The small things that matter big time

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I typically try to have an optimistic view when it comes to film… but I’m going to be honest I have little to no respect for Michael Bay. He defiles ideas from classic and iconic children’s toys and tv shows, hires crappy writers, casts attractive women with little no acting ability and allows 90% of his films to be made by computers. I want to enjoy transformers because I grew up watching it and Im not saying the new one was terrible, but when you work with the same formula for every single movie you make you don’t deserve the title of director. I enjoyed the new transformers but as a person who studies film and not just the artsy film garbage that “connoisseurs” consider classy, I am more upset and angered that he gets to be considered a director. He’s a disgrace to the practice and the art that is film. I enjoyed all four transformers movies but Michael Bay did not make those films Hasbro and extremely talented computer designers did.

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Child, Charlie, Charles, Chuck By Caleb Gonzalez (Scene 1)

First scene in one of my plays I am writing

Scene 1:

(Center stage is a tall curtain; teal or greenish blue. The curtain is hung up by metal polls with the ability to be drawn open and closed. The stage is lighted in red. The setting is supposed to be a hospital room from in front of the curtain and the subjects behind it. Voice comes from nowhere in particular)

Voice. There is a funny thing about life. It typically happens in a snap.

(Snap. The curtain opens up and there is a woman on a hospital bed giving birth. Her legs are facing stage right. Her husband is holding her hand upstage of her. A nurse is behind her wiping the sweat from her face and monitoring her vitals. A doctor is between her legs delivering the child. The woman is screaming and her husband is providing words of comfort along with the nurse)

Voice. This for some is considered the miracle of life. The entrance of a beautiful new being into a world full of love, mystery and wonder. To me it’s the damnation of a poor soul to the terrors that await the unfortunate. Do you know how many children die at childbirth in the US? 6,100 per year. Do you know how many abortions are conducted in the US daily? Between 2,000 and 3,000. I was not one of those children.

(Curtain closes. Woman screams one last time. Silence. Baby cries.)

Voice. There is a funny thing about babies. They step into the world so blindly that their inevitable demise through age is almost… tragic.

(Lights turn on normal no color. Curtain opens. Mom is sitting in a wheel chair with a baby in a bundle against her breast. There is a row of hospital chairs on stage right. In one seat is an old man reading a magazine. In another is another woman obviously older than the mother but not a grandma. A child is playing on the floor near the woman. A nurse is talking to the woman.)

Mother. Hey little one. Welcome to the world.

(Dad enters from stage left with a camera.)

Dad. (Filming the child and mother.) There are the two most beautiful people in my life. Isn’t funny how even though both of our lives have been changed because of the arrival of this child, the world has been changed. The population is now plus one. Plus one rock star or inventor or president or astronaut or quarter back.

Mom. We agreed he was going to play baseball.

Dad. He can do both. Football is in the Fall and Baseball is in the Spring.

Mom. That’s fine with me as long as you drive him to practice sometimes.

Dad. Of course! But remember we aren’t going to impose our expectations on him.

Mom. Yes we are going to gently nudge him and let him see where his passions take him… he has your nose.

Dad. He does… Hey little Charlie. The world is rough…

Voice. It was.

Dad. And life isn’t easy…

Voice. It wasn’t.

Dad. And as long as I am breathing and your heart is beating I will be here for you… always!

(Curtain close. Lights out)

Voice. He wasn’t.

(Stage is barely lit and curtain can barely be seen. Curtain opens up. A television set is on stage right facing stage left. The lights and action from the television is illuminating the stage. The sound of a show (most likely a western TV show) consumes the acoustics of the stage. Dad sitting in armchair on stage left drinking a bottle of rum. Charlie sitting on floor between the Dad and the TV playing with a toy tractor in the similar stage space as the child in the hospital.)

Charlie. Vroom vroom. Agh… Boom! Dad my tractor just destroyed a tank.

Dad. That’s fantastic. Can you keep it down? Honey! Where is my dinner!?

Mom. (Enters from stage right and cross to dad by in front of the TV.) I’m coming! I’m coming!

Dad. Damnit woman will you not stand in the way of the goddamn TV?

Mom. I’m so sorry. Here is dinner; meat loaf, corn and mashed potatoes.

(Mom hands plate and dad takes a bite of the meat loaf and the potatoes and corn. Mom stands there.)

Mom. So how is it?

Dad. The potatoes taste stale. The corn is cold. And do you have any ketchup for the meatloaf?

Mom. The corn can’t be cold I just microwaved it.

Dad. I think I know if the god damn corn is cold I just ate!

Mom. Well maybe the microwave is breaking.

Dad. Not the fucking microwave! First the car now this! How do you expect me to make all this god damn money?

Mom. Will you watch your mouth in front of Charlie?!

Dad. Charlie doesn’t listen. He doesn’t give a shit!

Voice. I gave a shit.

Mom. Do you hear what you’re saying?! That’s our son! You have had too much of that rum. Give me that bottle!

(Mom reaches in for the bottle. Dad slaps her.)

Dad. Don’t fucking touch my juice! Don’t ever fucking touch my juice! You hear me?! You little bitch!

Mom. Fuck you! (Crying)

(Charlie starts crying.)

Dad. Shut the fuck up god damnit! I don’t need you… (Points to mom.)

Voice. He didn’t need her.

Dad. I don’t need you! (Points to Charlie.)

Voice. He didn’t.

Dad. I’m leaving! I’ll see you in a few days I need to clear my head and get out of this goddamn shit hole! (Dad leaves.)

Mom. Don’t leave! (Crying. Sits next to Charlie and cradles him in her arms.) Its ok baby don’t cry. He’ll be back.

Voice. He wasn’t.

(Curtains close.)

End of Scene 1

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