only Prince of Wales.
He
slips soft hands into his pockets
and
I remember that I love it when boys cry,
but
hate it too.
He
leans in close to tell you,
whispers that he doesn’t have to show you
how
his ribs jut-out like so.
He
turns from the lawn and grins,
because
he knows he can step on all the flowers
and
still be the only one who had her.
However,
even after writing this, I still found myself stuck on the idea. In those 39
lines of poetry, I felt like I had not yet exhausted the concept, and that
there was still more to write. Therefore, following the breadcrumb trail both
Snyder and Keane are leading me on, I attempted to bring my obsession to the
screen. And so, here is my interpretation of what I have come to believe as one
of the greatest mass-media personalities of all time.
THERE’S A PICTURE. SCRIPT
EXT. KENSINGTON PALACE, LONDON -- MIDDAY
Behind a large set of iron
gates, we see a flawless green lawn and Kensington Palace in the distance.
Soldiers guard the gate as thousands of mascara-streaked faces lay flowers in
front of it. It’s September, 1997, days after the tragic death of Princess
Diana.
Here we meet THERESA. She
can’t be over 30. Amongst the crowd, she looks timid and afraid. The BUSTLE of
people around her is especially loud. She stares at the flowers in her hands,
but doesn’t put them down. Then, she hears a MOTHER scolding her SON and turns.
MOTHER
Quit
your whining. Just take these and set them down for mummy.
She kneels in front of her
son and grabs his chin, forcing the boy to face her. This middle-aged woman is
plump and unhappy. The boy cries, but steps forward with the flowers.
MOTHER
Go on, don’t be shy now.
She pushes him lightly in
the back and he moves faster. Theresa thinks about saying something, but
doesn’t.
MOTHER
(moaning)
Oh poor, poor Diana!
She sighs a bit too loudly
and covers her face with her hands. Theresa looks back at the bouquet she’s
holding. The sobbing, distraught CROWD gets louder.
A WOMAN behind Theresa
points to the gates.
WOMAN
They’re coming! They’re coming this way!
Theresa turns to see THREE
MEN in black suits walk towards the gates from the other side. This is PRINCE
CHARLES, PRINCE WILLIAM, and PRINCE HARRY. William holds Harry’s hand, but it
doesn’t seem strange. They are escorted by BODY GUARDS in suits as well. The
MEDIA shove Theresa to get closer to the gate. The SOLDIERS hold them off.
WOMAN FROM THE
CROWD
(shouts)
We love you! We love you!
The crowd erupts as the
princes come to a stop. Media personnel struggle to slip their microphones
through the gate.
REPORTER #1
How has this tragedy affected the royal family?
REPORTER #2
Why hasn’t the Queen spoken to the public yet?
REPORTER #3
Where is the Queen?
REPORTERS #1, #2, and #3
all speak at once. Prince Charles ignores all of their questions.
PRINCE CHARLES
We
would like to thank you all for your support through this trying time for me
and my family.
Short and sweet, Prince
Charles steps back from the microphone and waves to the crowd.
ZOOM IN on Prince Harry,
staring at all of the flowers. A look of confusion passes over his face.
As Prince Charles turns to
walk away, the crowd surges around Theresa, and a mini brawl between the Media
and the crowd begins. Prince William steps in front of Prince Harry, but
Theresa can still see Prince Harry’s face. She swears they’ve had eye contact,
when Prince Harry looks away. He grins and Theresa catches it before he turns
and follows his brother away from the crowd. They don’t look back.
Theresa walks backwards,
bumping into the boy she saw earlier. He is crying, and is Mother is nowhere to
be seen. Theresa backs up until she hits the curb, then throws the bouquet in
the nearest trashcan. She walks away.
Fade to Black.
MOVIES WATCHED: 4
SCREENPLAY PAGES WRITTEN: 16
NOVEL PAGES WRITTEN: 60
PAGES LEFT IN MISS PEREGRINE’S HOME FOR
PECULIAR
CHILDREN: 260
PAGES LEFT IN THE HOURS: 198
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