SCRIPT / DIALOGUE WORKSHOP

We all had a great time at Peter Bird's Script & Dialogue workshop on Tuesday. I've asked everyone who attended to post their mini-scripts on the Blog so you can see what we got up to !!!


INTRODUCTION
Fred and ‘Ginger’ (real name Bob) are colleagues - the dynamic duo of ‘Armand Recovery Services’. They’ve worked together for more than 10 years. Both in their 50’s. They’re bailiffs and they hate it. Both dream of retiring and taking up sea fishing in a big way. Fred is the ‘knocker’ - he deals with the people at the door and the legalities. He's slim, twice divorce with a nervous disposition. Ginger is the ‘heavy’ not a tough or malicious man he’s just good at picking up furniture. Married with three grown-up daughters at home. He’s hen-pecked and resigned to his lot in life.

OPENING SCENE
A suburb of Leeds. Pan shot of a run-down street. Its 5am and still dark outside.
Cut to Fred and Ginger. They walk single-file down a short path in an untidy garden towards a battered front door. The door is slightly ajar. The house and street are ominously quiet.

GINGER: Have y’got the warrant?
FRED: Course I ‘ave!
GINGER: Well go on then, knock an’ get on wi’ it.
FRED: It’s already open.
GINGER: What do y’ mean it’s open?
FRED: Open! Y’know – it’s open!
GINGER: Hmmm. Doors are never open.
FRED: Suppose w’ just knock and go in?

Close up of Fred as he pushes the door with his forefinger. The door slowly swings back with a creak. Fred looks back at Ginger who shrugs and gestures for Fred to go in.

GINGER: After you mate.
FRED: Isn’t it always?

Fred knocks loudly on the door frame.

FRED: Hello? Mr Johnston. Bailiffs!

There's no answer. He steps into the house. Ginger follows but stumbles over the ‘storm-drain’ and pushes Fred further into the house.

Cut to the interior of the house. Shabby, dark and drab.

FRED: Watch it! …… Jeeesus it’s dark.
GINGER: S’ok I’ve got the light switch.

A dull light comes on from a single bulb overhead.

FRED: Blood – e – hell. Look at that.

Cut to a sprawled figure lying face down in the hallway. Its hand is clutching the handle of an old fashioned suitcase. There is a pool of blood. Cut to Fred’s feet - he is standing in the blood. Cut to Ginger who is looking over Fred’s shoulder – his view obscured.

GINGER: Is it a dummy?
FRED: God I ‘ope so. It’s got no head.