Monday, April 6, 1998
CHERYL: Let’s write a screenplay
EMILY: Maybe we’ll win an Oscar
COLUMN Writers aspire to be the next Damon, Affleck duo
I was going to write this in the form of a screenplay. Then I
realized that I’ve never written a screenplay in my life. Actually,
that seems to be the recurring problem here.
The only way I could think to begin was with an aerial shot of
the city. That’s how all movies start, right? Okay, so swoop down
on the Santa Monica Pier just so there’s no doubt that this is L.A.
Then cut to UCLA. (Only maybe for fiction’s sake call it Cal U,
like on "Saved By the Bell, the College Years" and "90210" – was
anyone else dying to see the casts run into each other? Including
both of Tiffani-Amber Theissen’s characters.) Oops. Tangent. We’ll
have to scrap that in the editing room.
Right. UCLA, Melnitz Hall, where two undergrads are
oh-so-ironically ditching their film class to write a screenplay.
It’s an uncharacteristically sunny day in early March and the
grassy knolls of the sculpture garden beckon to young Bohemians
everywhere. Cheryl and Emily, as we’ll call our protagonists, snag
a spot next to an amateur folk singer and her guitar-playing
friend, get out their notebooks and roll up their sleeves.
EMILY: I need a tan.
CHERYL: I’ve resigned myself to being pale. But I need perfect
skin because pale-with-zits is not a look.
I have a problem with transitions. It’s something that my past
editors have noticed. It makes my writing much longer than would be
ideal and is the reason why this column is a series of movie
trailer-like snippets patched together with my own troubled stream
of consciousness rather than a fluid script. But you know half the
fun of going to the theater is the previews, so don’t complain.
Suffice it to say that somewhere along the way our characters
decide to pool their creative talents for the big screen.
EMILY: So what should it be about?
CHERYL: Um. These two assistant editors. Who work for the Daily
Br- for this college paper and then one day their editor is out of
town and they’re totally incompetent so they almost report that
this guy is dead when he really just has the flu.
EMILY: That day sucked.
CHERYL: (annoyed sideward glance) Those people over there really
can’t sing.
EMILY: This is great material for our first film. I think it’s
good that we’re keeping it close to home.
CHERYL: And we know so many funny people that will make good
characters. Like that guy in our English class who threatens to
blow things up.
EMILY: You’re going to have to narrow it down for me.
CHERYL: And you know what the best part is?
EMILY: Yes. People will finally get to see how funny we are.
CHERYL: Exactly!
EMILY: How come nobody knows how funny we are?
CHERYL: I don’t know. Their loss.
EMILY: Until now.
Dramatic tension has been established. Will Cheryl and Emily’s
talent remain tragically undiscovered or will it burst forth in
feel-good denouement?
The audience is dying to know, but first our stalwart
screenwriters must painstakingly iron out the literary details of
their work in progress. An hour passes. The folk duo is intent on
playing Bob Dylan’s entire repertoire. Cheryl and Emily are now
holding frosty Ice Blended knock-offs from Northern Lights.
EMILY: Should we combine the us characters into one person?
CHERYL: No, we’re both too good to lose. Besides, if we were one
person who would we talk to?
EMILY: But sometimes movies end up having characters that are so
much alike that the audience doesn’t even differentiate. Maybe one
of us should be a gay black man.
CHERYL: Lets have us always eating Panda Express instead of
editing. We’ll be really clueless. Panda will be to our movie what
the coin tossing thing is to "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are
Dead."
Somewhere along the way the gay black man turns into a straight
Asian man. And two of our previous editors morph into one. Our
advisor gets a cameo, along with our favorite American lit
professor. The classroom scene really has no place in what we’ve
loosely defined as our plot, but we owe it to our public to
dramatize every funny moment in our lives.
Of course there are logistical considerations as well.
CHERYL: I think this should have like an independent feel to it.
Kind of like "Clerks" but with better acting.
EMILY: So should I turn Paramount down?
CHERYL: Probably. Unless they’re willing to grant us complete
creative control.
EMILY: God, the studio system is so frustrating.
CHERYL: We’re going to be like the next Matt Damon and Ben
Affleck, huh?
EMILY: Should we take them as dates to the Oscars when we
win?
CHERYL: I’m not dating Matt Damon. I heard he dumped Claire
Danes over the phone on her birthday.
EMILY: What an asshole. But Ben’s still invited, right?
CHERYL: Yeah.
Cut to Oscar night. Cheryl has just rushed through a French
final (her grade is tres malo) in hopes of catching the last half
of the Academy Awards. She’s there in time to see them name every
best actor since 1899 and to hear her roommates make witty if
mean-spirited remarks about Kate Winslet’s boobs. And to see Matt
and Ben nab a statuette for best original screenplay. The phone
rings.
EMILY: That’s us next year.
CHERYL: We should really start shopping for dresses.
EMILY: Seriously. We can’t wear matching Armani tuxes. That’s
just so cheesy.
CHERYL: Have you told Liz she’s going to direct our movie
yet?
EMILY: She wants to see an actual screenplay first.
CHERYL: That’s awfully demanding.
EMILY: That’s what I said.
One week later. Cheryl is in her parents’ car, on the way home
for spring vacation, about to break the good news.
CHERYL: Emily and I are going to win an Academy Award. We’ve
already written our acceptance speeches.
DAD: If I remember correctly, you also had your gold medal
speech for gymnastics written long before you could do a
backhandspring.
CHERYL: Hey, that’s not my fault. I did everything in an
eight-year-old’s power to secure a spot in the Olympics. It’s not
my fault that you wouldn’t let me go live in Texas to train with
Bela Karolyi.
DAD: Did he invite you?
CHERYL: That’s not the point.
MOM: I think it’s nice how Matt Damon and Ben Affleck took their
moms as dates. Hint hint.
CHERYL: That’s only because Matt Damon has already made his way
through every other woman in Hollywood.
MOM: Still.
This story is something of a cliffhanger. Our protagonists are
currently dreaming big, recruiting a cast and crew and plan to
begin writing any day now. So stay tuned, this column may have a
sequel. Or you can just catch us at next year’s post-Oscar bash,
catered entirely by Panda Express. You can say you knew us
when.
Klein is a third year American literature and culture student.
She will try not to spill Spicy Eggplant on her Vera Wang
original.
Cheryl Klein