QUANTUM IMMORTALITY

LAS PESADILLAS

BURN IN and SMASH CUT TO: THE DARKNESS OF DEEP SPACE.

INSERT:

Las Pesadillas Presents

CUT TO ECU of a mouth. Slowly it opens, and the tongue comes out. CUT TO ECU of the cylinder in a .357 Magnum. The reflections slowly distort and shine in its chasms as we slowly PAN ACROSS it. CUT BACK TO DEEP SPACE.

INSERT:

A Pesadillas Film

CUT TO ECU of an electric guitar’s volume knob. A single finger comes into frame and twists it clockwise. CUT TO ECU of mouth with extended tongue. Two fingers come into view holding a small lavender tablet. CUT TO ECU of Magnum cylinder. CUT BACK TO DEEP SPACE.

INSERT:

[CAST CREDITS]

CUT TO LONG SHOT of a green exit sign in a smoky room. RACK FOCUS to CU of a battered SM58 microphone on its stand. CUT TO ECU of the Magnum. We slowly pan down from the cylinder to reveal the trigger. CUT BACK TO DEEP SPACE.

INSERT:

[CAST CREDITS CONT.]

PAN DOWN. EXT.—LONG, EMPTY STREET IN A SMALL TOWN—NIGHT (HIGH ANGLE). The only strong light comes from the flickering utility pole lamp over a small bar. CUT TO EXT.—THREE BUSINESSES IN A STRIP MALL IN NEW JERSEY—NIGHT. Snow is falling. We see the three businesses’ neon and lighted signs:

ROTARY CLUB

KARATE TRAINING—BLACK BELT KUNG FU

THE WATERING HOLE

Outside the WATERING HOLE, a run-down dive bar, a solitary BIKER TYPE sits on a barstool, dozing off.

CAPTION:

Somewhere in New Jersey, 1973

CUT TO SIDE VIEW CU of the microphone. We see a mouth, tongue extended, come into frame towards it. There is a small lavender tablet on the tongue. CUT TO FRONTAL VIEW of the mouth. As the mouth swallows the tablet, smoke billows up from below. PAN BACK to reveal THE TEENAGE SUPERSTARS, a thoroughly ridiculous-looking 5-piece GLAM ROCK BAND. They all wear matching glittery white spandex bodysuits and amateurishly overdone makeup—looking somewhat like a cross between ANGEL and the NEW YORK DOLLS. The entire stage area is filled with smoke and flashing lights. CUT TO—WIDE SHOT OF THE WATERING HOLE. The place is practically empty: a confused BARTENDER, two ANGRY DRUNK BIKERS sitting at a table, and two BIKER CHICKS playing pool in the background. CUT BACK TO STAGE—the TEENAGE SUPERSTARS antics become more and more extreme. The SINGER wraps the microphone cord around his arm and crouches down, using the microphone stand to simulate masturbation in a very lewd way. CUT TO TWO SHOT of ANGRY DRUNK BIKERS, sitting stonefaced and annoyed. CUT BACK TO STAGE. The GUITARIST has his back to the audience, and is using his crotch to repeatedly thrust his Gibson Les Paul into his amp. A table flies in from out of frame and hits the GUITARIST square in the back, sending him and his amp over in a shower of sparks. CROSS-CUT TO EXT.—THE WATERING HOLE—CONTINUOUS. All the neon and lighted signs flicker on and off briefly, and for a couple of blinks the three signs read:

ROTARY CLUB

KARATE TRAINING—BLACK BELT KUNG FU

THE WATERING HOLE

CUT TO INT.—WATERING HOLE STAGE—CONTINUOUS. Things continue to deteriorate as the ANGRY DRUNK BIKERS appear on stage, and a fight breaks out. CUT TO EXT.—SNOW COVERED NEW JERSEY ROAD—NIGHT. A 1967 Ford Econoline van with a small trailer suddenly flies past, away from the camera.

NARRATOR:

Once upon an Econoline van,

There was a young five-piece garage band.

Just back from their ‘73 tour, rockin’, rollin’,

And sounding like Zeppelin and Creedence and Bolan.

CUT TO ECU—HANSEL NOON’s knuckles gripping the steering wheel. CUT TO INT.—VAN—DASHBOARD, LOOKING BACK (WIDE ANGLE). We see HANSEL driving; VIC “AJAX” DODSON riding shotgun and doing coke off the dashboard; HANK CIA and DON SALAMI in the rear bench seat, where HANK is attempting to light the ridiculously oversized joint in DON’S mouth with a book of matches; and in the very back of the van, the vague silhouette of a beanbag, where sits ED SPECIAL.

NARRATOR (cont.):

Ed was the singer, a quite moody tyrant.

Don was the new keyboard-playing aspirant.

Hank played the bass, and young Hansel guitars.

And they called themselves The Teenage Superstars.

As the NARRATOR speaks, the camera cuts to CU of each band member.

NARRATOR (cont.):

Vic used the dashboard to chop out the blow,

Ignorant of other manners of snow.

Hansel drove anxiously on through the flurry,

His half-drunken eyes strained and narrowed in worry.

Hank and Don sat back in THC comas,

And rolled joints the size of two high school diplomas.

While deep in the back, in a beanbag of green,

We see Ed is lost in a dark acid dream.

SLOW ZOOM into ED’S dilated pupils. At ECU, his eyes close. CUT TO EXT—SIMILAR SNOW-COVERED ROAD—NIGHT. The van careens toward the camera. As it passes, the spray of the snow obscures the camera. CUT TO INT.—VAN—DASHBOARD SHOT. No one seems to be paying particular attention to anything, including HANSEL, who is nervously fiddling with the stereo (which only seems to pick up some sort of jazz station). In unison (excepting ED, whom we can’t see): all their heads suddenly look up, wide-eyed, at the road. BLACKOUT.

INSERT:

[MAIN TITLE]

[CAST AND PRODUCTION CREDITS CONT.]

NARRATOR (cont.):

The van filled with smoke as it snaked down the road

That was winding and slushy where it had just snowed.

It slid to the side, hit a truck and exploded

And the dazed lone survivor is verbatim quoted:

“EVERYBODY DIED BUT ME”

Belts unfastened—pass the middle ear;

Melts the past and glass, the atmosphere

Hell has had us! Scale the manifold!

Tell the saddest tale I’ve ever told!

How the others slept, and didn’t feel;

How their mothers wept behind the wheel!

Hell has had us! Scale the manifold!

Tell the saddest tale I’ve ever told!

Everybody died but me when everybody slept.

Everybody died but me when everybody went to sleep.

Everybody’s mother cried when everybody went to sleep

Everybody’s mother cried when everybody died but me.

FADE UP ON EXT.—THE WATERING HOLE—LATER THAT NIGHT. ED, his clothes ripped and bloodied, staggers into frame, and into the open door of the bar. CUT TO INT.—BAR—BEING THE BAR (TRACKING SHOT). We follow ED from across the bar as he shuffles past the grizzled REGULARS. As he passes each one, they each slowly turn to stare. ED continues on.

NARRATOR:

Limping away from the fire in the snow,

The bloody survivor struggled on towards the glow of the

Light from a tavern that had gone to seed,

But looked just like Heaven in his time of need.

Finding no payphone, nor empathic ears,

He steps to the stage and announces through tears:

CUT TO CU—LOUNGE SINGER’S FACE. In the middle of his singing, we PAN BACK and see ED grab the microphone out of his hand.

“EVERYBODY DIED BUT ME (REPRISE)”

Everybody died but me!

Everybody slept the permanent sleep!

Everybody’s mother cried when everybody died,

When everybody died but me!

As he sings, we cut to various faces of the REGULARS, mumbling angrily and slowly getting up from their stools to approach the stage. CUT TO INT.—STAGE AREA—REVERSE ANGLE. The REGULARS ignore ED’S plea and forcibly drag him from the stage. The LOUNGE SINGER returns.

NARRATOR:

Mistaken for durably inebriated, and his vague injuries picayune,

He is thrown from the stage,

where the singer continues his autobiography tune:

“MAN FROM PARSIPPANY”

Well I come from Parsippany with a bullet in my teeth,

A scullion on my knuckle and a Christmas wreath,

A dirty little greyhound with a rotten mouth.

I could be your lucky boy.

I got drunk as python for a dollar a dime,

Two liters of the Cobra and an ear for the rhyme.

I smoked the cowboy killers up on Hazel Avenue;

I used to hang with hoi polloi!

I came bargin’ in a 5 AM,

with a bag full of britches and a wedding gem—

I pledged my allegiance to the yellow skin,

but the yellow skin would not let me ride!

I got drunk as python for a dollar a dime,

Two liters of the Cobra and an ear for the rhyme.

I smoked the cowboy killers up on Hazel Avenue;

I used to hang with hoi polloi!

CUT TO EXT—ALLEY BEHIND BAR—NIGHT. The big metal back door opens, and a group of REGULARS, carrying ED, bustle out. They hurl him into the dumpster and walk back inside. CUT TO INT.—DUMPSTER. SLOW ZOOM into ED’S dilated pupils. As they slowly close, the picture blurs, and dissolves into ED’S FACE in VIVID, BRIGHTLY COLORED DISNEY-STYLE ANIMATION.

NARRATOR:

The New Jersey man finally finds his finale.

Meanwhile, in back of the club, in the alley,

Almost as quickly as he wandered in,

Ed is thrown into the foul refuse bin.

The shock has worn off.

The concussion sets in.

The sweet song of sleep from a synth violin.

The gun in a theory some dismiss as sin.

The safety is off of the firing pin.

(ANIMATION):

PAN BACK FROM ECU—ED’S FACE. We see he is now lying in a giant “beanbag” of cotton candy. He gets up to look around, and finds himself in a TWILIGHT ENCHANTED FOREST, half of which appears to be made of candy (not unlike the set of the “Pure Imagination” sequence of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory). He is greeted by CHERUBIM AND SERAPHIM, who, in a DISNEYFIED MUSICAL LULLABY MONTAGE SEQUENCE (including backup vocals from ANTHROPOMORPHIC TREES AND ANIMALS), replace his ragged t-shirt and jeans with old-fashioned bedclothes (complete with a nightcap). Eventually, he is laid back down into the cotton candy, where he falls back to sleep. SLOW ZOOM INTO ED’S SLEEPING, SMILING FACE.

“GHOSTS OF THE TREES”

Sleep, sleep, go to sleep
Let the rain pour off the street
Into your dreams
Where the rowboats will float in the dandied land

Sleep, sleep, go to sleep
Never mind the honeybees
In your dreams
They are not as sweet as the dandied land

Close your eyes, shut them tight
Drift away into the night
Float on the breeze with the ghosts of the trees
In some candied land

Sleep away the oceans of tears
Lose them in the atmospheres
Never you fear, they won’t reappear
In the candied land

Float away to blueberry skies
Whipped cream clouds with bubblegum eyes
Sweet as the tooth ‘neath the pillow of time
In some candied land

DISSOLVE FROM ED’S FACE. His wounds and bruises are gone. CUT TO EXT—ALLEY—LATE DAY. ED is now wearing the uniform of an American Fighter Pilot, circa 1943. His moderately long, feathered hairdo is gone—he now has a military buzzcut. He is still lying in a pile of garbage, but no longer in a dumpster. He gathers himself up, and opens the big metal back door to the bar. CUT TO INT.—BAR. The bar is now a 1940’s Italian coffeeshop. All the patrons turn to silently stare, as ED nervously realizes what he’s wearing.

NARRATOR:

Slowly he wakes from his trash bag divan,

scaling the dark of his dream;

He shambles back into the bar to discover

an altered (yet similar) scene.

The fashions appear to be those of the year

nineteen hundred and forty and three;

And judging from chatter about his appearance,

he’s somewhere in old Italy.

He looks down and sees that he’s wearing

the dress and the chevrons of a pilot fighter.

The patrons all glare, as Ed’s grip on reality

slowly gets that much less tighter.

[ALTERNATE VERSE]:

He looks down and sees that he’s wearing

the uniform of a dogfighter on leave.

The patrons all glare, as Ed vainly attempts

to conceal the chevrons on his sleeve.

CUT TO SHOP COUNTER. The MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER reluctantly turns his gaze from ED to the small radio on the shelf, as he turns up the volume. We hear a war news bulletin, where an impassioned announcer tells us that BENITO MUSSOLINI has just been arrested. CUT TO ECU ED’S FACE. We can see him clearly starting to lose it, as he looks around at all the COFFEESHOP DENIZENS. As the radio broadcast continues, we see ED’S P.O.V.—the coffeeshop, and all of its customers with it, begins to sprout bright flowers and weeds. The walls soon become ivy, and moss wilts from the ceiling. The radio broadcast begins to overload and distort, and ED’S vision becomes blurred. A hazy vision of MUSSOLINI appears, down on one knee with gardening gloves and an apron on. He clips a rose growing from the shoe of an oblivious COFFEESHOP PATRON, and holds it up as he begins to sing.

NARRATOR (cont.):

The radio broadcasting news of the war

is the only sound that fills the grotto.

In the silence, he hears an announcer say that

“Mussolini è stato arrestato.”

Ed’s ears ring low and his vision distorts,

and he sees flowers grow on the walls.

He imagines the Gran Sasso mountaintop jail

from which Benito’s voice softly calls:

[ALTERNATE VERSE]:

Ed’s vision blurs, and he sees all the walls bloom

with more flowers than he can count.

He imagines Benito’s imprisoned voice echoing out

from his cell on the mount:

“GIRLS RUNNING FROM BULLETS”

I am just a clipping from a rather modest strain;

all I ask is for a little rain.

Rows of roses never hinder (what you’d call) my aim,

‘cause I never asked to be the same.

I am just a circuit, or a pile of powder dust,

thickening the mixture under crust.

I’m abrasive chemicals with semi-catchy names,

surprising you with accidental flames.

Bending with the weather, and I’m shying from the light.

I drip with poison, waking in the night.

The path is being cleared, and clutter cut down into sand.

In the bed with clippers in my hand.

Rising up from nothing when the ground is never soft,

Trying just to hold my head aloft.

I am just a clipping from a rather modest strain;

all I ask is for a little rain.

When my medicine congeals, and I jettison the wheels,

If it’s true, me and you can be the new quantum Achilles’ Heel.

The vision ends with MUSSOLINI pointing a gun to his own head and pulling the trigger. BANG. ED snaps back to “reality”, and the radio has returned to its previous broadcast of a lively tango.

“IL BACIO”.

The COFFEESHOP DENIZENS all get up and chase ED out the back door. This begins an AMAZINGLY EXPENSIVE CHASE SEQUENCE INVOLVING MANY WELL-KNOWN LANDMARKS, AND AUTOMOBILES APPROPRIATE TO 1943 ITALY. As he runs, ED furiously rips all the signifying badges, patches, etc. from his military uniform, which now looks almost like a dinner jacket.

NARRATOR:

The news is replaced by the previous broadcast

of tangos allegro and such

(Not answering if the dictator-as-flower analogy is worth so much)—

And Ed barely has time to figure out

why Mussolini would talk quantum theory,

As he snaps from his vision to see

all the customers slowly advance with eyes leery.

The tango erupts as the tables and cups are upended,

and Ed is chased out.

He rips all the badges and stripes from his coat

as he takes an alternative route.

After ducking around a corner, ED finally loses the screaming mob, and finds a similar metal door. He opens it and slips inside. CUT TO INT—LARGE BALLROOM. Some sort of elegant debutante ball is happening inside, with a crowd applauding the band. As the crowd moves around, we pick out THE WOMAN IN QUESTION—a petite brunette in an unbelievably stunning formal gown, she appears to glow.

NARRATOR (cont.):

Down an alley he ducks, and his jacket dark green

now resembles a tux with no tie.

Slipping into a back door, he finds there’s a dance floor

where a debutante catches his eye.

ED runs his fingers through his hair, straightens his jacket, and attempts to make his way through the crowd to THE WOMAN. We hear his consciousness begin to sing.

“THE WOMAN IN QUESTION”

Who is she? What’s her name?

I’d sure like to get into her game.

Would she like to dance?

Or will she turn and just walk away?

I must try, I sure will

Here I go to get into her game.

Does she have a man?

It’s not apparent—I see no ring.

I say, “hey.” She says, “hi.”

I get the feeling from her eyes.

She would like to dance.

Shall we step out and dance in the rain?

NARRATOR:

To avoid more attention, he makes his way

to where she stands alone, and her heart halts.

She takes his hand, bows, and they then

set in motion to sounds of a beautiful waltz.

LAVISHLY CHOREOGRAPHED, EXCEEDINGLY EXPENSIVE WALTZ SEQUENCE, ENDING WITH ED AND THE WOMAN IN QUESTION WALTZING OUT OF THE BALLROOM AND INTO THE RAINY MOONLIT STREET.

FADE IN THE WALTZ SECTION OF “IL BACIO”

As ED and THE WOMAN waltz in the damp moonlit street, the COFFEESHOP DENIZENS appear from behind a corner shop, yelling and pointing. ED takes THE WOMAN’S hand to run, but she tearfully pulls back; she cannot leave the ball. ED, frustrated, leaves her and begins running.

NARRATOR:

Ed, momentarily lost in the sound of the descending waltz

(played legato),

Fails to perceive that the lynch mob has found him,

and screams “lo abbiamo trovato!”

CODA OF “IL BACIO”—ANOTHER BRIEF (NOT AS EXPENSIVE) CHASE SEQUENCE ensues through the city. ED somehow makes his way back to the front door of the BALLROOM, but THE WOMAN is not there; he storms up to the double doors, pulls them open, and…

NARRATOR:

Losing the crowd, Ed returns to the ballroom

where he had that elegant dance.

But she is not there, and he now finds himself

in a flannel, t-shirt, and torn pants.

The ballroom has changed from a graceful retreat

for effete rich men in evening dress

To an underground, beer-stained, mid-nineties rock club

somewhere in the Northwestern U.S.

CUT TO INT.—SEEDY ROCK CLUB SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTHWESTERN UNITED STATES. ED stands frozen in the doorway, holding both the open doors. ED’S appearance has again changed: now he’s wearing torn jeans with a flannel shirt tied around his waist, a black t-shirt of a FAMOUS BAND, and his hair is now unkempt and about 3 inches longer. CUT TO ED’S P.O.V.—we see the SHOWGOERS briefly turn and look at ED (much like the DENIZENS OF THE COFFEESHOP), but then they turn away and continue to look bored. ED looks around the crowd for THE WOMAN IN QUESTION as the GRUNGE BAND plays on.

NARRATOR:

Finding no trace of the Woman in Question,

Ed blends into the jaded crowd.

And they never vary their facial expressions

While watching the band play too loud.

“I’M THE GUITARIST”

Have a drink. Have a smoke.

Have a mudfight or a rockfight, just make sure that you have both.

Take your trips in little boats.

Make a nightlife from your hindsight—get your hands off of my throat.

Get your fingernails from the garbage pails, and glue them all back on.

Get your greasy books and your dirty looks,

and bleach the F-word on my lawn.

Make a face. Make up your name.

Take your wasteland from your waistband and grow out of your brains.

Cut your losses, return to the grange.

Have an ice cream under moonbeams; make a mobile from your veins.

Get your fingernails from the garbage pails, and glue them all back on.

Get your greasy books and your dirty looks,

and bleach the F-word on my lawn.

And his name is branded on your emotions,

in the stolen cattle of your dreamscape.

And you’re trying to look across the ocean

through the cigarette burns in your Dracula cape.

And your pineneedle eyeballs are rollin’ around

With the speed of a hundred popped clutches.

And all of your nutshells are painting the town

With your good times that are now just your crutches.

FINISH ON: INT—CLUB—STAGE (WIDE SHOT, HIGH ANGLE). The audience claps politely yet disinterestedly. CUT TO CU—ED IN THE CROWD. He looks around with dawning awareness that this is reality—he is now 35, the van crash was real, and that he’s been coping with survivor’s guilt for the past twenty years. He turns to leave in sorrow, when he catches sight of THE WOMAN IN QUESTION—she’s wearing appropriate 1993 Generation X clothing, but it’s still her. As he moves toward her, the crowd around her shuffles away and we REVEAL that she’s holding the hand of the GRUNGE BAND’S LEAD SINGER, who pays little attention to her. Overcome with jealous rage, ED pushes his way through the crowd and climbs up onto the stage. CUT TO INT—STAGE—REVERSE ANGLE (similar to earlier bar stage shot). The GRUNGE BAND members are just starting to put away their instruments when ED grabs the microphone and begins to sing, while staring at THE WOMAN IN QUESTION and pointing. The GRUNGE BAND, jaded yet neutral, decide to play along.

NARRATOR:

The band plays their last song, and packs up their gear.

Ed realizes reality’s here,

a “survivor’s guilt” complex has plagued him for years,

And this is where he drowns his sorrow in beers.

But just as he starts to leave, he sees the rose

That’s the Woman in Question (with 90’s grunge clothes).

His joy is too much, until he sees her hand

In the hand of the lead singer of the grunge band.

Rage spars with jealousy over control

of what’s left of Ed’s brain, heart, libido, and soul.

He storms to the stage, once again grabs the mic,

And sings a song he knows The Woman won’t like.

“LEOPARD SONG”

Be wary of leopards who proudly announce they are

now in the process of changing their spots.

Be wary of new and improved daydreams.

Your teaspoons of love you will never denounce

are now in the process of bangin’ on pots.

Be sure that you read up on what never seems to be.

And the stars are spellin’ your name.

If you’re stayin’, you’d better start diggin’ your grave.

Don’t clutch your crutches, or double your dutches,

and don’t say they never said what they meant to say.

Live is a movie, a drama, a pickaxe, a kick to the lips,

and rips in your seams.

Be wary of alcohol poets and cigarette fiends.

Look out for the knuckles that rest on the chins of those

who claim to be without sin.

Be wary of Jezebels and monkey-wrench queens.

And the liars and thieves will be dead.

And the strangers will come back to reclaim their beds.

If laughter and hope turns to rafter and rope,

Then don’t say I never said you got in my head.

CUT TO INT—REAR OF CLUB. The song ends, and the audience suddenly comes to life with applause. THE WOMAN IN QUESTION obviously has no idea what the song meant. The infuriated GRUNGE BAND SINGER grabs ED from the stage and drags him off. CUT TO EXT—BACK ALLEY OF CLUB—NIGHT. The big metal door opens, and the GRUNGE BAND SINGER pushes ED down into a pile of trash bags. SLOW PAN INTO ED’S FACE. Dejected, he absent-mindedly finds a not-quite-empty whiskey bottle in the pile of trash he’s reclining in. He downs the remains, throws the bottle, leans back, and closes his eyes.

NARRATOR:

As his song of disgust finally ends with a flourish, loud applause comes from the jaded, malnourished and cynical Gen-Xers there in the throng. The Woman in Question, perplexed by the song and its personal lyrics she can’t comprehend, encourages her grunge lead-singer boyfriend to dispose of the madman that she doesn’t know. And with brute precision, he gladly does so. Ed’s dismal frame, not in shape for his age, is pulled by the collar and dragged from the stage, and out through the back door and into the trash, where Ed finds a bottle with still just a splash left inside, which he downs, and then lies back to think; and this is how Ed starts the Decade of Drink.

CUE “DRINKING GAMES”.

DISSOLVE TO ECLECTIC MONTAGE OF DRINKING, DRUGS, AND DEBAUCHED DEPRESSION IN THE GUISE OF A NEVERENDING PARTY.

FADE TO BLACK. FADE UP ON: INT—ED’S DISMAL STUDIO APARTMENT—MORNING. The place is nearly empty, with only a bed, a small TV on milk crates and a small dresser with most of the drawers hanging open. ED is slowly waking to his alarm clock. The year is now 2003—a decade of excess has gone by, and ED is now 45. His stringy hair is gone, and his mildly contemporary Caesar haircut has almost completely gone gray. He sits up on the edge of the bed in boxers and a tattered wifebeater, holding his head. As he rises and begins his routine of getting ready for work, he regretfully reflects on his crapulent lifestyle.

NARRATOR:

Ten years go by with Ed on self-destruct,

with his conduct obstructing his dreams,

With nothing to show but the mem’ry of nights

that all have very similar themes:

Cocaine and crank done with strippers and whores,

all their faces blurred in silhouette;

Rehab, and bones broken as the result

of all his unresolved gambling debt.

“FALSE HORSE”

Time to lose, here to pine.

Everyone who’s friends of mine read the walls every night.

Something calls the kettle white.

Not the pot or the drink--there’s a bottle in the pink.

Here to pine, I won’t lose--never mind just who is whose.

Go out light. Homecoming.

Every night the walls will sing.

Reinforce, eating words. Fabricated horse and birds.

One day soon, rest will come, making moonlight scarce for some.

Even still, as a horse, nature will not run its course.

You’re blameless. My regret only makes the shameless wet.

Reevaluate my state…envy only what I get.

CUT TO INT—BATHROOM—MIRROR P.O.V. Every flat surface has empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays, pill bottles, etc. on it. ED shambles in, swallowing pills, wearing a white dress shirt. He puts on his tie and straightens it. He then pulls a coat from out of frame a puts it on—it’s that of a commercial airline pilot. He reaches out of frame again and produces his hat. He’s about to put it on his head when he notices that someone has used it as an ashtray. He overturns the hat and slowly dumps the contents into the sink. CUT TO INT—ED’S DISMAL STUDIO APARTMENT—LATER. ED is fully dressed in his pilot’s uniform, and ready to leave. As he opens the door he simultaneously reaches into his jacket pocket for a cigarette. He pulls out the pack, and then notices that it’s empty. This sparks some memory. He tries to reconstruct the sequence of events from last night; suddenly a montage of sinister images materializes in his mind, and with dawning horror he realizes what he’s done.

NARRATOR:

While leaving for work on a hangover morning,

he reached in his coat for a smoke in the pack.

He found the box empty, and then, without warning,

the memories of last night all came flooding back.

In a drunk blackout stupor anxiety attack,

he sees where the Woman In Question now lives;

And from what he remembers, the only thing left

is to hope there’s a God and to hope He forgives.

“SEVEN SHADES OF WINTER”

A smoking ring above your head, above the bed,

Below the ceiling that’s below the scarlet night.

It will expand.

The lick of flame across your cheek.

It doesn’t seek the paint that’s peeling.

But the pain you’re feeling now, it will expand.

You’re painted on, with ashen hues.

Singing seven shades of winter,

But you never had a chance to sing the blues.

The Chesterfield burned on and on.

Painting death across the canvas of your face,

Creating space for ash to bloom.

Fire in the form of rain that falls upon your bedroom walls.

Your vinegar lips that were the ships that I once floated my love on.

It’s burning on.

On and on, on and on.

Icing the pain cake. Have a slice. It’s made of you.

??? moats boats??? that bring the fire to the dawn.

Smoke ring of blue, like a halo over you.

And now the rain begins to fall.

And now that all the water’s rushing through your cracked and broken walls,

It’s flowing on.

Save me a spot in heaven’s band.

Staring at the embers, I remember

Singing love was fuckin’ grand.

Fire in the form of rain that falls upon your bedroom walls.

Your vinegar lips that were the ships that I once floated my love on.

It’s burning on.

On and on, on and on.

Icing the pain cake. Have a slice. It’s made of you.

??? moat that floats the boat??? that bring the fire to the dawn.

Smoke ring of blue, like a halo over you.

DISSOLVE BACK TO CU OF ED’S HORRIFIED FACE. He now realizes what he’s done. PAN BACK TO REVEAL that he’s now piloting a 747. His expression never changes, and his COPILOT behaves normally. CUT TO INT—747 PASSENGER CABIN. ESTABLISHING SHOT of entire cabin (WIDE ANGLE). QUICK SERIES OF JUMPCUTS between PASSENGERS, behaving normally, and ECU of ED’S terrified eyes and sweaty forehead. Between each cut, the PASSENGERS seem to be dressed more and more like Nazi Schutz-Staffel soldiers. On last CUT to ED’S EYES, he finally closes them tight. CUT TO ORIGINAL WIDE ANGLE SHOT of entire cabin. All the PASSENGERS are now NAZIS, in perfect symmetry. In precise formation, they all simultaneously stand and begin to shout in unison.

NARRATOR:

Stunned by the visions unfathomable, which Ed somehow was capable of,

Reality melts into topography of the states he’s now flying above.

While lost in his daydream he managed to show up for work,

on a flight to L.A.

But his mind is still absent and twisting

from trauma, delusional, far and away.

The four hundred passengers sitting behind him

begin to transform in his head

Into twenty score brownshirts, all chanting and screaming,

and plotting the murder of Ed.

“SCHADENFREUDE” (PART ONE)

Schwartz wolke fest

Jugend Pferdtraum

Das ist aber schade—das ist Schadenfreude!

Der blut see

Schlaukopf wissen schaft

Das blut kind

Schlaukopf wissen schaft

Der Schwein hund

Schlaukopf wissen schaft

Der blutteige gott

Schadenfreude!

CUT TO COCKPIT. ED turns slowly to look at the COPILOT. CUT TO ED’S P.O.V.—REVERSE ANGLE. The COPILOT is now a grim NAZI, who turns and looks mildly puzzled at ED’S expression. CUT TO COPILOT P.O.V.—REVERSE ANGLE. ED is also dressed as Nazi. He stares for a beat, then slowly turns to look out the window—and then suddenly pushes down hard on the control stick. CUT TO EXT—OUTSIDE THE PLANE—DAY. We see the plane pitch downward. CUT TO INT—CABIN—CONTINUOUS. ED and the NAZI COPILOT begin to struggle, as the COPILOT attempts to stabilize the controls. The COPILOT pulls a Luger from his belt, and ED knocks his arm away as he fires. The bullet hits the glass of the windshield. During their intense fight, the gun is knocked onto the ground, where it slides forward. ED eventually knocks the COPILOT out with a fire extinguisher. He dives to the floor, looking for the gun. CUT TO EXT—PLANE—WINDSHIELD, LOOKING IN. ED comes into view, looking out. We can dimly see the reflection of the Painted Desert in the windshield, coming very quickly toward the plane. ED slowly raises the gun to his own head. ECU of ED’S eyes, clenched tight. EXTRAORDINARY SOUND OF EXPLOSION, LASTING ALMOST HALF A MINUTE. ED slowly opens his eyes. CRASH ZOOM OUT WITH EXPENSIVE “TIME-SLICE” SLOW-MOTION 180º REVOLVING SHOT, ENDING ON HIGH ANGLE BEHIND ED. ED is standing on a mesa in the desert, and watching the plane come down a short distance in front of him. He stands motionless as a massive ball of flame erupts, sending shrapnel and debris flying in all directions at high speeds. A lot of it comes within inches of ED, but he remains perfectly still. The crash subsides and the dust settles. What follows is a sort of combination SLOW-MOTION/TIME-LAPSE DISSOLVING MONTAGE (with the sky rapidly changing from day to night, rainy to sunny, and back again, repeatedly—while all of the action on the ground is in slow-motion, yet dissolves from one scene to the next). ED sees the hills of the desert grow green with grass and flowers; a lake forms; the development of human life begins anew. The NEW HUMANS form tribes and evolve.

NARRATOR:

Ed also believes he’s a spy for the Allies,

dressed as a counterfeit Nazi,

Who was sent on this mission of suicide,

one big enormous wartime kamikaze.

The altimeter dips, but with

no aircraft carrier ships as a target below,

Ed sets his sights on the desert between Arizona and New Mexico.

His copilot tries to regain the control of the attitude, to no avail;

Ed knocks him out, and maintains

the descent of the 400-ton coffin nail.

In the last millisecond before the sand kisses

the nose at its foremost position,

Ed finds himself on a mesa, observing the crash of his suicide mission.

The explosion is louder than comfort allows,

and larger than vision permits.

But still Ed stands watching as, narrowly missing him,

shrapnel flies in flaming bits.

And as the dust settles, Ed once again sees

his environment quickly sprout flowers.

He hallucinates desolate Earth slowly repopulated in a manner of hours.

“SCHADENFRUEDE” (PART TWO)

Sleepy-eyed, teary-eyed,

cross-eyed balladeer.

Creepy ride—step inside.

Gravity ain’t here.

Dry bloodless lips will decay

as the skin falls from your hips and your fingertips.

And our boulevards, alleyways…under the mud.

Our world will be flat again.

Mankind continues to evolve at an exponential rate. CUT TO ED—SLOW ZOOM INTO ED’S FACE. He remains motionless as mankind evolves around him. As ED watches all of this happen, we see a sort of melancholy pride come over his face. Finally, at ECU, we CRASH ZOOM back to reveal ED is back in the COCKPIT. Lights and sirens go crazy around him, and the plane shakes violently. ED is horrified. CUT TO REVERSE ANGLE as ED whips around to look at the cockpit. We now see that it’s not a plane at all, but the cockpit of a VERY FUTURISTIC-LOOKING (THOUGH SMALL) SPACESHIP. ED is wearing a spacesuit. Out the windshield, we can see the darkness of space and the stars spinning by—the ship is out of control. ED gets up, runs to one of the terminals in the wall, and punches in numbers frantically. CUT TO EXT—SPACE—OUTSIDE THE SHIP. The ship appears to regain attitude somewhat. CUT TO INT—COCKPIT. He then turns to the opposite wall, and punches a couple of buttons, turning on the CELESTION DATA FLIGHT RECORDER. As he speaks, he continues to work the controls. It is obvious he can’t get the ship stabilized.

NARRATOR:

And in this time-lapse vision of a new world,

Ed stands watching his own species thrive,

He starts to feel proud,

with a strange vindication at his somehow being alive.

And just as the Earth’s Second Coming arrives

at where Ed’s existence would begin,

He finds himself back at the useless controls

of the aircraft that he was just in.

But closer inspection of its cockpit section

reveals it’s no passenger craft,

But some sort of starship adrift in a tailspin,

hysterically, fore over aft.

Ed gains control (in a relative way),

though the fuel supply’s vanishing fast.

He still feels hung over, despite his last drink

being two thousand years in the past.

He ponders a quaint quantum question

of destiny, gravity, and of disorder

Before he turns on the Celestion

(the Ford Alpha-C data spaceflight recorder):

“PLANNED OBSOLESCENCE”

VOICE OF ED’S CONSCIOUSNESS:

Does fate exist outside of gravity?

NARRATOR:

Ed speaks into the microphone, in his frantic environs,

In the glow of the dying Klystron tube, and flashing lights and sirens.

ED:

It's four-thousand and ten…and I’m far from home.

I'm from a place called Earth…and I'm all alone.

I fly a Ford Alpha C…shoulda bought a Chevrolet.

I got this hunk of space shit to take me back to the place of my birth.

They would always say, they would always tell me:

“There will come a day—update your technology—when you’re gonna fail!

Self-fulfilling prophecy will be made complete! You’ll be obsolete!”

The last I recall was grapes on the vine.

The ceiling turned to walls.

The dots became lines.

Fell asleep at the wheel; I missed my own system.

Now I'm running out of fuel.

Gotta burn it to reach system Sol.

NARRATOR:

Our hero barks at the failing controls,

as the ship does flips and barrel rolls.

The ship’s computer’s voice, so cruel,

counts down (in German) the remaining fuel.

ED:

No! Nyet! Not yet! Not now! Why? How? Not Here! Nicht!

COMPUTER VOICE:

VIER…

DREI…

ZWEI…

EINS…

ED:

NEIN!

WHICH WAY IS UP??

ECU of the fuel gauge—it finally reaches zero. CUT TO EXT—SPACE—OUTSIDE THE SHIP. Some sort of thrusters expel abrupt discharges of fire, causing the ship to suddenly spin in the opposite direction. CUT TO INT—COCKPIT. ED is thrown to the floor (into a pile of spacesuits) as the instruments overload (typical sci-fi spaceship disasters: control panels shoot sparks, blasts of smoke from nowhere, small fires in the electronics, flashing lights, shuddering camera, etc.). SLOW PAN into ED’S eyes as they close. The lighting slowly darkens to a very faint level. LONG PAUSE. SLOW PAN BACK from ED’S calm face. Bubbles suddenly appear from his nose, rolling across his cheeks and up behind his head. His eyes open. CUT TO ECU—OXYGEN GAUGE IN STARSHIP. We can see it gradually dropping. CUT TO ECU—PANEL DISPLAY. It reads “WARNING OXYGEN 12%”.

NARRATOR:

Combined with a quite sudden momentum shift,

and the realization the ship is adrift,

Ed and unconsciousness finally embrace,

as his ship uncontrollably hurtles through space.

He dreams that he’s sinking, deep in the Earth’s ocean,

and leisurely drowning in slow downward motion

In darkness so calm it would drive him insane,

if there were any reasoning left in his brain.

VOICE OF ED’S CONSCIOUSNESS:

At low ebb, paddling frantic. Oilrig netweb, like Atlantic.

Off my raft, going chowder; I could just laugh, ever louder.

See the glow of twinkling ancients, out above far-flung circumference.

Rays distort as I am sinking. Not the sort kept down for drinking.

Blackened navy, leagues of mesh, as the bubbles call the fresh KILL!

CUT TO INT—COCKPIT. ED sits up quickly, startled out of his dream. He runs to the instrument panel, gasping for breath. He punches a few buttons. CUT TO ECU—PANEL DISPLAY--CONTINUOUS. The screen changes (as ED presses buttons) from reading “WARNING OXYGEN 07%” to the computer’s representation of a rotating black hole: a black square with vertical white lines across it, with a red blotch resembling a flame slowly forming. They grow yellow, then white as they fall toward the bottom left of the screen, where there is a black quarter-circle in the corner. CUT TO ED—WINDSHIELD P.O.V. He looks up and out into space. A smile slowly spreads across his face. CUT TO PANEL DISPLAY. The red blotch picks up speed toward the bottom left corner, and the white lines begin to curve. In the uppermost right corner of the screen we see a blinking circle, indicating ED’S SHIP. CUT TO ED—WINDSHIELD P.O.V. ED’S smile breaks into excited laughter, then hysterical laughter, and then just plain hysteria. He screams the horrible, insane laughter of the damned. His eyes widen and he clutches his head.

NARRATOR:

Ed’s dream of drowning is cut short,

like all of the oxygen left in the ship—

He runs to the panel display and discovers a rare and precarious blip.

Heretofore never observed, a rotating black hole looms on Ed’s VDT.

And as his Alpha-C hurtles on

towards the event horizon that he cannot see,

Ed unexpectedly grasps that a Kerr hole has no singularity;

And the center could either destroy him,

or transport him somewhere in antiquity.

The swirling space junk looks like a ballroom dance.

No options remain. He’s a hostage of chance.

The shock has worn off.

The psychosis sets in.

The odds 50/50 between lose and win.

The gun in a theory some dismiss as sin.

The safety is off of the firing pin.

CUT TO EXT.—SPACE—OUTSIDE THE SHIP. Suddenly, it is jerked across the cosmos, where it disappears unceremoniously into nothingness. LONG PAUSE on the silent, black infinity of space. SLOW PAN BACK. A green orbital ring comes into view. A radio signal (mostly static) can be faintly heard. CONTINUE PAN to reveal the blackness is ED’S pupil, and the green ring the iris. The radio static gets louder. CONTINUE PAN to reveal 1973 ED, sitting in the beanbag in the back of the VAN. He appears speechless and stunned. He is left to grapple with the possibilities of what just happened.

NARRATOR:

In the back of the van, in a beanbag of green, Ed is left wondering what was a dream and how much was reality—could it be fact? Possibly, had that black hole sent him back to the start of a loop in the fabric of time where position, parts, paper, people, and paradigms are all left in the ruins for him to sort through? Nothing this eerie could ever be true! The forest that looked like a coloring book—that must’ve come from the acid he took! And then visions of Mussolini and flowers? And waltzing The Woman in twilight rainshowers? The horrible vision of murder unsolved? The Nazis, the plane crash, mankind re-evolved? The starship from four thousand-ten couldn’t be! It must be some kind of immortality! No one could live these exhausting events! The mere implication, what it represents is that no conscious being can die!

And that’s when

Everything in the loop

Started over again.

Cutting through the static, we hear some sort of jazz music, which we now realize is coming from the van’s radio. CUT TO EXT.—SNOW-COVERED NEW JERSEY ROAD—NIGHT. A 1967 Ford Econoline van with a small trailer suddenly flies past, away from the camera. BLACKOUT. END TITLES.

THE END

“QUANTUM IMMORTALITY”

SECOND DRAFT

REV. JULY 22^nd 2003

Song lyrics by Noah Nelson, Damian Sol, Jon Mack and Jason Cox