Several months ago I put up the first sneak peek of Death and Saxophones. It's an old, unproduced absurdist comedy screenplay, that will live the rest of its life as the bonus section of my new book (the book, of course, is titled, "Death and Saxophones," and will be avaiable Tuesday, May 21). I am pretty sure it will never be put on camera. Hollywood certainly will never touch it. It doesn't follow Hollywood formula.
This time I'm giving you all a little peek at the opening:
EXT. BENSON ESTATE. BEVERLY HILLS. NIGHT
It
is a peaceful, quiet moment in the middle of the night.
The
house is big, Beverly Hills big.
INT.
BEDROOM. NIGHT
Two
people sleep next to each other in a large bed. Both are seventy-ish. They are
Willie and Mitzi Benson.
Suddenly
Willie sits bolt upright. He faces camera but is staring at nothing in
particular. He looks shocked.
WILLIE:
Death!......Saxophones!
And
he lurches to the floor, falling straight left, out of screen. We hear a loud
thud as he hits.
Mitzi
sits up in bed.
MITZI:
Willie? Willie, what is it?
She
switches on the light, sees his feet still on the bed, his head on the floor.
MITZI:
Is this a new yoga thing?
It’s the middle of the night, Willie.
She nudges his feet. They fall to the floor.
MITZI:
Are you dead? Willie, if
you’re dead tap the floor or something.
We
hear a faint but undeniable tapping. Mitzi is a little taken aback.
MITZI:
Tap it three times.
Again
the tapping, this time three distinct times.
She is getting perturbed at the joke now.
MITZI:
Okay, if you’re dead sing “Be
bop-a-loo-la She’s my baby,” in a silly voice.
He
sings like Mickey Mouse.
WILLIE:
Be bop-a-loo-la she’s my baby
– huh – be bop-a-loo-la don’t mean maybe –
Mitzi
goes around the bed, kneels down next to him, rolls him over, puts an ear to
his chest.
MITZI:
I don’t believe you for one
second. I swear, if I hear your heart beating, I’m going to - your heart’s not beating.
She
grabs his wrist and feels for a pulse.
MITZI:
But that’s impossible. You
were singing. I need some sign. Oh, God, if he’s really dead give me a sign.
A BUNCH OF VOICES FROM HEAVEN:
He’s dead, Christ! What do we
have to do? He’s not breathing. He’s finished! Done! Fried! Get a grip, for
crying out loud.
Mitzi
stands up in a huff.
MITZI:
Fine, then, be dead! I find
this very inconsiderate. I guess I better have Winfred do something about it.
She
pushes a button on the wall, then lies back down, shuts off the light.
INT.
THE BUTLER’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.
Winfred
is waking up to the sound of the buzzer.
OPENING
CREDITS
During
credits we see Winfred, who is very old, stumbling, half asleep, from his downstairs
bedroom, across the living room and entrance hall, into a wall or two along the
way, and finally upstairs.
INT.
MITZI’S BEDROOM. CONTINUOUS.
WINFRED:
Yes, sir?
MITZI:
No, Winfred, it’s me. Willie
died. Could you remove his body?
WINFRED:
Right away. Ma’am. Uh, Ma’am,
could you tell me generally, where the body is?
A
loud thud and crash.
WINFRED:
Never mind, Ma’am, I found him.
INT.
HALLWAY. CONTINUOUS.
Winfred
is backing out of Mitzi’s room, pulling Willie’s body by the feet. A door
opens. Marsha, 40-ish, peeks out.
MARSHA:
Winfred, what’s all the noise?
WINFRED:
Your father has died, Miss
Marsha.
MARSHA:
Oh, okay, say, Winfred, have you
ever been to Fiji?
WINFRED:
Fiji?
MARSHA:
It’s an island somewhere in
the ocean, or something. I want to go there. Would you like to come?
WINFRED:
Certainly. I suppose I would.
MARSHA:
Great! Let’s pack.
WINFRED:
Now?
Another
head pops out the door behind Marsha. He is Robert, also 40-ish.
ROBERT:
Hey, Winfred, what’s going on?
WINFRED:
Willie has died, sir.
ROBERT:
No kidding?
MARSHA:
Robert, Winfred said he wants to
go to Fiji too.
WINFRED:
I didn’t really –
ROBERT:
Marsha, I told you, I think
we should wait until morning. I’m beat.
Another
door opens, further down the hall. Alan, 35-ish, appears.
ALAN:
What’s going on out here?
MARSHA:
I want to go to Fiji, and so
does Winfred, but Robert’s being a real pinhead about it, but, you know, I just
feel like going somewhere. Oh, and Daddy died.
ALAN:
What?
MARSHA:
I want to go to Fiji –
ALAN:
No, not that, the part about
Daddy dying.
MARSHA:
Oh, Alan, leave it to you to
dwell on the depressing stuff.
ALAN:
What are you guys doing!?
Winfred, where are you taking him?
WINFRED:
Well…I wasn’t sure…into the
kitchen?
ALAN:
He’s not hungry. He’s dead.
Where’s Mom?
Alan
comes out into the hallway to take over the situation.
WINFRED:
She’s resting.
INT.
BEDROOM. CONTINUOUS.
Alan
opens Mitzi’s door and turns on the light.
ALAN:
Mom! Do you realize Daddy died?
MITZI:
Of course I do.
ALAN:
Well, get up. Let’s do
something. We’ve got to arrange a funeral.
MITZI:
A funeral! Willie hated
funerals!
ALAN:
Well, he must have left some
arrangements. Where’s his will?
MITZI:
Don’t we just put him on the
front porch and call a delivery service to come get him?
ALAN:
Delivery service? I don’t think Dominoes deals in this area.
MITZI:
But this is Beverly Hills.
Surely there must be a service for dead people.
ALAN:
It’s called an ambulance.
Have you called one?
MITZI:
An ambulance! Alan, I’m
starting to wonder if you’re really my son. Let’s call a caterer.
ALAN:
A caterer? A man’s dead, and
all anyone can think about is food!
Peter Wick
May 14, 2024
