by Tor Fleck
‘If your team approve,’ repeated Richard. ‘What then?’
‘Then we call you in. And you can pitch to the senior team. Is there a toilet in here?’
Paul looked around. ‘I think there’s one next to the – ’
Alice shook her head. ‘The car’s waiting. I’ll just go.’
‘In the car?’ Paul screwed his face up at the thought. Richard elbowed him in the ribs.
Alice made her way unsteadily to the door. ‘All being well,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘we’re looking at a pitch to the senior team on Thursday 18th October. How’s that sound?’ Richard walked her out. ‘We’ll double-check our schedules and email you tomorrow,’ he confirmed.
‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you both.’ Alice stopped at the door, reached for Richard’s hand, and grabbed Paul’s by mistake. Then she was gone. As soon as she’d left, Richard raced to the window. ‘Let’s check out her wheels.’
‘Oh, God,’ moaned Paul, returning to the table and finishing his pint. Richard re-joined him, shaking his head. ‘She must be parked around the corner,’ He sat down, then immediately jumped back up again, singing, ‘We’re in the money! We’re in the money!’ at the top of his voice. The landlord told him to button it or he’d be ‘oot oan his fuckin’ erse.’ A Scotsman behind the bar of an upmarket wine emporium is still a Scotsman behind a bar.
‘You were on fire, buddy.’ Richard used Paul’s arm as a mini punchbag. ‘You ever considered acting as a career?’
‘Why the fuck did you send her my script?’ Paul spat.
‘Your script?’
‘Okay our unfinished, first draft, mess of a script.’
‘Sorry. I guess I got a bit carried away. It’s just so brilliant and I didn’t want to lose her while she was in such a good mood.’ He grinned.
‘Fucking arsehole.’ Paul thew back a deep mouthful of beer. ‘Don’t fucking do that again. We’re supposed to be in this project together. That was the deal.’
‘Looks like it’s paid off though, eh?’
‘I’m serious, Richard. Otherwise the deal is off. D’you know what I mean?’
‘Whatever.’ Richard’s agreement was grudged. ‘Listen, let me get you another drink to apologise, and to set us up on the road to superstardom.’
‘Not in this godforsaken place,’ complained Paul. ‘Can we please just get back to civilization? Somewhere I don’t have to listen to you fucking singing again?’
As they packed up and left, Richard turned, bowed, and blew theatrical kisses at the barman, who glowered back at him with murderous intent. Much like a Congolese mercenary.
SCRIPT EDIT 7 - THE INTERVIEW SCENE
FADE IN:
EXT. STREET - DAY
A silver-rimmed wheel SCREECHES to a halt.
HARVEY CLARKE – late 30s, wearing a too-tight thin suit and a nervous expression – steps forward.
The rear door of the blacked-out Mercedes is open. Harvey climbs in.
INT. MERCEDES – DAY (MOVING)
A blacked-out screen separates Harvey from an unseen driver.
Harvey sits in the luxurious back seat in silence, glancing distractedly outside, as ‘Lara’s Theme’ from Dr Zhivago is PIPED quietly from hidden speakers.
Beyond the glass, almost in slow motion, reams of grey, depressed, rain-drenched PEDESTRIANS trudge along grey, depressed, rain-drenched streets.
EXT. INDUSTRIAL WASTELAND - DAY
The Mercedes SPLASHES through a puddle and pulls up alongside a high metal gate with a barbed wire crown. Harvey climbs out and TAPS the driver’s window, but the car ROARS away. Harvey stands alone, confused. He glances at the letter in his hand.
EXT. COMPOUND - DAY
Harvey’s stubby forefinger presses a buzzer urging PRESS ME.
Almost instantly, the gate next to the buzzer CLICKS and swings slowly open. SCREEEEECH.
Up ahead is a sparse compound housing a large, unmarked warehouse. Harvey approaches it cautiously.
As Harvey nears a small metal door, it swings open and he steps inside.
INT. WAREHOUSE – DAY
The sound of INDUSTRIAL CHURNING merges with Harvey’s HEAVY BREATHING. A sudden flash of white light illuminates the warehouse interior. Harvey shields his eyes from the glare.
A long, empty, white-walled corridor fades off into the distance, halogen strip lights running along the centre. At the far end, barely visible, sits a solitary FIGURE behind a white desk. Harvey swallows.
The stone-faced RECEPTIONIST, a gaudy lanyard hung over a conservative suit, SCRAPES back his chair and stands up. He doesn’t offer his hand.
RECEPTIONST
Good morning, Mr Clarke.
HARVEY
Agency O?
Harvey glances at the receptionist’s chest.
The lanyard houses a photo of the receptionist wearing the exact same clothes and expression he currently wears. Beneath the photo, a barcode and a number: 1398790.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
I wasn’t sure, as it’s all a bit …
Harvey glances around. Smiles nervously.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
… you know.
The receptionist tilts his head. Clearly he doesn’t.
RECEPTIONIST
Thank you for agreeing to attend the interview, Mr Clarke. Do you have your signed consent form?
HARVEY
Oh yes, sorry.
Harvey fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a folded A4 piece of paper.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
I have to say, some of the questions were a little … unusual.
Harvey hands the form over. The receptionist unfolds it.
RECEPTIONIST
We follow an holistic approach in our recruitment process, Mr Clarke. This ensures we select the most ideal candidate for the post every time.
The receptionist slowly checks over Harvey’s form.
Harvey runs a finger under his tight, tide-marked collar.
The receptionist lifts his head. Smiles for the first time.
RECEPTIONIST (CONT’D)
Everything seems to be in order. Thank you.
The receptionist re-folds the form and places it inside a drawer in his desk. He locks the drawer with a miniature key, which he then drops into his shirt pocket. It makes a tiny CLANG as it lands amongst a pile of other keys.
RECEPTIONIST (CONT’D)
If you’d like to follow me, please?
The receptionist steps away from his desk and PUNCHES a code in a door nearby. The door SLIDES open and he steps aside. Harvey enters.
INT. MEDICAL EXAMINATION ROOM – DAY
An examination table dominates the room. It’s surrounded by wall-charts and a variety of medical tools and instruments.
DR SOFIE MALLING - 30s, glasses, blonde hair tied back - appears behind Harvey, startling him. She has a strong Scandinavian accent.
DR MALLING
Please remove your coat and any outer garments, and roll up the sleeve on your left arm, please.
Harvey lays his jacket and shirt neatly on a nearby bench.
Dr Malling pulls a small side table over beside Harvey.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
Please sit. I am going to take some bloods. Okay?
HARVEY
Why?
DR MALLING
(brusquely)
You signed the consent form, yes?
HARVEY
I thought I was here for an interview.
DR MALLING
We like to have a full physiological profile of our applicants in order to ascertain levels of aptitude, stamina, and resilience.
Dr Malling tightens a piece of tubing around Harvey’s arm.
Harvey winces. It’s too tight, but he won’t admit it.
Dr Malling taps Harvey’s vein vigorously.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
This is common practice now for large organisations such as ours.
From her pocket, Dr Malling produces an overs
ized syringe with a fat needle.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
This may sting a little.
Harvey turns away, closing his eyes and biting his lip.
Dr Malling quickly pushes the needle deep into Harvey’s arm.
A small object appears in the tube of the needle and disappears into Harvey’s vein. A bulge shoots up Harvey’s arm.
Harvey MOANS and scrunches up his face, fighting back tears.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
I am sorry. Your veins are very small. I will have to attempt insertion again.
Harvey INHALES sharply, but doesn’t move his arm.
Dr Malling finds another vein. Inserts the needle again.
Harvey’s fist balls tighter and tighter, turning purple.
A WHOOSH of blood flows through the syringe.
Dr Malling pulls out the needle and steps back.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
Good. Now I need you to stand on the scales.
A dizzy Harvey stumbles over to a set of scales. Dr Malling marks off his height and checks his weight. She then pulls hard on his chin, exposing his teeth.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
Open please.
Harvey instinctively opens his mouth wide. Dr Malling explores the back of his throat with a small penlight.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
Good. But please stay open.
Harvey’s jaw shakes. The pressure to keep his mouth open is taking its toll.
Dr Malling casually swabs the inside of Harvey’s cheek and drops the stick into a clear bag.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
One more, please. For good luck.
Harvey’s eyes widen in pain and fear.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
I am joking.
(SLAPPING Harvey’s cheek)
Relax.
Harvey’s face folds in on itself and he rubs his jaw.
Dr Malling crosses the room and stands in front of what looks like a metallic chrome version of a medieval torture device.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
When you are ready.
HARVEY
What the hell’s that?
DR MALLING
A simple eye check. Come on. Look through the lens please.
Harvey approaches hesitantly.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
Big baby. Come on!
Dr Malling hauls Harvey over to the machine and sticks his face against the binocular-shaped eyepiece.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
Can you see a small black dot?
HARVEY
A what? Yes. Yes, I see it. Hang on, there’s more of them.
DR MALLING
Please follow one of the dots only.
INT. EYE-PIECE - DAY
A flurry of dots flicker over the surface of the eye-piece.
As they move, the light surrounding them pulses and intensifies rapidly.
INT. MEDICAL EXAMINATION ROOM – DAY
Harvey yanks himself away from the machine. Rubs at his eyes.
HARVEY
The light. It’s like … daggers.
Dr Malling grabs Harvey and pushes him roughly back against the eye-piece.
DR MALLING
It’ll pass. Just a few more seconds.
Harvey grabs the metal handles either side of the machine. His body tenses as he stares again into the eye-piece. Behind him, Dr Malling presses a sequence of buttons on a rectangular panel.
INT. EYE-PIECE - DAY
A needle suddenly fires out of one of the dots, and just as quickly retracts again.
INT. MEDICAL EXAMINATION ROOM – DAY
Harvey jerks back in pain, cradling his wounded eye.
HARVEY
Something stabbed me! That fucking hurt!
Harvey tries to open his eye, but can’t.
DR MALLING
A reflex test. That is all. These drops will relieve the discomfort. Lean your head back, please.
Dr Malling holds Harvey by the shoulder and applies two drops to the wounded eye. Harvey blinks slowly, then opens his eye fully. The pain has gone.
HARVEY
Well, that wasn’t pleasant.
DR MALLING
Pain is subjective. For some applicants this is routine.
Harvey rubs the last of the liquid from his eye. He didn’t like that at all.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
Your physical examination is now complete. Please get dressed.
Harvey mis-buttons his shirt, his co-ordination still off. Dr Malling waits patiently until he’s done.
DR MALLING (CONT’D)
This way please.
Dr Malling gestures to a door at the rear of the room. It eases open soundlessly. Harvey picks up his jacket and steps through the door.
INT. WHITE ROOM – DAY
The room is square and compact, the floor, ceiling, and walls pure white.
Three black hardback chairs are lined up in the centre of the room. ‘Lara’s Theme’ is again being PIPED in from somewhere. A calm female voice floats in over the music.
AMERICAN FEMALE (O.S.)
Please sit down.
Harvey looks around, searching for the voice’s origin. Not finding it, he sits on the middle chair. The chair arms are sticky, as though coated in a thin film of glue. Harvey unsticks his hands. Looks at them. Places them back down.
Harvey waits. And waits. As he waits, he fidgets. Just as it seems he’s about to lose patience, the music fades away. Harvey looks around the room once more.
HARVEY
Hello?
Over to Harvey’s left, a tiny hatch in the wall near the floor opens and a mousetrap SLIDES into the room. The hatch SLAMS shut behind it.
To Harvey’s right, another hatch opens. A white mouse appears from the hole. It runs along the edge of the wall towards the trap on the other side and then stops, as though considering turning back. Then it carries on.
Harvey grins nervously at the mouse's predicament.
The mouse approaches closer. It sniffs at a tiny morsel of bait poised on the trap.
Harvey winces. He knows if the mouse takes the bait, it'll die. He doesn't want the mouse to die.
The mouse nibbles. The trap shifts a little. The mouse stops and cleans its whiskers. Sniffs again. Stops. Glances in Harvey’s direction. Then turns and runs back along the wall.
The hatch door re-opens and the mouse runs in and escapes.
Harvey SIGHS.
Different music is PIPED into the room. The theme from ‘Ryan’s Daughter’ this time.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
(under his breath) Fuck sake.
The main door OPENS and a BROAD-SHOULDERED MAN (30s) with side-parted hair and a waistcoat appears. A second candidate? The man nods at Harvey and sits next to him. They wait.
The door OPENS again. A PAINFULLY THIN WOMAN (20s) with a haunted face and a neck tattoo enters. She's like a coiled spring, all nervous energy and pent-up anger. She sits next to the broad-shouldered man. Harvey leans over, his palms clasped between his thighs.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
Are you here for the interview?
The woman suddenly directs a stream of aggressive-sounding, untranslatable WORDS towards the broad-shouldered man. He responds in a DIFFERENT LANGUAGE entirely, again not English. They argue, their hostility towards one another escalating.
The woman leaps to her feet and points at the broad-shouldered man, and then at Harvey.
Harvey, surprised, can only shrug his shoulders. What?
The woman moves towards the man, making threatening gestures. She's SHOUTING now, and he's SHOUTING back, neither of them understandable. She turns her attention to Harvey, delivering the same incomprehensible diatribe.
Harvey holds his hands out, palms up.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
Woah, woah, woah. Hold on. I don’t know what you’re –
Without warning, the woman attacks the man, PUNCHING and knocking him backwards off h
is chair. She looms over him, PUMMELING his face with her fists.
The man PUNCHES back, connecting with the woman's nose. She falls back, clutching her bleeding face. They grapple on the ground, fists flying. Someone SCREAMS. Someone GROANS. The two bodies stop moving.
Harvey stands in shock, in two minds as to whether to help or not. Who are these people? And why are they so angry?
The woman prises herself free from the man’s clutches and slowly backs away. In her hand is a bloodied knife. The man is still sprawled out on the floor, unmoving. A widening pool of blood spreads outwards from his torso.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
Oh, fuck. What the fuck's going on?
Harvey raises his hands in surrender and addresses the woman.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
Look, I don’t know who you are, or what this is about, but I just came here for an interview. I don’t want to get involved in any of … whatever this shit is, okay?
Harvey edges away from the woman and BANGS on the door.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
Hey! Open the door!
The woman moves closer to Harvey, the blade glistening beneath the artificial light. Harvey shakes his head.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
This has got nothing to with me. It's none of my business. I didn’t see anything.
Harvey BANGS on the door again. Three times.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
Hey! Hey!
The woman stops a few feet from Harvey, the knife outstretched, almost in his face. Her menacing expression turns slowly to a smile. Behind her, the man stands up, wipes the fake blood from his face, and joins her, grinning.
The door OPENS. The man and woman push past Harvey and leave. The door CLANGS shut again.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
You're kidding me!
The calm voice returns.
AMERICAN FEMALE (O.S.)
Please sit down.
Harvey paces the room, addressing the ceiling, the corner of the room, everywhere.
HARVEY
Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on here. Some kind of psychometric bullshit crap is what it feels like. But whatever it is, I don’t want it. I’m not interested, okay? I don’t want your fucking job.
(under his breath) This is so fucked up.
(to the ceiling)
Fuck you! Just fuck you! What you did, that was sick. Just let me out. Please. Let me out.
Harvey THUMPS on the door with both fists.
