Thursday, October 18, 2012
The Freak Of The Day
Happy Thursday, 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 41 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, media doyens Barbara Sawyer and Diane Walter viciously fight over who gets to interview imprisoned screenwriter Friday Foster in her cell ...
EXT. COURTHOUSE - SHAKY CAM - DAY
Friday is led along with a row of prisoners
in chains into a waiting transport vehicle.
She turns. Gives us THE FINGER.
A FAT, SLACK-JAWED SUBURBAN FAMILY
watches the show on TV.
Eating their dinner on trays.
That Friday shure is a dish --
FAT LITTLE GIRL
Mommy, what’s a ‘Media Whore?’
Shut up and eat your Hot Pockets.
THE TONIGHT SHOW - AT THAT MOMENT
JAY LENO cocks his head.
Points his giant chin. Smiles.
This was in the news, did you see it?
A WOMAN, right here in LA,
pulled a GUN on a waitress,
and demanded an APOLOGY,
said the waitress wasn’t POLITE.
I’d hate to see what she’d do
if the ORDER was wrong --
LATE NIGHT WITH DAVID LETTERMAN - CONTINUOUS
Dave sits at his desk.
Flashes a gap-toothed smile.
Top Ten Reasons
To Take A Movie Studio Hostage --
APPLAUSE from the audience.
DAVE LETTERMAN (CONT'D)
my parents took the studio tour,
and all I got was this PISTOL --
THE CRAIG FERGUSON SHOW - CONTINUOUS
Craig Ferguson paces the stage.
And then she HIJACKED a CAR.
Yes! It’s true! NOOOOOO,
she’s not in a GANG.
She’s a SCREENWRITER.
(eyes dart back and forth)
Can you imagine what could have happened
if she was a DIRECTOR?
Michael Bay, eat your HEART out.
SPINNING NEWSPAPER HEADLINES --
THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER
REBEL CHICK HIT IN STICKS
FRIDAY’S NIGHT FLIGHT CLIMBS HEIGHTS
THE LA TIMES
AMERICAN OUTLAW NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET
FRIDAY’S SECRET LIFE
GUNS AND AMMO
THE BEST THIGH HOLSTER.
FRIDAY FOSTER PICTORIAL.
INT. JAIL CELL - AT THAT MOMENT
Large, private. Tres outre.
Giant Persian rug. Lux furniture.
Private bath. Plasma-screen.
Plants. Workout equipment.
With Friday is DIANE WALTERS (50’s),
glam doyenne of network reportage.
Beige face pulled back.
She blinks, looks up from her notes.
Brow furrowed. Taps her pencil.
A CAMERA CREW shoots the action.
Do you have -- any regrets, Friday?
Are you kidding?
I’ve got the number one show on TV.
A book deal. A biopic.
Two of my screenplays have been greenlit --
But you’re in a federal lockup --
For what -- ten years?
I’ll get out in 5 to 6 for good behavior.
I can do that standing on my head.
This is not exactly the Hanoi Hilton, Diane.
But what about your freedom, Friday.
Don’t you miss that?
Freedom’s just another word for NOTHING.
When I was free, I was fucking BROKE.
Totally stressed out.
Desperate. Creatively stymied.
And look at me now.
I’m a media superstar.
Last time I looked,
it was the American dream.
You're not anybody in America
unless you're on TV.
So, Friday -- we’ve seen The Crying Game,
Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and Transamerica.
Tell me, how do you want your story
told on the big screen?
How is your story -- different?
What the fuck?
Well, I imagine you’ve had a rough life.
Filled with -- pain.
Why are you bringing THAT up?
We didn’t go over that
in the pre-interview.
I’m not in PAIN.
I’m in PRISON.
A FIGURE appears in the doorway.
Livid. It’s BARBARA SAWYER,
(60’s) Diane’s rival.
Pulled back even tighter.
Rheumy eyes flicker fiercely.
Wizened claws in fists clenched tight.
Stop the fucking camera.
This is MY interview!
Nice to see you.
We’re almost done.
You can do the second interview.
Ross Dress For Less?
Now you listen to me,
you hagged-out sack of menstrual memories --
get your cottage cheese ass
the FUCK outta here.
I booked this interview FIRST.
But I’ve already got the footage, Babs.
Why don’t you go back to Hollywood.
I hear Lindsay Lohan is free.
Or at least, reasonable.
You fucking HACK.
Did you make her CRY yet?
Diane SMACKS Barbara in the face.
Shut the fuck up, you OLD CRONE.
This is MY story!
Dried up COLOSTOMY BAG, it’s MINE.
LADIES, LADIES -- STOP IT.
Jesus fucking Christ,
Diane and Barbara WHIP
their heads toward Friday.
(shakes her head)
Neither one of you is getting my story.
You’re parasites, leeches.
Look at you, clawing
at each other like wild animals.
Get THE FUCK out of my cell, NOW.
How DARE YOU.
We are THE MEDIA.
We CREATED you,
and we can DESTROY you.
We eat arrogant little shits
like you for BREAKFAST.
In the grand scheme of things,
you mean NOTHING. Nada. ZIP.
the FREAK of the day.
It’s about the JUICY STORY, not YOU.
Nobody cares about YOU. Nobody.
You’re playing with fire, Missy --
and now you’re going to fucking BURN.
We’re gonna get ELLIOT SPITZER on your ass.
C’mon, let’s go check out
Tiffney Chubbs’ place.
Maybe we can get a quote
before she’s taken away on a gurney.
They scurry away.
Muttering to themselves.
What the fuck have I done?
I’ve become what I hate.
Time for a major plot twist.
(goes to the bars)