Tuesday, June 14, 2011
You Talkin' To Me?
Happy Tuesday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.
In Chapter 27 of DAZED, BEAUTIFUL & BRUISED, teenage serial killer Sparkly Plenty prepares for her final showdown with disgraced homicide detective Carrie Love ... whether she likes it or not ...
EXT. CIRCUS OF BOOKS - NIGHT
Bonnie Tyler’s deliciously over-wraught pop epic
IF I WAS A WOMAN (AND YOU WERE A MAN) over --
A little red store on Santa Monica Boulevard
with apartments above.
A TRANNY HOOKER walks by,
stumbles in her platforms.
CAMERA PANS UP, focuses on a window, ZOOMS INTO --
INT. SPARKLE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Bonnie’s being played on a pink Barbie stereo
in a tiny room in a child-like explosion of clutter.
Movie posters and photos cover the walls.
AMERICAN PSYCHO. HEATHERS. CARRIE. RE-ANIMATOR. LOVE STORY.
Head shots of Karen Black. Crispin Glover.
DeNiro in TAXI DRIVER. Bugs Bunny.
Sparkle sits at her Sears workstation.
Works a pink I-Mac, clack-clacks on the keyboard.
Download this, hot stuff.
Gig me on a gaga-byte.
CLOSE ON --
The bulletin board behind the computer.
Covered in news clippings.
FEMME DETECTIVE FOULS OUT,
with a glam shot of Carrie.
GOLDEN COP COUPLE HITS THE SKIDS,
with a photo of Bernie and Carrie
getting a medal from the Mayor.
HOLLYWOOD HACK BOILED LIKE TURNIP.
VIDEO CLERK HUMAN PIN-CUSHION ON VINE.
TRUST FUND FILLY FILLETED.
TEN-PERCENTER POPPED IN TREACHEROUS TRYST.
The song ends.
goes to the stereo.
Puts on a new CD.
The sunshiny, super-pop of A-Ha’s
THE SUN ALWAYS SHINES ON TV starts --
And, in her own little private disco,
she dances to the music with complete abandon,
lost in the sugary synthesizers.
Hold me -- believe in me -- touch me --
the sun always shines on T.V. --
Sparkle strikes a pose --
somewhere between Travolta in
'Saturday Night Fever'
and the Olsen twins on ecstasy.
SPARKLE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
It was destiny. Fate.
The Gods pulled up my skirt
and gave it to me good.
I had a vision. A mission.
A poison pen pal from hell.
I realized that Carrie Love and Bernie Keko
were the parents I could never have.
I knew it the minute
they walked in the store --
and into my heart.
All of a sudden it became like, s
o clear what I needed to do.
I had to bring them together again.
So I could tear them apart.
INT. CIRCUS OF BOOKS - SPARKLE’S APARTMENT - DUSK
The catchy hair-metal of the Scorpion’s
cover of the Who’s I CAN’T EXPLAIN.
A riot of stickers. Mean People Suck.
Get off the Phone and Drive.
Free Dana Plato. Bitch on Board. Wax Bush.
INT. SPARKLE’S APARTMENT - BATHROOM - DUSK
As the MUSIC continues, we see --
A vision in dayglow fuschia battle fatigues.
Giant pink ten-inch moon-boot platforms.
Centerfold makeup, fake lashes.
Some kinda Spice Girl on acid
from 'Taxi Driver' hell.
She pours a shot of Jaegermeister,
You’re very good.
Come on, ma!
I’m trying to do my thing down here.
I got a big show to get ready for.
Alright, I’ll turn it down.
She BURSTS into hysterical laughter.
Opens the medicine cabinet,
takes out a bottle.
Shakes out a handful of pills.
GULP. Pours another glass.
What’s so fuckin’ funny? Huh?
What’s so fuckin’ funny about me?
What -- do I make you laugh, huh?
Do I a-muse yoo?
What am I, some sorta clown?
Make you fuckin’ laugh? What.
What’s so fuckin’ funny about -- me.
The psychette GIGGLES.
Then remembers something.
Takes a red Bozo nose out of her pocket.
Pops it on.
(at her reflection)
But Mommy, I don’t want to go the circus,
the clowns are scary. They make me cry.
She GRABS a set of hair clippers,
FLICKS it on -- BUZZZZZ.
Well, then -- take me to the big top.
And starts shaving the side of head,
long, beautiful blonde hair cascading in waves,
floating like feathers --
scrapes off foam with a pink razor, revealing --
A big, beautiful blonde mohawk.
IN THE MIRROR
You talkin’ to me?
You -- talkin to me ?
Me? You talkin’ to -- me?
(raises gun, sticks it in her mouth)
‘Cauhz tha no-uhn elth heah.
EXT. HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD - PAWN SHOP - DUSK
The Thrill Kill Kult’s nasty, naughty BADLIFE.
You know Hollywood is actually
a pretty shitty part of town.
A crappy, bile-green 1970
Dodge Dart Swinger pulls up, parks.
CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
It’s nothing but pawn shops,
guitar shacks, tourist shit,
strip joints, star maps,
sleazy bars, street trash
and hustlers of indeterminate gender.
Sparkle gets out. Locks the car. Looks around.
No one notices, no one looks. She blends.
CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
A far cry from the
'land of celluloid dreams.'
We follow the young woman
marching down the sidewalk.
No one looks at her twice.
CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Not only is it a mecca for the
sea of humanity yearning to be famous --
it’s also a vicious black hole of hell,
sucking in a staggering array of psychotic,
self esteem-challenged social misfits,
driven by rage, sin --
and a pathetic desire to be famous.
Almost none of them make it, of course.
So the town is strewn with the litter
of faded dreams, broken hearts,
and a hell of alotta whores.
Sparkle reaches a store.
An old, original facade.
THE BARGAIN CLOWN MART.
She smiles devilishly.
Well, alrighty then.
Let’s check out what’s under the big top --