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She's Not Pretty (work in progress)
by cin (nazipunks_die@yahoo.com)

Rated: PG-13   Genre: Miscellaneous   User Review: ****
A socially awkward young man named Edward's life is changed in this story of an eccentric rock group. Edward retells a story of his experiences with love, loss, obsession, and tragedy as he follows the Ivy Crawlers during the height of their career. There is also mysterious input from the cross-dressing guitarist.

This screenplay is copyrighted to its author. All rights reserved. This screenplay may not be used or reproduced without the express written permission of the author.


A guy of about twenty sits on his couch playing catís cradle
with himself. The front door opens. He looks up. A messy
looking girl of also about twenty enters.
Holy shit! Did you see the news
No, why?
      (holds up
What the fuck!
The newspaper headline reads, The Death of Ursula.
There is a giant mirror reflecting a pallid male face.
Immediately as his eyes open, rambunctious, poppy rock music
plays. The man in the mirror begins to apply makeup.
Mascara, eye shadow, rouge, bright red lipstick. We back out
a couple steps to see his entire form as he puts a ripped up
fishnet over a smoothly shaven leg and steps into bright red
heels. This is Whore Boy.
Whore Boy marches out of the dressing room in a shiny dark
green gown with a guitar strapped to his back.
On the small stage at the Tophat, there is a band of
strangely dressed people playing. Whore Boy is on the right
side, playing his guitar. The music is dark, but has a
gravelly yet feminine voice singing along. All of them are
dressed differently. The drummer, Seth Sickie, wears
tattered leather and has a short Mohawk. The bass player,


Dora Doom, is dressed in tight yellow pants and cowboy
boots. He has a Beatles T-shirt covered in graffiti, and a
bebop hat.
At the front of the stage, the singer jumps around. This is
Ursula. She glows in front of the rest of the band with
fluorescent colors. Her entire outfit consists of light
sherbet colors, even her makeup. Her face glows transparent
blue. She has wild, dark, blue-tinted hair.
In split screen, Ursula sings along to the footage of a TV
interview where she speaks the lines to her song in poetic
Iím not pretty--I am beautiful.
Iím not marvelous--I am fabulous.
Iím not ugly--I am hideous.
The audience throws bottles and glasses at the stage. The
image freezes, but the music plays on in the background.
                       WHORE BOY (V.O.)
I am what makes the world go
Whore Boy is being interviewed.
Could you describe your fame? The
sudden success of The Ivy
                       WHORE BOY
All success is gradual. Fame is
nothing factual. Our love for
Ursula burned so bright, we were
rewarded by the love of night.
Speaking of which, could you
describe your actual relationship
to Ursula? Weíre dying to know if
the alleged romance is true.


                       WHORE BOY
Nice segue, Mr. Blond Toupee. A
word of truth just from me...we
are exactly what you see.
When everybodyís seventeen, actiní
twenty and so unclean...
Whore Boy has a guitar solo, thumping his heel against his
mike stand. Then suddenly, he grabs Ursula and licks her
neck casually. Ursula screams in a pseudo-erotic manner into
the mike.
Pan over the crowd as the show wraps up. Ursula finishes the
song by holding a note for about 15 seconds, her voice
wobbling up and down.
The image of the newspaper the GIRL was holding in the first
scene. CLOSE ON the name "Edward Sorensen".
EARLY 1981
The members of The Ivy Crawlers are gathered around Edward,
a short, skinny person of about 18 or 17. Heís struggling to
play the guitar and sing. He is doing very badly. He has
long hair. By the looks of him, it seems like he tried to
look messy, but his hair is straight and pretty. His ripped
jeans go very badly with his long pretty hair.
You know, we donít really need
another rhythm guitarist...weíll
just show ourselves out. Itís
No, wait! I promise, I can get
better. I just need to work a
little on it... Please donít go!
Itís okay, man. We really donít
need another guitarist. Whore Boy


                       DORA (cont'd)
plays fine. We can compensate for
not having a rhythm guitarist.
But I really want to be in the
Well why, Edward? We donít even
know you very well... Youíre just
making it all a bit awkward now.
      (struggles to find
Because I like...your...band. And
all of you people. You know, stuff
like that.
Fuck! Letís just leave. We donít
need to waste time here. Let us
leave, you fucking cunt.
Edward slowly walks away from the garage door dejectedly.
From off camera, there are noises of the front door opening.
Edwardís aunt, Beth enters.
Edward, whatís all this noise? Do
I hear some guitar?
Beth looks over at the band.
                       BETH (CONT'D)
You filthy rats!
The band exchanges looks. Beth is their landlady.
You little stinking shits! You
havenít paid rent in two months!
Iíll evict your arses. Edward,
what are these idiots doing in
your house?
Uh, Beth. Hello, Edward here
called us in to audition as rhythm
guitarist for our band. And yeah,
I promise weíll have your money
this month. I absolutely promise.
By Monday, maybe!


Wait, wait, he was auditioning?
For a position in your band?
Well, yes, but he doesnít quite
make the cut and I donít think
weíll need another guitarist
Beth bites her lip and stands quietly for a while. She
motions them over, and walks out of the garage with them.
Edward, dear, I have to have a
little word with my tenants. Just
wait, alright?
Edward nods as Beth closes the door.
Alright, listen. Edward is my
nephew. Heís my sisterís boy.
So what the fuck do we have to do
with who your family fucks and
gives birth to?
The band nudges Seth to shut him up. It is obvious that he
is prone to impulsive, rude comments.
      (giving him a
       dirty look)
Well anyhow, Edward...heís a
little bit...oh, I donít know.
Letís just say heís a bit slow.
Heís never been one to have many
friends and heís deathly shy.
Once again, who gives a shit?
*I* give a shit. Edward is a nice
boy. And if you donít want your
asses evicted, youíll give a shit
about him.
What exactly are you saying?


Iím not asking you to include him
in your band. Iím just asking for
you to get to know the kid, you
know? Just let him feel
less...awkward. I mean itís not
everyday that he gets so open
about what he wants.
                       WHORE BOY
      (checks his nails)
How do you expect to help the boy
if all you do is shelter him?
Beth scrunches her face at him and walks back into the
garage, leaving the door open for them.
      (looks into garage)
He doesnít seem so bad...
Edwardís face is in the mirror, his eyes closed, his long
hair draping over the sides of his face. It imitates the
shot of Whore Boyís reflection. His eyes suddenly open with
the sound of scissors snipping. Rapid cuts of Edward cutting
his beautiful locks are shown.
      (to self)
I'm so fucking stupid.
                       URSULA (V.O.)
You donít pull off that whole
messy rock star look very well.
You look like a hippie!
      (still to self)
Stupid infatuations. Stupid lust
for stupid fashion.
                       SETH (V.O.)
You hippie faggot!


                       WHORE BOY (V.O.)
Shut up, Seth, youíre the least
straight one here.
                       EDWARD (V.O.)
      (smiles slightly)
Stupid bliss. Stupid love.
The sound of an electric razor buzzes through the echoing
bathroom. Someone knocks on the door.
                       URSULA (O.S.)
Ed, are you in there?
Edward nods as if she can see him. He begins to shave his
                       URSULA (O.S.)
Edward, are you still bugged about
what we said this morning? We were
just kidding! Come eat with us.
There is one thick line of scalp showing through his hair
where the electric razor touched his head.
                       WHORE BOY (O.S.)
Let him alone. Emotions need to be
expressed, externally or not.
                       URSULA (O.S.)
Fine, Ed. Weíre going out so Iíll
see you tomorrow.
Edward continues to shave his head, looking straight into
his own eyes in the mirror. There are rapid cuts of him back
to his original haircut and also him as a rock star. Pan
down to his feet where his golden locks have dropped.
The bathroom tiles begin shifting into swirls of color. The
locks shape shift into twinkling stars and lions. It is an
animated music video sequence to the Ivy Crawlersí music.
Eventually, the blue and white tiles create an eye. Dissolve
to a close shot of an eye.
Howard is playing an acoustic guitar at the bar. There is a
piece of paper taped to his guitar, with bubbly crayon
letters that say "Sheís Not Pretty." Recording the video is
his girlfriend, Natalie.


      (throws devil
Whoooooooooooo! 1985 baby!
                       NATALIE (O.S.)
Shut the fuck up, Howie.
A messy cut on the video. They have switched positions.
Natalie is now on video, while Howard records.
      (obviously buzzed)
Okay, okay. Weíre a cover band to
the Ivy Crawlers! Itís
April...thirteenth. And...we are
in the legendary Tophat Bar. No! I
mean the legendary bar, the
Tophat. This is exactly--
Natalie starts walking toward the stage.
Exactly where the Ivy Crawlers
first performed. Holy shit, this
stage is small! Howe, we have to
play here tonight. Ask the manager
                       HOWARD (O.S.)
All right, I will.
Oh my *God* I need a blue wig.
Then I can look just like Ursula!
                       HOWARD (O.S.)
You look nothing like her! Ursula
had bigger tits.
Ugh! Youíre such a fucking ass!
Natalie playfully slaps Howard.
Okay whatever. But yeah, so we are
on this wonderful tour to document
our adventures on the way to


                       NATALIE (cont'd)
crashing Ursulaís funeral. We have
no clue when it is, just that itís
going to be at the bandís old
private estate. So I suppose we
have to camp out there a while
after sneaking in.
She laughs.
                       NATALIE (CONT'D)
Oh, and then we *have* to go to
the memorial thing. I mean I
absolutely loved the fucking
woman. You think I was sad when
John Lennon died? Fuck, Ursula was
Natalie lights a cigarette and takes a drag. She hands it to
Howard and sits on the edge of the stage.
Everyone but Ursula is gathered around Edward in his room.
His head is completely shaven. Whore Boy sits in front of
Edward, his hands on Edwardís head, as if stroking his head
will bring back hair. There is a cigarette between his
fingers, burning dangerously close to the butt right near
Edwardís scalp.
                       WHORE BOY
What the fuck did you do this for?
Whatever. Itís his head. He can
look like a skinhead if he wants.
Psh, heís too weedy to be a skin.
Little faggot.
Everyone faces Seth as if to reiterate the fact that heís
the only homosexual one in the room. But no one bothers to
say a word.


Well...I donít know. You guys said
it yourselves. I looked like a
                       WHORE BOY
You didn't have to shave it all
Edward looks down.
                       WHORE BOY
You're a funny kid, you know that?
Before anyone says anything, the door bursts open and Ursula
enters. She has a bag of groceries, but then she drops
everything when she looks up to see Edward.
Oh my Gaaawwd, what the hell did
you do? All your hair!
Ursula runs to Edward, pushing Whore Boy aside playfully.
She pets his head, looking baffled. She kneels in front of
him and gives him a hug.
Damnit Ed! We were kidding, we
were kidding, we were kidding!
Your hair was so pretty!
Whore Boy and Seth begin to laugh.
What are you laughing about? Stop
being such fuck heads.
Whore Boy stifles his laughter and hands Ursula a brown
paper bag.
What's this?
Ursula scrunches her brow in confusion.
No, just fucking hilarious.
(he takes a box from under his bed)


                       SETH (CONT'D)
Something tells me itíll be even
funnier while Iím high.
Seth opens the box and rolls himself a joint.
                       WHORE BOY
      (puts out his
Hand me one, would ya?
No, you whore. Get your own.
So wait what the fuck is in here?
Itís a little present Edward made
for you.
Ursula suspiciously eyes Edward. She first, without looking,
starts sticking her hand down the bag. But then she pulls
her hand out and closes it again. After a couple seconds,
she opens the bag and looks inside.
What the fuck? Is this...is this
Everyone but Edward starts to laugh. Seth lights up his
joint. Ursula pulls out a lock of blond hair.
God Ed. Youíre so fucking weird.
I promise thatís not a bad...
She corrects herself.
                       URSULA (CONT'D)
horrible thing.
Ursula closes the bag of hair and hugs Edward once more.
Edward is wide-eyed and clueless.


Maybe Iíll make a necklace out of
                       EDWARD (V.O.)
When I was young, my mother, in
all her insane glory, told me that
I was a smart boy. Now I know. I
knew big words. I was not smart.
Big words just mean a wider range
of ways to be stupid. At least in
my case, I suppose.
                       WHORE BOY
      (mystified, by pot)
I have a story.
Everyone relaxes and lies down. It is a longtime tradition
of theirs to smoke up and listen to fucked up stories from
Whore Boy.
                       WHORE BOY
Once, there was a bear. This bear
was a woman. She was nude, rude,
insane. Her eyes were crazy. Her
hair was wild. She growled at
others, as if rabid and hungry,
when only miserable and lonely. No
one truly cared. They used her for
money, they used her for food and
shelter. Soon she had given all
away, and was cold, hungry, lonely
once more.
Edward is confused beyond measure.
                       WHORE BOY (CONT'D)
Then she met the wildcat. The
wildcat loved her so. And all was
good for the first time, for the
wildcat knew what it was to be
unloved and cold. Then one day,
the bear died. So the wildcat died
a million deaths of his heart, and
they were separated by the
boundaries of the realms of the
bodily dead and the dead of heart.
So he kept dying a million deaths
a day. And each time he died, he
died happily, helplessly waiting
for an ever-pending new living.


There are rapid cuts of media footage, as well as odd
artwork. The background is flooded with the Ivy Crawlers'
music. In between clips of interviews and paintings, there
are single frame shots of Ursula being shot. The clips stop
with the painting of a rainbow carrying a blue-haired alien
off to space.
LATE 1982
The Ivy Crawlers are performing at the subway, being either
ignored or booed. Some teenagers walk past, displaying rude
gestures, and yelling things.
                       RANDOM KID
Glitter's dead, bitch! Go home!
      (furious, dropping
I'm not glitter you fuck! Do I
look like some random fucking
crossdressing fag wearing ice
capades costumes?
                       RANDOM KID
Fuck you!
NO! Fuck YOU!
Shut up Seth. It's just a kid.
                       RANDOM KID
You fairy! You fucking fairy!
I'm PUNK you asshole, PUNK!
The random kid begins to walk away.
You guys, wait a second.
The band sighs and shrugs as Seth chases after the random
kid. Dora puts down his bass and takes off his boots,
wagging his feet over the edge like a little boy. Whore Boy
reapplies his lipstick. Ursula groans and plops down.
Seth soon catches up to the random kid.


      (grabbing kid's
You think you're fucking clever?
Eh? I'm not a fucking fairy you
little bitch!
Seth violently punches the random kid in the face.
Still think I'm a queer?
Seth punches him in the stomach.
                       RANDOM KID
      (in pain)
Shit! What the fuck?
Seth gestures to the Sex Pistols and Clash patches on his
I'm fucking hardcore! You gonna
mess with me now?
Seth winds up for another punch, but he's stopped by a
police officer. The cop pulls him up on his knees.
What in the hell are you doing to
this boy?
Just then, the rest of the band arrives, Edward trailing
behind. They exchange looks that say "oh shit", while Whore
Boy just looks on with a blank, not surprised face on.
Officer, we'll just leave. He's a
little bit hostile sometimes, and
the kid was being an ass to him,
you know?
The cop takes a look at them and shakes his head.
You realize that this is the third
time your little friend here
snapped at someone?
Ursula starts to say something, but a strange man walks up
to the police officer. He is in fancy business clothing and
wears sunglasses. This is Blake Goldsmith.


Excuse me? Officer? I'd like to
speak to you for a moment.
Blake has an American accent. He takes the cop aside and
hands him cash, whispering something. The band looks at him
suspiciously. The cop walks away with the kid, and Blake now
approaches them.
What the fuck do you want?
Whore Boy bitchslaps Seth playfully. Seth recoils and shuts
his mouth. Blake laughs and extends his hand.
Hi, my name is Blake Goldsmith.
I'm from House Records.
What kind of name is that?
They all sort of look at him for a second, silent, as if
almost stunned at his stupidity.
It's...just a pseudonym. You know,
a fake name?
Seth blushes lightly out of embarrassment. But he covers it
up quickly.
I heard you guys playing. Doesn't
sound like a lot of people enjoyed
                       WHORE BOY
Well, with some spicing up from
the media, you could be very
                       WHORE BOY


Well, I'm the one to do it! I *am*
the media. An artiste and molder
of the social classes, if you
will. And you...
Blake gets animated twinkling stars in his eyes. He points
at Ursula and the band.
                       BLAKE (CONT'D)
You are my muse.
Blake sits across the table from the band, and Edward sits
sort of on the edge of the circle. A waitress brings over a
pizza and cuts it messily.
Hey, sweetheart, bring me a coke,
would you? Anyone else wants
Ursula, Dora, Seth, and Whore Boy shake their heads.
Actually, I'd like a glass of
lemonade, please.
Blake smiles and gestures to the waitress. There is a moment
of silence.
So okay, what I brought us here to
discuss...is your music, of
Oh, we're all about the music.
Well come on, a band is more than
just music. We need to jazz up you
guys's story. Like...you, you said
your name is Whore Boy? Got a guy
on your side?
                       WHORE BOY
      (deep chuckle)
I only need my Ursula.


Blake is confused. He was nearly sure that Whore Boy was
homosexual. And he is even more taken aback when Ursula and
Whore Boy kiss casually.
Ursula and Whore Boy exchange "I love you"s and look back up
at Blake.
Well, wow. I'm sorry, I was pretty
damn sure you were gay. Uh, anyone
else here? You, uh, Seth...Sickie
was it? Got anyone in your life? I
could set you up with someone
Why would you need to set me up
with anyone?
Well...if you're not particularly
interested in anyone right now, I
could have you meet someone that
could...conveniently grapple your
      (shakes head)
I'm going to the bathroom.
Blake is confused. He wonders how what he said could have
possibly offended someone. Baffled, he looks at Whore Boy.
Seth's taken, my man. He's way
beyond taken. He's been with his
man for around 8 years now.
Wait, "man"? Oh, Jesus, I'm just
wrong about everything today.
A hint? We're all romantics here.
And very much taken. Suggesting a
staged, publicity-whoring
relationship with someone we don't
know isn't going to make us like


Well, I'm not taken...
Everyone looks at Edward. Blake is still confused.
Uh...is he in the band?
Well...uh...sort of, I
Seth is standing near the bathroom, using the payphone. He
is trying to be subtle with his conversation.
Hello? Pat?
                       PAT (O.S.)
Seth! Why haven't you called me?
Shh, just calm down. It's only
been what, 3 days?
                       PAT (O.S.)
Seth, I'm kidding. I'm not upset,
you paranoid little turd. Now, why
are you so quiet?
      (ignoring question)
All right, so am I seeing you
tonight? Should I come over?
No. I'm coming over to your
apartment around 7.
Wait, you can't come over. I'll
just go over there.
God damn it, Sethie, you child.
I'm going over there. Stop being
such a...semi-closet case.


Click. The line dies. Seth sighs and slams the receiver
down, walking back to the table.
Seth has walked in during the middle of a conversation. No
one bothers to look up.
--the story of how we met. It's
amusing to tell.
So explain me this: am I, right
now, at this very moment, sitting
in front of a transvestite?
                       WHORE BOY
      (low chuckle)
Does it matter? Does it intrigue
you? Do you really want an answer,
or will you just dig your mind for
more questions?
Blake is confused by Whore Boy's quick retort. He has
expected slow drawling answers from a possibly strung out,
ignorant transvestite. Obviously this is not so.
Well I--
                       WHORE BOY
Am I supposed to be some sort of,
rock 'n' roll cliche, heroin
addicted ignorant cross-dressing
moron that doesn't know how to
defend himself with wits?
No! I'm just confused! Never mind,
I'm ignorant.
                       WHORE BOY
You mean American.
                       WHORE BOY


                       WHORE BOY
The series of rapid cuts ends. Blake sits still, looking
around. Whore Boy looks at him with fake hostility. After a
while, the fake hostility melts and the two are able to
I need to go home.
      (already knows)
No, I don't want to anymore. Never
Whore Boy sighs, Edward looks around. Dora nudges him and
holds his face close to whisper something. Edward's eyes
light up, feeling like he is a part of some inside joke.
Ask him why he needs to go home.
      (to himself)
But...I need to go...But then if I
do, it'll be so fucking
embarrassing. But if I don't I'll
just fuck everything up again...
But he said he doesn't--
Just do it.
So...so why do you need to go
Just because! Shut up!
The others simply laugh. Seth is the only one taking this
seriously. Blake and Edward are the only two that don't
understand what's going on.


Seth, don't be such an ass like
that. We'll go home right now. And
Dora, I saw you whispering into
Ed's ear. You douchebag.
Whore Boy playfully bitch slaps the back of Dora's head.
Dora looks at him as if to say "What?" Blake takes Whore Boy
to the side to exchange a couple words of business.
Here, write down your address on
my card and I'll be over there
within the week. I want to hear
you guys play...and maybe even
take you down to the studio to
Blake hands him a business card.
                       WHORE BOY
Studio? Don't be stupid. We need
gigs more than anything. Studio
time doesn't pay for rent.
Seth sits in front of the front door alone. There is talking
and laughing coming from Ursula's room. Even Edward is heard
among them. He counts his toes quietly and inspects his
toenails, not to check for dirt but more like to have
something to do.
Seth looks up at the clock on the wall. It says 7:10. His
gaze goes back to his toes.
Ursula and Whore Boy sit together on the carpet. There are
feathers and beads everywhere. Dora lights a cigarette.
There's a joint being passed around. The joint comes to
Dora, and he takes a drag from his cigarette, putting it out
to smoke the joint.
                       WHORE BOY
      (dazed, but
       maintaining wits)
I've got a story...


The joint is passed to Edward, who has never smoked pot
before. He does not know exactly what to do: refuse? Or if
he accepts, how to actually smoke it.
You put it here, in your mouth.
She makes obvious gestures as to how a joint is smoked.
Edward looks down, then up at her, then down again.
He finally brings it to his lips and smokes the joint. He
has taken a very large hit. He makes funny faces as his
joints loosen up. He falls gently against the wall.
      (laughs harder)
Look at him! He popped his cherry!
We popped his cherry!
Dora and Whore Boy give her a look that seems to say "God I
can't believe you," but instead they start laughing as well.
Whore Boy slaps his knee.
                       WHORE BOY
So this story I have...
Dora and Ursula pretend to sit up like good little school
As Whore Boy opens his mouth, the smoke in the room starts
to form a little illustration to go with his story.
                       WHORE BOY
Once, a long long time ago, a boy
sat in his room pondering.
Pondering, pondering, pondering.
And he came to the sad conclusion
after several months that what
will be is what is is what was is
what will be once more. And the
earth turned, not for him, but for
the world which is the earth which
is the world which is the earth
again. Then a woman was somewhere
else on the earth and her name was
something beginning with a C or
another letter in the alphabet


                       WHORE BOY (cont'd)
which contains letters. But this
woman, she had yin-yang eyes and
tree branch hands.
The illustrations become full colored, and elaborate yet
primitive. It's like a drawing a child made with various
craft supplies.
                       WHORE BOY
She was a sad woman, born into a
life of sadness and happy people.
And over and over, she met the
wrong happy people. The happy
people who were happy because they
consumed everyone else's
happiness. She had never received
a gift before in her life.
A light peeks through the illustrations.
                       WHORE BOY
But one happy day, through an
unhappy happening
The curtain of light shields the details of the
illustration, but there is movement that makes it obvious
that she is being raped.
                       WHORE BOY (CONT'D)
A gift was born. And she wrapped
this gift in her arms and loved
But soon enough, her sanity was
tested. Her eyes, one fake, became
pale with dust and discomfort. She
became a violent, feared woman.
And through her troubles with the
word called sanity, she had
alienated the only gift she had
ever received. Years passed by and
the woman with yin-yang eyes
finally lost the battle. And her
only gift grew up to be a troubled
child of chaos and rhythmic
But the happy ending has yet to
come, and the woman with weird
eyes has always watched in her sad
little world of dark thoughts and
ignorant consciousness. So what
will be is what is is what was is


                       WHORE BOY (cont'd)
what will be once more and once
more and twice come again.
Seth has been waiting at the door for a while now. He looks
at the clock. It's already 7:45. He looks almost sad, but as
soon as there is a knock at the door, he gets up and puts on
an expressionless face; feigns boredom.
                       PAT (O.S.)
Seth? Are you home? Is anyone
Uh, yeah, just hold on.
Seth looks in a mirror and runs strokes his mohawk. He
brushes off his jacket and examines his teeth. After
self-conciously observing everything in the mirror, he opens
the door.
      (covering up
Pat puts down 2 brown paper bags.
      (scratching the
       back of his head)
So...what's uh...what's that?
Why don't you ask me why I was
late like you want to? And that's
a suit I picked out for you.
Seth lifts a finger and stops. He's not sure what to say. He
is confused.
Well...then why were you late?
Because I bought you a suit, silly
Seth cocks his head to the right like a pup.


And I got groceries. I'm making
Pat picks up one of the bags and walks right into the
kitchen, putting tomatoes and beef in the refrigerator. He
leaves a box of pasta out on the counter and walks back to
Seth. He pulls out a black suit and holds it up against
Seth's frame.
Wait, wait. You came here to drop
off a suit and make me dinner? And
what's the suit for?
      (puts down suit)
A special occasion.
Seth cocks his head to the side again. Pat moves up against
him and advances for a kiss. Seth at first resists, still
waiting for an answer, but then submits. Pat pulls away
slowly to answer him, this time being pulled back by Seth.
All right, all right. Slow down,
boy. Now to answer your question,
I got the suit because you need to
wear something nice for dinner
with my parents.
Seth scrunches his brow, his head cocking to the side again,
completely an involuntary action.
      (trying to kiss
       him once more)
It's so cute when you do that.
Seth pushes him off, walking away from the door. He wipes
his lips and gasps for breath like a fish, words not coming
to him. Pat sighs and rolls his eyes.
      (spazzing out)
You never told me about this,
Pat follows him around the room.
Yes I did!


      (wags his finger)
No, you didn't.
I did too. I told you that time we
got really drunk and fucked in
Whore Boy's car.
Seth look at him as if to say "What the fuck is wrong with
So you tell me this while we're
drunk and then have sex with me in
a car and expect me to remember?
Seth, it's just dinner! Get the
fuck over it!
It's not just dinner. It's with
your parents. I have never met
your parents. So therefore they're
strangers. And I don't do well
with strangers!
No shit. Do you remember when *we*
Seth raises his hand to stop him but puts it down again.
Just calm down for tonight. We'll
deal with my parents tomorrow
evening. Tonight? We're gonna fuck
each other silly, eat some pasta,
and get some sleep.
The two kiss.
Edward enters. He is high, and it's obvious from his walk.
      (stupidly and
Wait, are you guys...homosexuals?
Seth frowns sits on the floor, his legs outstretched. Pat
starts to laugh.


Seth is driving the car, sweating, concentrated, his mohawk
flopping, in the suit Pat picked out for him. He has torn it
up and put safety pins in it. There's a cigarette in his
mouth. Pat has his face out the window, his hands supporting
his chin. It is deathly quiet, save for the wind passing
through the windows.
Why do you feel this necessity to
look the way you do?
You know what, I'm driving,
Patrick. I think you should keep
      (crescendoing into
I'm just asking, you know? Like
for example...why the fuck did you
have to rip up that fucking ARMANI
Seth sighs and breathes smoke out the window.
Because what? You have no reason
to be such an asshole, Seth!
Why can't you accept me the way I
am? You know how I dress! How I
talk, how I act. Accept it, you
Well then why do you feel the need
to express your personality, your
*wonderful* personality, mind you,
through this vagrant way of dress?
Is this really all that fucking
Seth flicks his cigarette out and rolls up the window, and
his mohawk ceases flopping.


Just ONE day, Seth. ONE dinner.
With my parents. I thought you'd
want to make a good first
Seth is quiet.
Fine. Just fuck it. Why do I
bother with all this shit?
Why DO you bother? Why are you
trying to change who I am?
Rips and safety pins aren't who
you are, Seth.
He is quiet yet again, then lights another cigarette.
...Fuck you.
Pat slaps his face. The lit cherry of the cigarette falls
out of his mouth, onto his lap. Seth flinches and starts to
panic, screaming with his teeth clenched onto the butt of
the cigarette.
What the fuck is your problem! Oh
my God, it burns! You fuck! You
Hold still!
How can I hold still when my penis
feels like it's on fire?
Pat ignores this comment and fishes the burning ash off his
lap, putting it out between his thumb and index finger. Seth
sighs and relaxes again. Pat sits, and once again looks out
the window.
      (quietly, out the
You coped with crabs.


There is a big neon sign up that reads "The Tophat". There
is an animated blinking sign next to it that has a bunny
coming out of the top hat.
THIS is where we're having dinner
with your parents? THIS place? Of
all places, somewhere that has a
gay peepshow in the back? And an
open mike stage? What the hell
were you...I just...GOD DAMN IT
Pat ignores him with a grin on his face. Leaving the car, he
closes the door quietly. He pulls out a small spray bottle.
      (spraying Seth)
Ugh, you smell all smokey.
Arrgh, what the fuck was that? I
smell like a girl! Or a faggot!
It's Chanel. And Seth, how many
times do I need to tell you? You
ARE a faggot.
You know what I mean.
No, I really don't.
They open the velvet-lined doors and walk inside.
The four of them are sitting together at the table, waiting
for their food. Seth looks uncomfortable, although Patrick's
parents seem very well-adjusted and laid back. The only time
they seem uncomfortable is when Seth's answers seem snappy.


                       PAT'S MOM
So, Seth, what exactly do you do
for a living, again? Are you still
at that record store helping out
customers? I mean I haven't talked
to you in over a year!
Well, right now I work in a coffe
Mum, he's being a modest bastard.
He plays music in a band!
                       PAT'S DAD
A band! That's just fascinating! A
Seth starts to tap the table with his index finger.
It's nothing. We're just a little
side project in our lives. Nothing
The waitress brings a round of drinks and plates of food.
                       PAT'S MOM
Well are you playing any gigs? Any
rock shows I might be able to see?
      (stabbing his food)
Not right now.
You liar! You're playing here next
Seth puts his fork down and sighs.
                       PAT'S DAD
Perhaps we could see this! I'm
sure it would be completely
fascinating. So what kind of music
do you play, is it the ol' rock
and roll stuff, or is it punk
rock, or what?


Dad, they're fucking AMAZING.
Whore Boy, remember him? He's the
guitarist, and my God, it's just
really cool stuff.
Yeah I suppose.
                       PAT'S MOM
Whore Boy? Oh, he's a darling!
What do you do in the band, dear?
I drum.
                       PAT'S DAD
A drummer! You must be pretty good
at keeping up a beat for Whore Boy
to let you play.
Yeah, sure.
                       PAT'S DAD
I mean no offense, but that kid's
picky. As great as he is.
Seth starts to daydream. A bubble appears over his head. In
the bubble, Seth is fronting a punk band, as they play very
Clash-like music, with blatant and meaningless lyrics.
Playing drums is Whore Boy, quiet and sullen. It is in a
colorful, unrealistic fantasy world.
Close up onto Seth's face in the fantasy bubble.
Close on Seth's face. Pull away to reveal Seth with a red
Ziggy Stardust haircut. He's all glammed out, wearing ruffly
blue lace. He is dancing, and Patrick, slightly neater and
younger, approaches. They dance to Bowie's "John, I'm Only
So you're into Bowie?


Yeah, obviously.
Are you gay then?
Seth nods.
Got a boyfriend?
      (shakes his head)
Never had one.
Then how do you know you're gay?
Just 'cuz I've never had a
boyfriend don't mean I haven't had
a little bit of *this*
Seth thrusts his pelvis (contained in tight black leather)
at Pat. With each thrust, there is a cowbell noise. Kind of
like "da-dunk, da-dunk". Patrick laughs. He then motions him
out the back exit.
The two come out through the door and sit at the curb to
share a cigarette. The music is still playing, but muffled.
So you're one of *those* gays.
What's that mean?
You know, just gay for the sex.
There's a moment of silence between the two of them. Pat
then stands up to walk away.
Wait, wait a minute. I'm not that
kind of a person--I don't just go
around fucking everything.


He starts to motion his hands very fast, nervous.
      (talking fast for
I mean, you know, it's just hard
being gay for me, I guess. There's
all sorts of reasons as to why
I've had difficulties meeting nice
people I could actually have
relationships with, and plus I've
just recently come out of the
closet...Maybe like six months
ago? So don't get the wrong idea,
you know?
Pat nods and starts to walk away, smiling.
Wait! Where are you going?
To buy myself some gum from that
store about a two blocks away. My
breath smells like cigarettes.
I'll be back in a couple minutes.
Pat crosses the street. Seth sits alone, shivering a bit. He
walks out onto the sidewalk and stands, waiting for Pat to
come back, when footsteps come closer to him from the side.
Seth looks to the side to see a gang of skinhead Nazi punks.
There are about five or six of them, each with a swastika on
his shirt and random punk band patches on their jackets, as
well as romper stompers.
                       NAZI #1
Look, it's a fairy!
The skinheads giggle simultaneously.
                       NAZI #2
Look at his fag hair. He thinks
he's David Bowie.
The mood of the skinheads suddenly becomes hostile.
                       NAZI #3
      (spits to the side)
It fucking sickens me.


Get the fuck away from me,
                       NAZI #1
That wasn't very nice to say to
me, queer.
The Nazi feigns to walk away slowly, but then swiftly turns
around to land a punch in Seth's stomach. Seth staggers,
coughing and gasping for breath.
The Nazis laugh, then begin pummeling him. Seth yells out
randomly, shrieking in pain at points. They kick him over
and over.
Let me go! Get the fuck away from
One of the Nazis pulls out a switchblade and slashes Seth's
leg. After some more punching and kicking and humiliation,
the Nazis gather up and leave. Seth lays on the ground,
alone and in pain.
Close on Seth. He begins to cry, his face bloodied up. His
tears make white streaks of his face through the blood, his
face scrunching up in pain.
      (to self, groaning)
God, it fucking hurts...
Seth is writhing, trying to make himself stand. He rubs
himself to make his body hurt less. He whimpers every now
and then.
Pat finally arrives, and kneels next to him, in shock.
Holy shit! You're fucking
bleeding! What the fuck happened
to you?
Pat helps him up, but Seth starts to pass out. Pat looks
around for a payphone and calls for an ambulance.


All right, don't pass out. Try to
stay awake... Talk to me.
Seth groans.
Well, what's your name?
Seth reaches out and puts his hand on his leg, to stop the
S-Seth Lindon.
An ambulance is heard in the distance.
Well, you're gonna be all right,
Seth nods slowly and passes out.
Seth wakes up in the dingy hospital, his Ziggy hair flopped
to one side. He looks down at his chest to see a post-it. It
says "Call me". On the back, is a phone number with the name
"Pat" scrawled under it.
Edward, Dora, Whore Boy, Seth, Ursula, and Blake are walking
in the grass. Seth is eating chocolate. Edward has his hands
shoved down in his pockets. He walks with a slightly
crooked, awkward gait.
So wait, I'm managing you from now
on, right? Are you ready to record
an album?
We're ready, but it'd be best to
play more shows first. To get our
name around. And plus, we need the
Do you have jobs?


We're supposed to be at work right
now, actually. We're walking Seth
to the coffee house he works at.
Blake nods as Dora points across the field at the street,
where there is a small, chic coffe place sitting at the
I need a new job. I think the boss
hates queers.
Mum owns a restuarant. You could
come work there.
Really? What would I have to do?
I dunno, cook? Clean? Take orders?
I could ask her.
Wait now, let's focus. They're
looking for bands at this one
club, it's really great. I'll get
you guys a spot. They're not very
picky when it comes to what style.
They all shrug in recognition.
                       WHORE BOY
Is this going to be an important
gig? Or something to keep our
stomachs full and our pipes full
of weed?
I'm sure that...if you make a big
impression on these people, fame
will come quick.
As they approach the sidewalk, they turn around, waving Seth
goodbye. Seth crosses the street and enters the coffee


Natalie is on stage with Howard. The crowd looks bored and
drunk. She taps the mike. At the count of three, Howard
starts on guitar.
All the way from America, to honor
the death of our favorite fuckin'
rock star, we're She's Not Pretty,
presenting the Ivy Crawlers'
favorite hit, "She's Not Pretty"!
A few seconds off cue, Natalie begins to sing along to
Howard's clumsy guitar playing. The lights go neon. The
crowd is still bored.
As Natalie dances and sings, flashes of news articles float
around her. Little tidbits about a disastrous performance by
the Ivy Crawlers, circa 1982. As the articles get bigger, a
radio announcer's voice is added in the background. He
interviews Whore Boy, and the news articles keep floating.
                       RADIO HOST
      (blended in
What was that night all about? I
mean all the smashing and breaking
and yelling. You've obviously made
a name for yourself.
At this point, Natalie's voice has completely disappeared.
                       WHORE BOY
...Our tactics, our tricks, are
what astound.
The articles stop with a newspaper headline: "Local Legend
Ivy Crawlers Record Album".
                       NATALIE (V.O.)
Thank you!
Ursula is scrawling down notes and lyrics on a piece of
paper, a beer in her left hand. Whore Boy glances behind the
glass, where Blake and Edward sit side by side. Blake is
looking down at the sound board, and Edward smiles at
Ursula, who isn't even looking at him.


                       WHORE BOY
Okay. I think we're ready.
Blake gestures a take, and the band gets in position. Seth
starts off with an eccentric drum roll, and Ursula growls at
the mike. Right on cue, Whore Boy and Dora add in their
instruments. Ursula's performance, even within studio walls,
is a sexually charged one. However, it has a strange
On the other side of the studio glass, Edward is sitting
there, staring at Ursula with a goofy smile on his face. He
taps the sound board, awkwardly managing a beat along with
the song. Blake openly laughs, inhaling his cigar.
Thankfully, you're not really in
the band.
Edward looks hurt, and rests his cheek on his elbow. His
index finger traces a circle on the glass. CLOSE ON the
circular pattern he makes. This fades into a record.
The record is spinning in the air. In pink letters, the
middle reads "the Ivy Crawlers/Taste For Love". The music is
blasting, as the floating record seems to place itself onto
a record player. A young teenage hand passes over the
Natalie, a few years younger, sits between the record player
and the radio. On the radio, she listens to an interview
with the Ivy Crawlers.
                       RADIO HOST (O.C.)
This album is fantastic! I first
thought it wouldn't catch on
because you know, Bowie and Iggy
and Lou Reed...all that stuff
seems dead. But I'm very happy it
*did* catch on.
                       URSULA (O.C.)
What do you mean, Bowie, Iggy,
Reed? We have nothing to do with
those people.
                       DORA (O.C.)
And they certainly aren't dead.


                       RADIO HOST (O.C.)
Well I thought you'd be something
like...glitter. You know, stuff of
that sort.
                       WHORE BOY (O.C.)
Only a fool says what he knows
not. In mid-sentence, his mind
begins to rot.
They all laugh, and so does Natalie, painting her nails and
doing her eye make up.
                       RADIO HOST (O.C.)
Uh...well all right, so anyways,
tell us about your American tour.
                       SETH (O.C.)
Easy. There's gonna be one.
                       RADIO HOST (O.C.)
All right then! I guess that's a
positive thing to hear. But tell
me, what do you make of the
massive feedback you're getting
from the audiences of California?
Isn't your frontwoman from that
                       URSULA (O.C.)
Yes, actually. I am. It's a sunny,
wonderful place. I was born there,
but I moved to London when I was
Suddenly, on the radio, there's a loud clatter and buzz.
                       RADIO HOST
Oh, we're having some technical
difficulties. We'll be back after
these messages.
It is apparent that Edward has knocked some things over. He
looks worried. The host looks stressed out, and Ursula just
laughs. Everyone else gives him a "I can't believe you but
I'm only joking" look. He knocked over the mike while
crossing the room with a bowl of chips.


                       RADIO HOST
      (at woman)
Stacy, come clean this shit up for
me, please.
The woman sighs and walks over to pick up the potato chip
shards and straighten out the mike.
                       BLAKE (O.C.)
Is everything all right in there?
Everyone nodds. Edward tries to help the lady, but she gives
him an angry glance.
Since we're on a break, I'm gonna
go play around with the food here.
                       RADIO HOST
Excuse me---"play around"?
A rapid cut to the green room, where Seth has sprayed the
entire room with spray cheese, and crumbs. His mohawk has
pieces of fruit in it, and he has a whipped-cream bra on his
naked chest. It is obvious that the others were also
involved, but he has the most excessive proof on him.
                       RADIO HOST (O.C.)
      (mooning the
       farts, then
       laughs at self)
They all laugh. Blake runs out of the building and puts on
sun glasses, out of breath.
You know, I'd object to this
but once I get to the publicity
people, you'll only get more
attention. You'll be the Sex
Pistols, except...without the


                       BLAKE (cont'd)
whole...self-destructive apathy
They're not even listening. The rest of the band is already
walking away, Edward trailing behind, staring on at Ursula
while getting stuff out of his newly grown back hair.
Dora sits in a chair, tuning his bass. His wife's head rests
near his crotch as she sits on the floor. She is a tall,
thin, beautiful woman with movie star cheek bones and red
lips. Big blue eyes and short auburn hair. David Bowie could
only wish and beg the heavens to look this good. This is
You alright?
Roxanne looks as if she might sigh, but does not. She
exists, at the moment, without movement or any action. Her
big eyes seem like a doll's. She looks extremely sedated.
She has a German accent.
Roxanne, I try to be--
I am fucking fine!
She looks surprised at her own anger, but then calms down.
I mean...I am sorry. I feel better
than I used to. That's what I
Whir over to a close-up on Dora's eyes. He believes her
answer, but wishes it was even more positive. Roxanne has
been in pain for a long time, and this is what he is
thinking about.


      (sensing his
You cannot expect everything to
be...so *perfect*, John. Not after
all of the misery that we have
overcome in the recent past.
Roxanne and Dora are very close. She is the only one that
calls him by his birthname, because she's the only one he
allows to do so. Roxanne turns and reaches over to the
cabinet on the other side of the room. She applies red
      (trying to
If I could bring you back one
thing from America, when we go
touring I mean... What would you
ask for?
A beat.
Sudden close-up of Roxanne's melancholy expression, one that
tries to force happiness. Dora's head is once again down,
tuning his bass.
      (whispers, almost
Dora suddenly lifts his head, aware that she has said
something, but not what exactly it is she has uttered.
I want for you to bring all the
Chanel perfume you can find, in an
alabaster bottle, imported
straight from France!
The two laugh at the idea.
No, but really, I just want...


The image of her face becomes kaleidoscopic, seeming to
become a stained glass window. Zoom into one of the many
There is no audio, except for Velvet Underground/Sunday
Morning in the background, and Roxanne's voice. The sounds
of her violent thrashes are not heard, as she throws around
furniture and crushes glass things. The lighting is red and
polka-dotted, very reminiscent of the image of the Velvet
Underground and Nico.
Ich weiss nicht! Ich weiss nicht,
ich weiss nicht, ich *FUCKING*
weiss nicht!
She throws a chair, and a leg breaks off against the wall.
Dora lays, barely moving. He's obviously on some sort of a
sedative drug.
HELP ME! SAVE ME! They won't leave
me alone!
Dora mouths some words at her, and sneers.
How is it that you are so calm!?
She begins to curse in German, but Dora ignores her and
pulls out a pack of powder. It's heroin.
Will it help me, John?
Dora smiles wearily. He looks disoriented.
Will they leave my mind alone now?
Extreme close-up on Dora's lips.
If you love me, you'll be...


As his words seem to drift off, he tosses a plastic baggie
with a syringe, a lighter, a spoon. Then as Roxanne begins
to answer, he lifts a finger to his lips to request silence.
She cooks up a shot.
      (shooting up)
Danke schon...
      (heroin high for
       the first time)
Ich liebe dich...
Her big, doe eyes are wide open. As we close on them, they
once again become kaleidoscope-like. Iris out, peeling away
the blinding images of blue eyes, and reveal an orange
bottle of medication.
      (as before
I just want you to come back


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From Danny Date 5/4/2005 ****
I left a comment before, but they never posted it...Anyways, I loved this. The characters are so original, yet practical! My favorite was Whore Boy and Edward. Keep writing!

From Danny Date 5/1/2005 ****
Wow! I have never read a screenplay that I've found this fascinating. I really hope you finish very very soon. I absolutely love the characters, especially Whore Boy. I really enjoyed this, and I'm going to wait for you to finish it. Please do!

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