FROZEN FRAMES
ACT I
Scene 1 - EXT., NIGHT
Opening shot – a cinema.
A small, decrepit affair. Two theatres. A couple of vending machines in the hall. The OWNER is an old, wrinkled German guy in a tweed vest. Pretends he was a salesman, back in the days. Now he just sits behind a desk and grumbles the days away. Near it, there’s a gas station and a little grocery shop, and a country road, grim-looking, whose only dwellers seem to be some woodland critters and the occasional delivery truck.
There’s a sign on this road, which reads: FOXGROVE – 4, 5 MILES.
Night has just fallen. There are storm clouds in the sky.
A car comes down the road, and parks.
A man comes out. Young-ish – thirty years? A little less? Looks concerned, and intrigued.
Apprehensive.
Let’s call him ROBERT, for all intended purposes.
INT: the cinema.
He enters the building, and goes straight to the owner. He advances purposefully. He walks like someone who thinks enlightenment and cosmic truth are waiting for him right around the corner.
He buys a ticket.
ROBERT: A ticket for the arthouse evening, please?
OWNER: That'll be six pounds. You know, you are really the only one that buys those. Two weeks in a row, too.
ROBERT: Wouldn’t it be simpler to show other movies, then?
OWNER (taken aback): Well, I get some funding because I show old rare movies. Give culture to the people, get a few bucks. And all that. (Pause) I guess I never gave it much thought. I like it in here. It’s calm. A road, passersby, some young couples going to their first date. No one bothers me.
The rain starts falling.
OWNER: Why did you come back a second time?
ROBERT: Well. I saw something. Last week. A little detail. Can’t get it out of my head. I’m sure there’s some philosopher out there who said that art is made of little moments, little details like that, which just dig in your brain. Want to have another look. That’s all.
OWNER: Here it is. Curiosity, uh? Probably nothing.
ROBERT: Yeah, probably. Good evening!
He enters the theatre n°-2. But we linger a bit on the German man’s face. A deep sadness takes hold of him. And then, fear.
OWNER (silently, with anguish) :… Good evening.
INT: theatre n°-2.
A medium-sized room. Several rows of seats – he takes one at the very front, right before the screen. Everything there is red – this very specific shade of red that we have come to associate with cinema and cinema only. Red-coloured seats and red carpets, and sometimes a red dress among the clash of frames…
He’s alone. All alone.
A couple commercials.
Then the lights dim. The first movie of the evening starts playing. That’s the one. The one he was looking forwards to seeing again.
Robert focuses. On each image, on each moment. He wants to see, he wants to know. He wants to grasp that little thing that slipped his mind.
It’s an old movie. A very old one. Silent, of course. A little tale of horror and fantastic from the 1900’s. It’s from that period where they were first experimenting with special effects. Trying to create little universes, little worlds with their own rules, obeying only to the power of the technique and of the imagination.
Did you knew that special effects were invented when a film about the demolition of a wall was accidentally projected backwards, giving the audience the impression that the bricks were being assembled by some unseen force?
Well, I do. Obviously. I was there.
Simple, straightforward plot. A haunted house sort of thing. A la Méliès, but not from him. Two men and a woman enter a strange, abandoned mansion. Strange phenomena occur: doors open and close on their own volitions, shadows of devil and monsters pass on the walls. The young lady seems very frightened, and seeks comfort into the harm of the Brave and Fearless Hero (registered trademark). They open a door. Behind it, an assembly of ghosts, all gathered, having a great feast. They heroically flee. The end. All done in, what, six minutes? Seven?
Except there is something wrong. A ghost in the machine. Or rather, in the editing room.
And this time, he sees it.
When the camera focuses on the ghosts, he sees, he distinctly sees a strange MAN.
He’s in the background. Hard to see. Wears an elegant outfit: suit and tie, top hat.
He’s looking straight into the camera.
No.
Straight at him.
And he smiles. A joyless smile, full of cold, bitter irony.
And then, a cut. Another shot. The rest of the film plays as intended.
Robert was really worried, for a second. But he starts breathing again. The next movie is about to start. All is good.
Except it doesn’t. It’s the same old black-and-white spookfest.
His fear rises. His heart pounds. Just a problem in the projection room. It must be his nerves, the weather, something.
If only he knew…
A few minutes pass, and we’re back at the dinner.
And the man is still there. But he’s not in the background anymore. He is right in the middle of the frame. And still, that cold, unwavering look. And still, that smile…
The movie doesn’t get to the end. The scene directly starts back. It loops. Again and again.
Always that man, standing there. Waiting.
He raises an arm, and points straight at Robert.
Robert feels sick, frightened, he wants to escape. He runs towards the doors.
Closed. They won’t open.
A deep voice emanates from the loudspeakers. Caressing, with the texture of benevolence, but at the same time, harsh. Aggressive. Predatory.
VOICE: They would open, in the real world. But you’re not quite there anymore.
He pounds on the doors, with fists and feet.
VOICE: Such imagination. You wanted to see. You wanted to know.
Suddenly, Robert freezes. And just behind him –
VOICE: Now you know.
He turns back. A man is there, in a suit and a top hat. But it’s not quite a man. Not really.
That man smiles, and there are too many teeth in his mouth.
That man is me, by the way.
Zoom.
ME: And now…
The lights go out. A scream, in the dark- and...
… cut.
ACT I
Scene 1 - EXT., NIGHT
Opening shot – a cinema.
A small, decrepit affair. Two theatres. A couple of vending machines in the hall. The OWNER is an old, wrinkled German guy in a tweed vest. Pretends he was a salesman, back in the days. Now he just sits behind a desk and grumbles the days away. Near it, there’s a gas station and a little grocery shop, and a country road, grim-looking, whose only dwellers seem to be some woodland critters and the occasional delivery truck.
There’s a sign on this road, which reads: FOXGROVE – 4, 5 MILES.
Night has just fallen. There are storm clouds in the sky.
A car comes down the road, and parks.
A man comes out. Young-ish – thirty years? A little less? Looks concerned, and intrigued.
Apprehensive.
Let’s call him ROBERT, for all intended purposes.
INT: the cinema.
He enters the building, and goes straight to the owner. He advances purposefully. He walks like someone who thinks enlightenment and cosmic truth are waiting for him right around the corner.
He buys a ticket.
ROBERT: A ticket for the arthouse evening, please?
OWNER: That'll be six pounds. You know, you are really the only one that buys those. Two weeks in a row, too.
ROBERT: Wouldn’t it be simpler to show other movies, then?
OWNER (taken aback): Well, I get some funding because I show old rare movies. Give culture to the people, get a few bucks. And all that. (Pause) I guess I never gave it much thought. I like it in here. It’s calm. A road, passersby, some young couples going to their first date. No one bothers me.
The rain starts falling.
OWNER: Why did you come back a second time?
ROBERT: Well. I saw something. Last week. A little detail. Can’t get it out of my head. I’m sure there’s some philosopher out there who said that art is made of little moments, little details like that, which just dig in your brain. Want to have another look. That’s all.
OWNER: Here it is. Curiosity, uh? Probably nothing.
ROBERT: Yeah, probably. Good evening!
He enters the theatre n°-2. But we linger a bit on the German man’s face. A deep sadness takes hold of him. And then, fear.
OWNER (silently, with anguish) :… Good evening.
INT: theatre n°-2.
A medium-sized room. Several rows of seats – he takes one at the very front, right before the screen. Everything there is red – this very specific shade of red that we have come to associate with cinema and cinema only. Red-coloured seats and red carpets, and sometimes a red dress among the clash of frames…
He’s alone. All alone.
A couple commercials.
Then the lights dim. The first movie of the evening starts playing. That’s the one. The one he was looking forwards to seeing again.
Robert focuses. On each image, on each moment. He wants to see, he wants to know. He wants to grasp that little thing that slipped his mind.
It’s an old movie. A very old one. Silent, of course. A little tale of horror and fantastic from the 1900’s. It’s from that period where they were first experimenting with special effects. Trying to create little universes, little worlds with their own rules, obeying only to the power of the technique and of the imagination.
Did you knew that special effects were invented when a film about the demolition of a wall was accidentally projected backwards, giving the audience the impression that the bricks were being assembled by some unseen force?
Well, I do. Obviously. I was there.
Simple, straightforward plot. A haunted house sort of thing. A la Méliès, but not from him. Two men and a woman enter a strange, abandoned mansion. Strange phenomena occur: doors open and close on their own volitions, shadows of devil and monsters pass on the walls. The young lady seems very frightened, and seeks comfort into the harm of the Brave and Fearless Hero (registered trademark). They open a door. Behind it, an assembly of ghosts, all gathered, having a great feast. They heroically flee. The end. All done in, what, six minutes? Seven?
Except there is something wrong. A ghost in the machine. Or rather, in the editing room.
And this time, he sees it.
When the camera focuses on the ghosts, he sees, he distinctly sees a strange MAN.
He’s in the background. Hard to see. Wears an elegant outfit: suit and tie, top hat.
He’s looking straight into the camera.
No.
Straight at him.
And he smiles. A joyless smile, full of cold, bitter irony.
And then, a cut. Another shot. The rest of the film plays as intended.
Robert was really worried, for a second. But he starts breathing again. The next movie is about to start. All is good.
Except it doesn’t. It’s the same old black-and-white spookfest.
His fear rises. His heart pounds. Just a problem in the projection room. It must be his nerves, the weather, something.
If only he knew…
A few minutes pass, and we’re back at the dinner.
And the man is still there. But he’s not in the background anymore. He is right in the middle of the frame. And still, that cold, unwavering look. And still, that smile…
The movie doesn’t get to the end. The scene directly starts back. It loops. Again and again.
Always that man, standing there. Waiting.
He raises an arm, and points straight at Robert.
Robert feels sick, frightened, he wants to escape. He runs towards the doors.
Closed. They won’t open.
A deep voice emanates from the loudspeakers. Caressing, with the texture of benevolence, but at the same time, harsh. Aggressive. Predatory.
VOICE: They would open, in the real world. But you’re not quite there anymore.
He pounds on the doors, with fists and feet.
VOICE: Such imagination. You wanted to see. You wanted to know.
Suddenly, Robert freezes. And just behind him –
VOICE: Now you know.
He turns back. A man is there, in a suit and a top hat. But it’s not quite a man. Not really.
That man smiles, and there are too many teeth in his mouth.
That man is me, by the way.
Zoom.
ME: And now…
The lights go out. A scream, in the dark- and...
… cut.