From: lonewolf@mdc.net (Max Silvestri) Subject: INDEPENDENT RASSM MOVIE: THE MADNESS OF JAMES KING Date: Fri, 11 Apr 1997 15:42:35 GMT Well, it was the year of the independent film at the Oscars, so here's mine. INDEPENDENT RASSM MOVIE: THE MADNESS OF JAMES KING ___________________________________________________________ [EXT. RASSM CITYSCAPE - NIGHT] The camera pans through the hubbub of RASSM City. It is a vibrant city, alive with the dwellers of the night. The sounds of metropolis night life can be heard, with the honking of taxi cabs, screams of innocent victims, and the pain a big city produces. The camera moves up to a still shot of the full moon, to which it fades to [INT. DANCE CLUB] The club floor is moving with hundreds of people, all vibrating to heavy bass beat of the piece being played on the heavy speakers. The lights above give a bluish hue to everything they touch, which is most everything in the club. Twenty-somethings shift throughout each other, arms held above their heads gripping drinks for prospective dates. But the cups are not held level, as the crowd moves up and down, thumping to beat of the latest techno sound. The camera moves to 2 men (BAS-JAN and GERTHEIN) who are propped up against the wall of the club, scoping out the scene, drinking, and moving. BAS-JAN: See that one over there? Bas-Jan points to an imaginary spot in the crowd. Gerthein's eyes follows Bas-Jan's finger's lead. BAS-JAN: In the bag. GERTHEIN: (laughing) Forget about it! The camera then moves to the bow of the club, to the raised station of RICH, the DJ. Headphones are on his ears, and he is looking at the various collections of CDs are the table in front of him. PAULA moves through the crowd, and makes her way to the table. It is loud, and hard to hear. PAULA: (screaming) Do you have the newest Murder of Crows? RICH: What? PAULA: (enunciating) Do.. you... have... the.. newest... Murder of Crows? RICH: (laughing) Sorry, lady. That's not dance... [EXT. CLUB FRONT] A crowd lined up around the building and anxious. They are waiting to get in. A large neon sign across the building reads "THE VOLCANO". A large, bald thug mans the door. The camera then pans down the street, to a darkened apartment building. It moves up to a 3rd story window. [INT. DARKENED APARTMENT] It is a small, square room, nearly devoid of furniture except for an old, beaten computer and an even older television set. The room is dirty, and it is obvious to the viewer that it has not been cleaned in months. In the middle of the apartment sits JAMES KING on a chair. He is an older gentleman, probably in his 40s, and his looking very disheveled. His hair is mussed and there are bags around his eyes. His fingers are rubbing his temples voraciously. *THUMP* KING screams at the heavy beat, and grips his head harder. He runs to his window, and views the club just down the street from him. The music emanating from the building can be heard in the air. *THUMP* KING screams again, this time much louder and much more disturbed. The thumping in his head is interrupted by a knock at the apartment door. He swivels around, and looks at the beaten door. SUPER: Yo, King! This is your supe, Casey Stevenson. Open up. We gotta talk! KING ignores STEVENSON'S call, and drops into a fetal position in the corner, nearly crying. [INT. APARTMENT HALLWAY] The camera takes of close-up of STEVENSON. He is a balding man, and he is wearing a navy blue shirt with the tag "Apartment Owners, Limited" on the right breast. He knocks once more. SUPER: Come on, King. Open up! The tenants are getting angry You have got to stop screaming so late at night. Again, STEVENSON'S call gains no reply. He storms off muttering to himself. [INT. DARKENED APARTMENT] KING sits up from his position in the corner. *THUMP* He screams once more, and takes another look outside his window. The music from the club is blaring in the night air. KING runs to his computer, and reaches behind it. There is a six-shot revolver, loaded. KING'S shaking hands grip it tightly, and he sticks it behind him into his pants. He grabs a coat and exits through the door.. *THUMP* Another screams rips through the RASSM City Night. [EXT. CLUB FRONT] The line to get into THE VOLCANO still wraps around the building. The THUG is still guarding the entrance. KING comes running down the street and dashes towards the clubs entrance. The THUG grabs him tightly, preventing him from entering. KING: (madly) Let me go! I've got to get in! The music is making me crazy! Let go of me!! THUG: Sure it is, buddy. Now why don't you wait in line like the rest of the nice people. To which KING reaches behind and pulls the gun out. He shoves it into the THUG'S chin. The THUG immediately lets him go, scared. KING dashes through the entrance. THUG: Damnit! Somebody call the police, now! [INT. DANCE CLUB] KING struggles to make his way through the crowds of people. He is not used to being so cramped, and he is nervous and scared. *THUMP* KING gasps and grabs his head tightly. It hurts even greater now that he is so close to the music. His squinted eyes dart around the club, but it is hard to see in the bluish light. But the DJ table sticks out, and he starts to move towards that. The camera moves to RICH, who is still moving to the music, enjoying himself and his job. He looks over his CDs, and plans his next choices. RICH looks through the crowd, and notices KING moving towards the table. KING gets closer. RICH: (yelling over the loud music) Can I help you buddy? KING seems to ignore RICH, and continues moving closer to RICH. KING removes the gun again and jumps up the raised level of the table. He points the gun at RICH and grabs his shirt by the collar and throws him to the dance floor. KING jumps down beside him and raises the gun into the air. He shoots, and the crowd quiets, though the music is still loud in the background. *THUMP* KING winces and grabs his head, but regains his composure quickly. KING: (yelling over the music) Everybody listen up! Every damn night you blast this god awful crap you call music, and I'm going frigging crazy! My head going to f**king explode! I want this music off now! [EXT. CLUB FRONT] Police cars skid to a stop in front of THE VOLCANO. They remove their weapons from their holsters and proceed towards the club entrance. CHIEF: All right, men. Let's move in. There are a lot of people in there, and we don't want any messy situations. Proceed with extreme caution! The officers file into the club. WATSON, a photographer for the RASSM City Globe doing a piece on club life, sees his chance and slips in behinds the officers. [INT. DANCE CLUB] The club's crowd has formed a large circle, leaving much open space around KING and his hostage, RICH. *THUMP* KING screams loudly, scaring the club-goers even more. Rich is sweating heavily, scared for his life. In the back of the club, officers file around, not yet making themselves known to KING. *THUMP* On the wall of the club, BAS-JAN steps forward. BAS-JAN: Hey, man. Let's take it easy. We're sorry the music hurts your ears, man. BAS-JAN doesn't help calm KING at all. KING: I don't care that you're sorry. It doesn't make the pain go away! *THUMP* KING moans, and points his gun wildly at BAS-JAN. He pulls the trigger, but the bullet goes astray and hits GERTHEIN in the arm. GERTHEIN falls to his knees, and BAS-JAN rushes to help him. BAS-JAN: Man, are you crazy or something?!? Before KING has a chance to answer, a loud speaker sounds over the music. CHIEF: You're surrounded, King. You don't have a chance. Put down the weapon and let the DJ go. *THUMP* KING: Never! The police then open fire. KING rushes to point his gun at them, thereby letting RICH go, who runs off to the side. KING, though, doesn't have a chance. He is hit numerous times, and blood spurts forward from the wounds. He falls to his knees, and looks at disbelief at his injuries. *THUMP* KING is still pained by the music, even though he is in his dying music. A few of the police bullets go astray accidentally of KING and hit the DJ table behind him. The stereo equipment is short-circuited and the music stops. All is quiet in the club. WATSON slowly moves from his position in the back of THE VOLCANO, and moves to the front edge of the crowd and starts snapping pictures. They will make an excellent front page. As KING gasps for his dying breaths, he almost smiles as the pain in his head is gone, now that the music is stopped. *THUMP* KING'S expression turns from one of almost contentment to horror. His bloodied hands grip his head in pain. It is silent, and there is no music. *THUMP* But this time, the THUMP is of KING hitting the club floor. It is over.