GUN-WILD

Welcome to my own little cold, cruel corner of cyberspace. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Carole Parker. I'm a screenwriter, essayist, and soon-to-be published memoir-ist (is that word?) based in Los Angeles, the City of Angels. The city so nice, they named it -- once.

This will be a place for me to share my thoughts about writing, my work, the entertainment biz, my favorite noir/hardboiled books and authors, the death of American pop culture, and various other ramblings that clutter my head as I see fit to spout them to you, my intrepid readers. It will also be a place where I will shamelessly plug my work. And that of my friends.

For example, my first produced feature, A NEW TOMORROW, is a political mockumenary that won the audience award at last year's Seattle Independent Film Festival is now for sale on the official website at www.anewtomorrowmovie.com.

So, let's get down to business.

Today you're going to get a rare treat. You're going to see a screenplay take shape, scene by scene. My latest work-in-progress is GUN-WILD, a crime thriller about two pairs of bank robbers, and their wild ride into infamy.

Let's begin with the first scene.

FADE IN:

EXT. RODEO DRIVE - UPSCALE BOUTIQUE - DUSK
A 1996 LAND ROVER parks in front of a trendy boutique.
A blight on the landscape. Sign reads LOADING ONLY.

A YOUNG WOMAN (25) gets out of the car,
SLAMS the door. Heads inside, on a mission.
Tall and taught, with reckless curves.
Even in this nabe, people stare.

Meet CAMERON CLINCH. Former trust fund heiress,
now low-rent bartender. She FLIPS her hoodie up.
Slides on shades. TOSSES her cigarette in the gutter.

PUSHES OPEN the door into --

INT. UPSCALE BOUTIQUE - CONTINUOUS
Haughty Euro-pop plays on the sound system.

The ANOREXIC, MULTIRACIAL SALESGIRL approaches Cameron.

ANOREXIC, MULTIRACIAL SALESGIRL
We’re closing in a few minutes. Can I help you find something?
Cam fingers a display of $50,000 watches. Holds one up.

CAMERON
Does this one come in black?

ANOREXIC, MULTIRACIAL SALESGIRL
I think it does. Hold on, let me look.

She bends down, looks in a shelf below the display case.
Cameron pockets the watch, turns, and DASHES out the door.

EXT. UPSCALE BOUTIQUE - CONTINUOUS
Cam RACES to her car, followed by an ANGRY SECURITY GUARD.

ANGRY SECURITY GUARD
Hey, YOU -- STOP!

Cam WHIRLS AROUND and SOCKS the guard in the jaw.
He hits the ground. She GRABS, UNSNAPS the gun from his holster.

ANOREXIC, MULTIRACIAL
Stands in the doorway.

ANOREXIC, MULTIRACIAL SALESGIRL
HELP, ROBBERY! Somebody STOP that woman!

CAM
Raises the gun. Points it at Anorexic, who HITS the ground.
Then aims to the left, and SHOOTS. BANG.

The window SPRAYS broken glass in the air.
Cam’s body RECOILS from the force of the blast, reels back.
The guard gets up. Rubs his jaw. Cam rubs her hand. Ow.

CAMERON
(aims at the guard)
Get back in the store, NOW.

ANGRY SECURITY GUARD
DON’T SHOOT, lady -- DON’T SHOOT.

Cam JUMPS in her car, and PEELS OFF in SCREECH of rubber.

INT. LAND ROVER - MOVING - DUSK
On the car stereo, the sludgy, buzzsaw riot gurl snarl
of L7’S PRETEND WE’RE DEAD thuds ominously.

Cam CRANKS IT UP.

CAMERON
Holy SHIT!

Cam stops at a light. Looks in the rearview. No one. Whew.
She looks down at her crotch. Wiggles in her seat.

CAMERON
Damn.
(beat)
Better than riding horses --

(c) 2009 Carole Parker All Rights Reserved

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