Short Film Idea.

This is my attempt at creative writing.

Working title: “My Life Sucks.”

Synopsis:

A man, who daydreams of a better life decides to take action against his drab day-to-day lifestyle. Constantly looking upon past times that bring him joy, he is constantly reminded of his insignificant existence. I plan to pay extremely close attention to style in this film, possibly telling the entire narrative through a series of point of view shows. With the addition of a wide-angle lens, and a harness to mount the camera on my face, I plan to be able to use both hands as I interact with the world around me. I feel that it is the common route for student filmmakers to make films that deal with anxiety, depression, and suicide. With this film, I hope to transform that stereotype and offer salvation by giving the main character what he desires in the end of the film: a life free from bounds and limits where he can truly live at peace. At the conclusion of my film, I attempt to question the audience whether this is the story of a man who has finally found happiness in the afterlife, or if it is about a happy person dreaming about the ordinary, mediocre life he could have lived.Most of my past work has been very light-hearted and comical, so I want to challenge myself with creating a more dramatic story line. I would like to shoot in and around the San Francisco area so that I may be inspired by the urbanization and the new surroundings of the big city. The shooting of this film will no doubt take multiple days and multiple locations. Because of the lack of coverage of each scene (all shots will be most likely form POV), I will be sure to focus that each shot is carefully constructed and that camera movement is appropriate and deliberate. I have written my script and am ready to get started shooting as soon as the quarter begins!

Treatment:

Images of past events pass through my head. The memories feel so real. I can almost touch them, almost feel them, almost interact with them. For some reason, I can tell something is off. My mother is pushing me on a swing. I smile as the breeze flows carelessly through my hair. I jump into the pool. The floaties help me stay afloat. I can’t help but pretend I am a submarine searching for hidden treasures. I’m eating ice cream with all the fixings to make diabetic scream. The ice cream drips on my clothes and face, but I am indifferent. I’m building legos. I shove the instructions aside as I attempt to build what I see in my head. My mother tucks me in and kisses my forehead. She begins reading me a book. I don’t care for the story. The sound of my mother’s voice keeps me interested. As my mind succumbs, my eyes begin getting heavy. I do not resist the tendency to close them. I am asleep. In this moment I am happy. Too bad real life isn’t like this.

An older me wakes up in an undecorated studio apartment. A picture of my current girlfriend stares at me from my nightstand table as my eyes begin to focus. I quickly check my watch before exclaiming, “Shit!” I rush to get ready. I make coffee, take a shower, brush my teeth, shave, check my watch, put on my work attire, tie my tie, look in the mirror, grab my thermal mug and coffee, and head out the door. As I wait on the corner for my carpool to arrive, I see happy people all around me. Couples are gossiping, children are laughing, and everyone is happy, except for me. A high end luxury car pulls up and I get in. I greet my coworker Tom, who quickly apologizes for picking me up so late. I tell him, “It’s no problem.” As we drive to work he begins telling me about his life. Tom is married with two kids. Because his wife is the daughter of the CEO of the company, he had no problem moving up to head supervisor. As for me, I’m just a lowly office clerk. Everyday from 9-5 I log data, send out faxes, make copies, and make sure not to get in other people’s way. Tom also makes it a point to brag about his upcoming trip to the Bahamas with his family, courtesy of his wife’s father. Inside I hate him and his life, but I just smile. At work I do what I do everyday. I copy documents, type data entries, eat my pathetic ham and cheese sandwich, and count the seconds until I can get home and do it all again the next day. Tom has to work late tonight so I am forced to take the bus back home. I could never afford a car so I’ve always relied on others to get me around. As I step out of the office, it begins to pour rain. Luckily, I remembered my umbrella. As soon as I open it, the wind takes a hold, and blows it from my grasp. I chase after it. The umbrella eventually ends up in the street where a car promptly runs over it. I begin to walk back toward the bus stop as the rain beats down upon my head. Walking towards me is a man in a baggy sweater, hood pulled over his face. I feel out of my element but I continue to walk towards him. As I pass him, he bumps shoulders with me, knocking me aside. I shake it off and continue to walk past him. A few seconds later I hear the sound of footsteps getting closer. I curiously turn around. A fist comes flying from the sky and makes contact with my skull. I hit the cold, hard sidewalk like a bag of wet cement. Everything goes dark and I close my eyes.

Eventually I come to. When my eyes begin to focus, I notice a large amount of pedestrians standing over me. An older gentleman asks, “Are you okay?” I quickly rise to my feet and push past them. As I walk away from the situation, I begin rubbing my forehead, where a splintering headache has begun to develop. I bring my hand down and notice some blood on my hand. I should get this looked at, but at this point I just want to get home. I finally reach the bus stop where I stand and wait. I reach for my wallet in my back pocket and notice it is missing. I check my pockets, and nothing. I have no choice but to walk home. As I walk home, I notice a homeless man sitting on the side of the building. I notice he is holding a cardboard sign that reads, “At leest I am free.” I think about those words for the remainder of my walk home. As I walk up to my studio apartment, I notice a piece of paper stapled to the wall. As I approach, the large lettering is as clear as day. The paper reads, “EVICTION NOTICE.” I don’t know why I ever decided to live in this part of the city, the rent is astronomical for something that is the same square footage as my cubicle where I work. Paying rent has always been a struggle for me, so it’s no surprise that the landlord is kicking me out. According to the notice, I have one week to move all my stuff out. I enter the house and turn on the lights.

Even with the lights on, my apartment still feels dark and depressing. I microwave a cup of noodles and grab a Budweiser from the fridge. I sit on my broken Ikea couch and flip the television on. Every channel is a montage of commercials telling me how to get skinnier, look younger, and have a large genitalia. I let the sounds of the commercials fade out as I reflect on my daily ooccurences. Bad luck seems to follow me wherever I go. My quiet time is interrupted by a phone ring. I answer the phone. My girlfriend of 3 months is on the other end. The way she says, “hello’” I already know where this conversation is going. She proceeds to tell me that things just aren’t interesting anymore and that she feels like I’m holding her back from experiencing life. She’s probably right. She concludes the conversation with the famous last lines, “It’s not you, it's me.” After a pause, I say, “OK,” and hang up the phone. I snap my phone in two pieces before throwing it to the ground.

Outside, I lock the door to my apartment. Images of when I was a child being passing through my head. I walk along the dark empty streets of the city. I enter my neighborhood hardware store. I find what I am looking for and head to the checkout line. I look down at my one item, a ten foot line of woven rope. I feel weird just buying this one thing, so I look around the checkout line for something else to buy. I see a magazine on exotic beaches across America. I pay for both the magazine and the rope with a check. I walk home, taking time to look down at my recent purchases. An image of my mom swinging me around by my arms is overlayed onto the dark city surrounding me. I get home and take the items out of the bag. I put the magazine on my coffee table. I flip through it to see a wide assortment of beaches. I put the magazine back down and reach for the rope. I begin tying a very distinguished knot. The hangman’s noose knot looks a lot easier to do in the instructions. Finally, my poor attempt at the knot seems good enough to complete the action it wass designed to assist with.

An image of me as a child waking up in bed appears. I begin to tie the noose from a support beam in my apartment. The younger me pushes the door to my room slightly ajar. The sounds of crying can be heard from another room. Back in my apartment, I am staring at the noose. I walk away and go to my desk where I grab a piece of paper. The younger me creeps down the hallway. I see a light at the end of the hallway. The crying gets louder. I can tell by the deep sobbing, it’s my father. I peek in and see him with his head in his hands seated at the kitchen table. He notices my presence and looks up at me. I freeze. Something is terribly wrong. Back in my apartment, I am scribbling my poor attempt at a suicide note. I throw the first version away before grabbing a new piece of paper. I begin to write again. The image of my father staring at me with his tear-stricken, beady eyes haunts me. In a deep, low voice, he says, “There’s been an accident.” A blur of lights passes through my line of visions. Car sounds are heard. Back in the apartment, I finish writing the last word to my note. I step back to put the note on the desk on the note. It reads, “At least I am free.” I look further up on my desk where I have a framed photograph of my mother. I reach out to touch the cold, frigid glass separating me from her warms, smooth skin. I grab a chair and walk over to the noose hanging in the center of my living room. I stand face to face with the noose. In this moment I am extremely nervous. I begin blinking. My heart rate begins to speed up. Flashes of oncoming cars are seen. I blink faster. The image of my living room begins to fade. Blurred lights overpower my vision. The sound becomes too much to bear. Then all becomes quiet. Black is all that surrounds me.

After a few seconds, I wake up. I blink my eyes a few times allowing my vision to become sharp. I am on a sandy beach, like the one from the magazine. I look around and notice my girlfriend to my right. She smiles at my with a tender gaze. I smile back. I proceed to look at the horizon. A group of migrating gulls fly through the sky. The sun beating down on me feels good. In this moment I am happy. In this moment I am free.