If you wish to read the old version I published way back when you can click here for the original post, which is more of stage script. I was never quite happy and with all this time off I’ve been going through my old stories and scripts and knuckling down and doing rewrite. Maybe in another few years I’ll change it again. Maybe. Anyway I hope you like the changes and you get a giggle out of this little short film script that I will as soon as the wigs arrive shoot… Or I may try animating it. hmmm. There’s an idea
zig.
EXT. HEAVENLY NEIGHBOURHOOD - DAY
A row of unassuming semi-detached houses on a beautiful sunny
day. Each of the houses have their own little peculiarities
but each one is clearly produced from the same template, only
their gardens and the ornamentation on houses differentiate
them.
The house we are interested in is number 7 - front garden a
mess, hedges overgrown, pieces of broken motorcycle lying
amongst unidentified junk.
WE HEAR DIESEL ENGINE VAN before we see it. As the COURIER
van pulls up tiny winged creatures fly out of the bushes -
humans with wings instead of arms, squawking like angry
sparrows.
The cheerful COURIER hops out of the van with a clipboard and
a fairly large box, almost skipping up the path to the front
door of number 7. He knocks on the door missing the obvious
please ring bell sign.
He waits a whole 5 seconds before knocking again.
THE OLD MAN
(O.S)
Alright, alright I hear you.
THE OLDMAN grumbles and mutters then...
WE HEAR him slip and tumble down the stairs.
The Courier leans into the door. Is the old man OK?
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
(Shouting)
Jesus fucking Christ!
The door opens revealing THE OLDMAN, white beard, matching
hair, a pair of boxer shorts and grubby looking dressing gown
lazily not covering his tea stained singlet. He's half
stoops, grabbing his foot and removes a fish from the bottom
of it. When he comes back up he has a little head rush and
shakes it off. He looks as hung-over as he feels. For a
moment he doesn't know what to do with the fish. He looks at
the courier, his hands are full with the large box, clipboard
wedged into his armpit. The Old Man thinks about just
throwing it out the front, then turns back into the house
scratching his belly as he goes.
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
Oi! Junior! Parcel for you.
He bangs on JUNIOR's door, slapping the fish on the door,
which sticks for a moment before sliding down as the Old Man
strolls to the kitchen much to the Couriers consternation
JUNIOR
(O.S.)
I'm busy!
The Courier can just make out the old man making himself a
cup of coffee in the small kitchen.
COURIER
Um... Just need a signature...
THE OLD MAN
Stop wanking and answer the fucking
door!
JUNIOR
I'm not wanking!
THE OLD MAN
I'm omnipotent. All seeing.
He turns to the courier and whispers
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
Unfortunately.
The kettle is already hot so it doesn't take long for it to
boil and click off.
COURIER
Anyone can sign...
THE OLD MAN
And stop leaving your fish lying
all over the fucking place. (Then
to Courier) Good job I don't
condone abortions eh?
A head pokes out of Junior's room looking back at the
kitchen, first at his Old Man and then to the Courier who
holds up the parcel hoping someone will take it sign for the
damn thing.
COURIER
Please can someone just sign...
JUNIOR is the early twenties version of his father, if the
early twenties version was a stoner hippie. The hair hasn't
gone away or is receding as far as the Old Man's but give it
a few years...
Junior leaves his room, almost slipping on the fallen fish.
He removes the fish from his foot much in the same manner as
his old man, only inadvertently smelling it upon bringing it
up near his nose. He throws it past the courier, into a bush
where it is voraciously devoured by the little human bird
things.
The Courier inches away from the bush next to him - just in
case.
Junior takes the parcel from the courier reading the label
then shouts back of the Old Man.
JUNIOR
This isn't for me. It's for you.
The Courier hands the clipboard for Junior to sign.
THE OLD MAN
Who's it from?
Once the Courier recovers his clipboard he hops down the lane
back into his van and drives off.
Junior is rolling the box between his hands, half shaking it,
like a kid trying to work out what his Christmas present is.
The Old Man strolls back from the kitchen to the front door,
coffee in had.
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
Who's it from?
JUNIOR
What don't you know? Thought you
were omnipotent?
The old man launches up with a cup of coffee in one hand and
looks at the box ripping the packing slip off the top of the
box.
THE OLD MAN
It's a big fucking universe,
alright?
He struggles opening the plastic envelope, eventually using
his teeth which at first has no effect.
JUNIOR
You want me to get your teeth?
THE OLD MAN
Fuck off!
The Old Man rips the plastic open, spits the shard out and
shakes the folded packing slip out of its sheath.
He reads it slowly then stops.
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
Put it down son. Slowly.
JUNIOR
What?
Junior is still rocking it about.
THE OLD MAN
...and stop shaking it.
Junior looks at his dad then carefully puts the box down -
the Old Man is not mucking around.
The Old Man then backs up grabbing his kids arm and the two
back away, very slowly from the box.
It is a while before any of them speak.
JUNIOR
It's another present from Kali
innit?
The Old Man doesn't get it.
JUNIOR (CONT'D)
Blue bird. Loads of arms? Skulls
around the neck? Asian? Crazy look
in her eye?
THE OLD MAN
I know who Kali is, What I don't
know is what you're talking about.
JUNIOR
This is another severed head?
THE OLD MAN
It's not from Kali.
JUNIOR
How do you know?
THE OLD MAN
You see any bloody finger prints?
JUNIOR
I don't know why you hooked up with
her in the first place.
THE OLD MAN
'Cause she's a lot of fun... Sure
she's a little wild but what you
going to do? She is the goddess of
destruction and rebirth.
BEAT.
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
Besides she's got all those arms
and a really long tongue... You
can't imagine the dirty shit she
gets up to...
JUNIOR
You disgust me.
THE OLD MAN
She's really flexible, knows yoga.
JUNIOR
Stop now.
THE OLD MAN
She can bend so far down she can
lick her...
JUNIOR
Enough!
The Old Man acquiesces.
THE OLD MAN
You're such a prude.
BEAT.
JUNIOR
Then who's it from?
THE OLD MAN
The Muslims.
Junior looks at his dad ashamed.
JUNIOR
You fucking racist.
THE OLD MAN
What?
JUNIOR
You you think there's a bomb in
there don't you?
The Old Man says nothing, merely shrugs.
THE OLD MAN
Well if you're so fucking confident
you open it then.
JUNIOR
Fine.
THE OLD MAN
Good.
JUNIOR
I will then...
Junior doesn't move.
THE OLD MAN
Go on then.
Junior still doesn't move.
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
Yeah I thought so.
Junior, chest puffed up, walks back to the box and carefully
examining the box - from a safe distance.
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
Oh come here you pussy. Let me...
The Old Man walks over the box and pulls out a knife, from
where we don't know - even Junior seems impressed. He flicks
the blade open and cuts the packing tape away from the box.
Using the tip of the blade the Old Man opens the box very
gingerly and peers inside.
For a moment there is nothing save for the questioning look
on his face.
The Old Man folds the knife and puts it back into his pocket.
He then plunges one hand in the box and pulls out a small
pink rubbery item that looks for all the world like an ear
lobe or a piece of pork scratching before it's been properly
cooked in the oven.
Nonchalantly the Old Man passes it back to his son who rolls
it around his fingers not sure what to make of it.
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
Jesus Christ it must be thousands
of these and they're all different
colours.
He passes another back to Junior. This one the colour of a
dark African skin.
JUNIOR
They look like pork scratchings...
As soon as the words have escaped his mouth a thought occurs
to him.
He drops the rubbery thing.
JUNIOR (CONT'D)
Oh my god that's disgusting.
The Old Man is still rummaging.
JUNIOR (CONT'D)
They're foreskins.
The Old Man gets up in a shot wiping his hand on his dressing
gown.
THE OLD MAN
Oh... that is disgusting.
With the tip of his toe the Old Man pushes the box out of the
front door back onto the step.
JUNIOR
What did you do?
THE OLD MAN
What do you mean "what did I do?"
JUNIOR
I mean, what did you do? You've got
form.
THE OLD MAN
What are you talking about?
JUNIOR
You get a little drunk and you
start calling people up in the
middle of the night making
proclamations...
THE OLD MAN
Fuck off!
Junior lifts his hand up as if he's making a phone call.
JUNIOR
Hi Abraham? Yeah it me God. Yeah,
yeah, yeah. I know it's a little
early. Just fancied a chat. Three
AM you say? Yeah that is fucking
early.
The Old Man's face is telling the kid the fuck off.
JUNIOR (CONT'D)
Yeah love you too... How much? I
mean... If I asked you to kill your
son would you do it?
THE OLD MAN
Jesus I get a little emotional and
everyone takes everything out of
context.
JUNIOR
You know you say you love me but
the only time you speak with me is
if your crops are doing badly or
your misses won't go down on you...
THE OLD MAN
Alright enough.
JUNIOR
... I've got feelings too you know.
Why don't we meet at the top of the
mountain? Yeah right now... bring
Isaac. What do you mean he's got
school in the morning? He's home
schooled!
THE OLD MAN
I admit sometimes I get a little
emotional.
JUNIOR
Tell that to Moses.
THE OLD MAN
Now there's a man who could
drink...
Just then a SECOND COURIER turns up, with another parcel
skipping like the first up to the front door.
SECOND COURIER
Special delivery for...ffffhslalggd
The Courier tries and tries but cannot say the name on the
label.
THE OLD MAN
Yeah... It's for me then.
The Courier is still trying to say the name...
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
It's unpronounceable.
SECOND COURIER
You don't say. That's a lot of
consonants.
The second Courier smiles at Junior.
SECOND COURIER (CONT'D)
Alright madam.
THE OLD MAN
That's my son.
SECOND COURIER
Oh I'm sorry. It's the cheekbones.
The Old Man looks at the dispatch date, blowing off a cloud
of dust as he does so.
THE OLD MAN
This was sent four hundred fucking
years ago.
SECOND COURIER
Ah... sometimes these things get a
little mixed up in the sorting
office.
The Old Man just shakes his head as the second courier skips
off to his next delivery. The box is identical to the first
only a little more dusty.
JUNIOR
Who's that one from?
The Old Man reads the packing slip and slaps his forehead.
THE OLD MAN
The Jews.
He opens the box and...
JUNIOR
More foreskins?
THE OLD MAN
More foreskins.
For a while neither say anything more.
JUNIOR
Should we send them back?
The Old Man thinks about it...
almost agreeing.
Almost...
THE OLD MAN
Hang on a minute I've got an idea.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE PUB - LATER
The Old Man and Junior stroll from the pub in bad disguises.
The Old Man has a wad of notes in his hand and he's counting
them.
THE OLD MAN
That, my son was the brilliant idea
you had.
Junior is puzzled - it wasn't his idea.
JUNIOR
Shall we tell the Muslims and Jews
to stop chopping off bit's of baby
dick?
Behind them the barman puts the boxes of pork scratchings up
behind the bar. The labels on the boxes look like they were
scribbled by a kid - which they were. His Assistant is bust
scribbling "NEW IN - ORGANIC PORK SCRATCHINGS £1.50"
THE OLD MAN
Yeah yeah yeah but let's first go
to the pub and have a couple of
sneaky pints. I'll call them in the
morning. Promise.
Junior just stares incredulously at his Old Man - Oh Really?
THE OLD MAN (CONT'D)
I swear. Set your alarm though,
Just in case. Not too early.
FADE OUT.
THE END
Categories: Comedy, Genres, Scripts/Screenplays, Short Film (Script), Writing
DIARY OF SHORT DISTURBANCES 