Vixen Myer/Transcript

Transcript for Vixen Myer.

Script
INT: DOCTOR'S OFFICE Side shot of a'' fifty something doctor, along with a withered old man, is seen, in the background we see countertops flooded with medicines and documents. We can also see x-rays of the ribcage on the walls, in some of them we can see tumors. CUT: Close-up on the doctor, who is looking through some papers in his hands. He quickly starts to become frustrated with not being able to find the paper he's looking for, but eventually he finds the paper he was looking for, and then looks toward the man. DOCTOR: Well, I regret to inform you of this but... He looks away from the old man, somewhat saddened. He clearly doesn't want to tell the old man his diagnosis, but his job demands it. He looks back at him, taking a deep breath.'' DOCTOR: ...you have inoperable lung cancer. ''CUT: The old man, wearing a hospital gown. He is billionaire BILL FAMOMAN, founder of Famospatula, one of the most successful spatula companies in the business. He is a short, bald, elderly man who seems to have been hit hard by the years. He has a confused expression. He doesn't seem to understand.'' BILL: What does that mean, exactly? ''BACK TO: The doctor, who looks surprised. He does a gesture with his hand, thinking that Bill knows what this means. BACK TO: Bill, still confused, he shrugs, not knowing what the doctor is talking about.'' BACK TO: The doctor. DOCTOR: Well... <p style="text-align:center;">BACK TO: Bill, who seems to be getting a little impatient. <p style="text-align:center;">DOCTOR (O.S.): <p style="text-align:center;">...You're gonna die. <p style="text-align:center;">CUT: ''Bill, his eyes widen in surprise, he then looks down to the ground solemnly, realizing he doesn't have much longer to live. He looks back up at the doctor.'' <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">How much time do I have? <p style="text-align:center;">BACK TO: The doctor. <p style="text-align:center;">DOCTOR: <p style="text-align:center;">Maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months. <p style="text-align:center;">BACK TO: Bill, who, all of a sudden, ''begins to look angry. He looks up at the doctor and starts shaking his head slowly at him, chuckling slightly. He doesn't seem to believe that someone as prestigious as Bill Famoman, could actually die at the young age of 102. <p style="text-align:center;">CUT: Wider shot of the room. Bill proceeds to stand from his medical bed, albeit struggling to maintain balance.'' <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">That's a bunch of bullshit, I tell you! <p style="text-align:center;">The doctor moves back in shock at Bill creating a scene. <p style="text-align:center;">We begin to follow ''Bill as he starts walking towards the entrance of the office. He almost trips a few times making his way to the doorway. <p style="text-align:center;">Upon making it to the doorway, he slowly turns around and points at the now-offscreen doctor.'' <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">I'll find a way, I tell you! I'll find a way! <p style="text-align:center;">He slams the door with what's left of his strength. <p style="text-align:center;">FADE TO BLACK <p style="text-align:center;">INT: A LIVING ROOM <p style="text-align:center;">''We focus on a tube television sitting on a table. Bill, now in a blue suit, is seen sitting on a chair on screen, frowning. Classical music is playing. <p style="text-align:center;">We begin to zoom in on the television.'' <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">Hello. My name is Bill Famoman. You may know me as the co-founder of Famospatula Incorporated. <p style="text-align:center;">''He motions to a display case full of spatulas hanging on the wall. '' <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">Quite recently, some little buggers in my body have been trying to physically destroy me. <p style="text-align:center;">''A stock gasp sound effect is heard. Bill nods to this.'' <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">But...I'm not letting those cunts get me! <p style="text-align:center;">Bill chuckles. <p style="text-align:center;">He motions to blueprints for a robot, hanging on the opposite side of the wall. <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">After a lot of research and a little talk with my R&D men, I've found an solution to my predicament. And that solution is what I'd like to introduce right now. <p style="text-align:center;">The camera pans back to reveal a prototype robot body, with two of the aforementioned R&D guys standing to each side of it, they look very proud. <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">But you, my customers, may be thinking, "Mr Famoman, how does this even work?" I suppose a little demonstration is in order. <p style="text-align:center;">''CUT: A demonstration of the robot is shown, the footage is very grainy, this was probably filmed on Super 8mm. One of the researchers is shown presenting a small brain, before placing it into the robot. The robot slowly comes to life and starts moving around, it then begins to cluck, suggesting the researchers used a chicken brain. <p style="text-align:center;">Then all of a sudden, the chicken robot begins to attack the researcher. <p style="text-align:center;">The researcher struggles to get the rogue chicken off him, after a beat, another researcher enters the shot, with a loaded shotgun in hand. <p style="text-align:center;">The researcher aims at the robot and fires some shots into the robot, effectively destroying it. <p style="text-align:center;">BACK TO: Bill.'' <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">But...this is only a prototype. Like every decision made in this company, we can't do this without a budget. My boys have estimated we'll need somewhere around $2 million to create a working model. <p style="text-align:center;">''An address is shown on screen. Somber piano music suddenly begins to play.'' <p style="text-align:center;">BILL: <p style="text-align:center;">Please, consider making a donation to us. It's for a great cause. <p style="text-align:center;">Bill closes his eyes and the screen fades to black. <p style="text-align:center;">INT: BEDROOM <p style="text-align:center;">''We fade in on a white wardrobe, and hands come on screen to open it. These are the hands of our protagonist, WILLOW "VIXEN" MYER. While she is not shown in this scene, she is a white female whose main outfit is a grey suit and skirt. She also has dirty blonde hair.'' <p style="text-align:center;">VIXEN (V.O.): <p style="text-align:center;">I'm Willow Myer, 33 years old and the proud owner of my own spatula company. <p style="text-align:center;">The wardrobe opens to reveal many similar pieces of clothing, a suit jacket, shirt and a skirt. <p style="text-align:center;">VIXEN (V.O.): <p style="text-align:center;">But people tend to call me Vixen, they seem to like likening me to a fox. Don't exactly agree, but it's not the worst nickname you can have. <p style="text-align:center;">More coming soon.