Helen Of New York

EXT. morning. New York skyline/famous monuments

The film opens with an arial shot of a beautiful, sun drenched New York skyline. The film cuts between various monuments and hot spots of the city, the classic New York boulevards, portraying it all as a truly wonderful place. The song 'New York, New York' by Ryan Adams is playing over the top of this montage. This is to be the title sequence, with the font to be very classy, almost calligoraphy. And to be displayed at the very bottom of the screen.

Fade in

EXT. morning. busy new york/Manhattan street

POV: Looking onto the sidewalk and road.

You see people walking in and out of the frame. As the camera moves around you see people sat at cafe tables, sipping coffees. They're all just typical new york citizens; businessmen, construction workers, ECT. Most are on there phones, or laptops. The sounds of the city are all around: Cars, music from the cafes, the tiny little scraps of passing peoples conversations.

(V.O.)

So, this is it. The day I die.

Cuts too:

MEDIUM:

You see a man; MORRIS. He is holding a a Starbucks cup and takes a sip before nonchalantly lighting up a cigarette with an expensive looking gold lighter. He looks about 35 years old, average height, has shortish but still scruffy brown hair, is reasonably attractive and is wearing a 'The Queen Is Dead' T-Shirt, with a very ordinary looking un-buttoned black blazer over the top of it. He looks straight at the camera and begins to break the fourth wall. His accent is very New York, and his way of speaking very charismatic and quite fast. As well as always seeming to have a hint of cynicism to everything he says.

Morris

The day in which, I shall throw myself under a bus, in full view of the general public of this wondrous little town called New York. Just like the character in my first novel. Can't say I'll miss much. Well, maybe the cigarette I'm smoking, and this really quite brilliant skinny vanilla latte I'm drinking. You know, sometimes those evil corporations I bitched about at those extremely dull dinner parties I used to occasionally attend, make pretty damn great products. Bastards, messes up my liberal image and makes me seem just a bit contradictive. And my voting for the Democrats each year as nothing more than trying to achieve cool points. Other than those, well, my ex-wife didn't really leave me much to miss in the divorce. She even took my vinyl. Not because she was a fan of any of the bands, but because I was. She also took my favourite lamp. That lamp really brought the room together. She truly was a bitch. But, not the reason I'm about to check out early. No, not that. Also, not that my last book, my first with a major publisher and which took four years to write and stood at a wonderful one thousand fully pondered words long, bombed amazingly so with critics and the public alike. I believe The New York Times critic called it, a, 'pretentious, awful, piece of trash'. Hardly the most sophisticated lexis used there from, well, whatever her name was who reviewed it. I'd like to see her try better anyway.

MORRIS begins walking towards the camera. The camera tracks back in perfect sync with his movements. He walks with quite a cool, nonchalant swagger.

MORRIS

No, the reason is, well, I'm not sure actually. I just think its about time really. I guess I'm just bored with this pointless existence I've carved out for myself. I have wrote a suicide note, but it doesn't really say much. Being a writer isn't as exciting as you'd think. Its all about routine and habits to be frank. During the start of your career, these habits seem exciting, extraordinary and seem to define your entire being. But after a while, you realize that you're doing the same painfully dull things in the same monotone way every single day without break. Its enough to drive any man to the brink. Hell, its basically drove me to suicide.

MORRIS stops. For the first time it looks as though hes finally realized what hes contemplating doing. A look of dread and deep thought appears on his face. He shakes his head a little, and goes back to his casual demeanor, ridding himself of any negative feelings towards the idea. He decides there and then that what he's doing is the right thing to do. He throws his latte cup in a near by trash can, stubs out his cigarette and begins to walk down the street. He lights up another cigarette whilst continuing to break the fourth wall.

MORRIS

You know, I've actually always been quite jealous of my editor Frank. I mean, yeah, hes a bit fat, not exactly a looker, divorced twice, not particularly eloquent, not well respected within the industry, even less so than me in fact and he earns a hell of a lot less money than me as well. Yet, I envy his life. Its all rather spontaneous, and it has a certain lack of seriousness to it. He never seems depressed, stressed or anything else your therapist is likely to prescribe you a shit load of drugs for. He seems at ease. And he never seems nervous when talking to people. Never afraid to let himself be loose, something I've never been able to do. I've known him since college, and the very first time he spoke to me, he was blind drunk and decided to tell of the time he slept with a girl who had schizophrenia. He described it as 'the craziest thing he'd ever done'. He meant that literally of course. Especially considering she stabbed him in the leg the next morning with a pair of scissors, saying that Freddy Mercury had told her too from beyond the grave. That he wanted her to make a blood sacrifice to him. Shes in an asylum now, according to Frank. She took a literal reading of Peter Gabriel's 'Sledgehammer', and thought it meant that she had to take a sledgehammer to the back of some poor guy's head in a McDonalds. How the staff didn't see her walk in with a sledgehammer is beyond me. She was apparently only stood at around five foot tall, surely it would have been the same size as her?

MORRIS looks at the camera, a slight cheeky grin on his face. He carries on walking.

MORRIS

Anyway, enough of that nonsense. Lets get back to me. I'm whats important. And as egotistical as that sounds, its blatantly true, considering in one or two minutes time, my body will be crumpled under a bus. I think its only fair I get to talk crap about myself at this very moment in time.

MORRIS walks right past a bus stop and continues walking up the street for a good one hundred meters or so. Still walking in his casual way, he coolly stops and faces to turn the road. its a relatively good day for traffic in New York, not to many vehicles on the road. The swarm of yellow cabs, second-hand Ford Taurus' and indeed buses are driving with full freedom, all going at least forty miles per hour. Though its quite calm, the road is still quite difficult to cross. The four lanes of traffic from one side of the street to the other still looks quite menacing. He places a set of headphones in his ears. The song 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out' begins to play in the background, clashing with the sounds of New York. He drops his cigarette to the floor and lights up another, the last in the pack. He crumples up the packet and throws it in the nearest trash can and walks back to his spot by the road.

TWO-SHOT: Medium.

In to the frame walks a woman, CASSANDRA. In her mid twenties, shes extremly attractive, but not in the typical Hollywood perfection way. She seems natural with her kinda neat brunette locks, lack of height and pale, un-tanned mousy face. She only a small amount of make-up on, barely noticeabe. Shes wearing a highly stylish black ladies suit, yet the very colourful, psychadelic sixties floral shirt which you can just see under the blazer and black and white spotty tie gives her an eccentric look. She looks confident, in charge of her life, but quirky and fun. Shes trying to hail a cab, yet New York cabbies don't seem to be picking up attractive women on this day and by the look of confusement on her face, you can tell that shes thinking this as well. MORRIS seems intriuged by her, cautiously looking her way every few seconds or so. He already has a slight nervous look on her face, afraid that she'll speak to him or acknowledge his existence in any way. The Smiths' song quiets down. CASSANDRA looks his way, he immediatly seizes up slightly. That cool swagger erased by a look. She begins to speak to him, showcasing a very full on New York accent.

Cassandra

Damn cabbies huh?

MORRIS pretends to not hear her, then looks at and removes his headphones.

MORRIS

Um, sorry? Did you say, err, something?

CASSANDRA

Cabbies I said. They always seem to drive right by without picking me up!

MORRIS

Oh, oh, erm, yeah. Same with me. Never stop, fucking bastards.

MORRIS feels looks quite embarrased by his poor choice of words. He looks at his watch, looks up the road and can see his death bus turning onto the road. CASSANDRA looks a little surprised by his blunt language, though not particulary offended and starts to carry on her cab catching quest.

MORRIS

I'm, uh, I apologize for my language there. Stressful day.

CASSANDRA

Oh don't worry about it, you were right, total bastards.

MORRIS smiles at her, she smiles back. The bus is approaching fast. He places his headphones back in and the song is coming to the climax, the sounds of the city eradicated by it. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and opens his eyes seeming ready to meet his fate. The bus seconds away and going full speed. CASSANDRA meanwhile attempts once more to catch a cab, pnce again it drives by. In frustration she swimgs her self around...

CASSANDRA

For fuck's s...

...she looses her footing and falls in to the road, directly in path of the oncoming bus. MORRIS takes his eyes of the bus to see her lying there and quickly dives down and yanks her out of the path of the bus, with mere seconds to spare. Lying there on the pavement she looks up at him with a look of shock and greatfulness on her face. She can barely breath.

CASSANDRA

You, you saved me.

MORRIS begins to pick them both up of the pavement, then looks at the bus which and remembers why he was there. He drops CASSANDRA and begins jumping around in almost a fit of rage, hes in tears. Hes failed at even commiting suicide.

MORRIS

Fuck! Fuck! Shit! Fuck!

CASSANDRA looks stunned and confused as to whats going on.

CASSANDRA

Whats wrong?

She begins to scramble herself off the pavement. She looks to her right and sees his suicide note, she picks it up and begins to read it.

CASSANDRA

To whom ever is scraping me up from the pavement.

She looks over at him and realises why he was there. Why hes staring and crying at a bus that simply passed by. She walks over to him.