Читать книгу Four Weeks, Five People - Jennifer Yu - Страница 16
ОглавлениеHere is the exposition:
FADE IN:
EXT. CAMP UGUNDUZI MAIN GROUNDS—DAY
A field of grass.
The sun is shining. The air is warm. There is no noise other than the chirping of birds, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the occasional crack of branches from the forest in the distance. All is calm. All is beautiful. All is perfect. Well, except—
PAN to reveal the UGUNDUZI 1L BLOCK: five unhappy campers standing in a circle and looking like they’re facing certain death. One of them, lanky with brown hair and green eyes, grimaces.
BEN (V.O.)
Yeah, so that’s me.
This isn’t as weird as it seems.
Think about watching a movie. Think about the feeling you get when you’re actually in the theater, watching stuff happen on-screen. You’re invested, right? You want to know what happens. You like the characters, or you hate them, or you want them to hook up, or you want one of them to kill the other, or you want everyone to kill everyone else because they’re all imbeciles (I call this last one the Michael Bay effect). The point is, you care about them as if they’re real humans. You react emotionally to the things they do as if they’re real humans. But at the same time, you know, in your mind, that they’re not actually real humans. You know that in half an hour, or an hour, or two hours, or way too many hours (Michael Bay effect again here), the lights are going to come back on, and the universe you’ve just been lost in for however long is going to disappear, and all of the people you just rooted for or cheered against or lusted after are going to vaporize, too. And so, while you care, there’s always a part of you that’s holding back. And sometimes, that part of you is strong enough to drown out everything else you’re feeling in a sea of indifference.
That’s what moments like this feel like. People always say that dissociation is when things don’t feel “real,” and I used to say that, too. But then I realized—that’s not true. I know that I’m standing outside in the middle of a state park in upstate New York, and that I’m with four other people, and that we’re all furiously avoiding eye contact with each other while waiting for the adults to start talking and tell us what to do, and that I would do anything to disappear and be somewhere else right now. Life doesn’t get much realer than that.
What it does feel like is that, at any moment, the lights will come on and the credits will play and I’ll be put out of my troubled, awkward, unavoidably real misery. Sure, I’m so panicked that I can barely breathe right now, but just wait until the act-two turn! And yeah, I’m positive that everyone can already tell how terrified and pathetic I am, but I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out in the closing pages of act three. Whatever mortifying thing I’m about to do or say, however much I feel like I’d rather be alone in a hole in the ground than have to talk to everyone standing here and make a total idiot of myself, even if it’s so bad that I feel like I can never justify getting out of bed again—none of it matters, not really. The girl glowering at the grass will exist to the left; the boy to my right will disappear offscreen. It’ll all be okay. Because that’s just how movies are.
* * *
Here is the rising action:
I’ve barely had a moment to look around the circle at the other campers before one of the counselors steps forward, a shit-eating grin splitting his face. JOSH (fifties), as his nametag reads, looks like what would happen if Zach Galifianakis and Seth Rogen had a love child, and then that love child was raised in an Amish family that didn’t believe in things like haircuts, and hygiene, and shaving. Bearded, potbellied, decked out in a T-shirt and sunglasses too small for his face, Josh’s presence is enough to halt the panic threatening to suffocate me—if only because it’s been replaced by a wave of disbelief.
JOSH
(booming, still grinning)
So, there’s this blind man, right? And he walks into a bar. And then a table. And then a chair.
* * *
Josh beams at us like he’s just told the funniest joke in the world. No one laughs. Not even JESSIE (forties), the other counselor holding our group’s sign, cracks a smile.
JOSH
Okay okay okay okay. Let me try another one. My friend Sal once told me that time flies like an arrow. I told him, I don’t know about that, Sal, but I do know that fruit flies like a banana.
* * *
The ASIAN GIRL standing next to me shifts uncomfortably. She’s pretty but looks TERRIFIED to be here. Entire body tensed. Fists clenched. Eyes squeezed shut.
BEN (V.O.)
Let’s just say that I can relate.
* * *
A DARK-HAIRED BOY standing directly across the circle from me blows his bangs out of his eyes and squints at Josh like he’s an apparition. He’s unhealthily thin—gaunt, in fact—but the long hair, bad posture, and black clothes combine to give off an aura of DISAFFECTED COOLNESS.
BEN (V.O.)
Let’s just say that I cannot relate.
* * *
Josh, who apparently has materialized straight out of a Coen Brothers film, continues to grin encouragingly at us.
BEN (V.O.)
The thing is, there are days when I would think that every single stupid joke that Josh is making right now is absolutely hilarious. Days when I’m the kind of person who thinks that every single thing period is hilarious. And I wish that today could be one of those days, if only to make this situation a little less unbearably awkward. But it’s not one of those days, and I’m not that kind of guy right now, so I guess all I have to be thankful for in this moment is that it’s not one of those other days—when it feels like the world is collapsing in on my chest no matter what I do or where I go, when no joke would get me to laugh no matter how funny it was.
JOSH
No? No? All right, I got one more for you guys. This one’s about pizza. Everyone loves pizza! But maybe I shouldn’t tell it. It’s pretty chees—
CAMPER
(over)
For Christ’s sake, Josh. Does that shit ever work?
* * *
Everyone turns around to look at the ANGRY GIRL who’s just interrupted—including the two counselors.
JESSIE
Watch your language, Stella.
STELLA
Ugh, are you serious? What are we, in kindergarten?
JESSIE
No foul language. Camp rule #4. You should know that, Stella, we’ve been over this.
* * *
Stella looks like she wants to argue, but—
STELLA
All right, fine.
* * *
She turns back to Josh.
STELLA
Does that stuff ever work, Josh? Seriously, those jokes haven’t gotten funnier since you used the exact same ones last year.
JOSH
Ah, Stella. If only I could have your wit.
STELLA
Yeah? I’ll trade you for emotional health.
* * *
Josh seems legitimately unfazed. If anything, he looks thrilled that someone’s actually talking to him. Stella stares back evenly, clearly unimpressed by the compliment.
BEN (V.O.)
Having seen every camp movie made since 1950, including the entirety of Wet Hot American Summer, I feel fairly qualified to make the assessment that Stella is the girl that every guy here falls in love with by the end of camp. First off, she’s apparently already been at camp before, so she actually knows what’s going on. And second, she’s kind of a bitch, which, according to every rom-com ever made, is the number-one way to attract people with emotional problems and low self-esteem.
I resolve to spend as little time with her as possible.
JOSH
Well, anyway. All of this is just to say—WELCOME, friends! It is so, so good to see all of you. And on such a beautiful day, too—isn’t it? Nothing gets the positive energy flowing like fresh air filling your lungs on a beautiful day. Except maybe some good old-fashioned classic rock. The Doors, anyone? Jethro Tull?
* * *
Josh looks around the circle hopefully, but no one says anything. I start to feel like we’re being hazed. I mean, I’ve never actually been hazed, but I have seen Animal House, and I’m assuming that movie wasn’t added to the National Film Registry for nothing.
JOSH
Oh, well. Regardless, I could not be more excited to be beginning our journey together. I can only hope it will be as rewarding, as wondrous, as transformative, as my journey has been since starting at Camp Ugunduzi its first summer four years ago. Today, my spiritually embattled campers, we begin anew.
* * *
Josh beams and turns to face Jessie. I look around and am relieved to find that no one else appears to have any idea what he’s talking about, either.
JOSH
And now—Jessie? Would you care to bestow some of your wisdom upon our campers?
* * *
Jessie—short brown hair, glasses—ignores Josh’s wink and steps forward, smiling tightly. It’s the kind of smile that’s only one ill-advised statement away from becoming a frown. Jessie, it’s pretty obvious, is not going to start her opening remarks with a lineup of corny jokes.
JESSIE
Thank you, Josh. And thank you for your, ah, encouraging words.
* * *
She pauses for a minute. If Josh can sense any irony behind her words, his face doesn’t show it.
JESSIE
Like Josh, I am thrilled to welcome you to Camp Ugunduzi. I am confident that you will find the next weeks to be productive and supportive, and that when we part four weeks from today, we will all be better for our time here.
I encourage you to use Josh and myself as resources in whatever way you need. We are here to help. We are here to educate. We are here to be a support system. Please never feel afraid to use it.
* * *
Jessie pauses, readjusts her glasses.
JESSIE
On the other hand, we are not here to be your best friends. We will not turn a blind eye to misbehavior or any dangerous, illicit activity. We are here to keep you safe and healthy. Is that clear?
* * *
No response. Jessie tries again, the question sounding considerably more like a demand this time.
JESSIE
Is that clear?
* * *
This time, we all get the memo. A chorus of dutiful yeses fills the air. But no one looks particularly happy about it. Jessie’s an obvious reminder that as hard as we might try to pretend, this isn’t exactly the kind of camp you go to when you want to have a summer of fun and games.
JESSIE
Excellent. Now we can proceed to the introductions that matter—yours. Stella, will you start us off?
* * *
Not really a question. Stella glares at Jessie, who looks back calmly. There’s clearly history there. A beat. Two beats. Three beats.
STELLA
(“fuck you”)
I’d love to. What exactly do you want me to say?
JESSIE
Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Why don’t we do—name, age, hometown, what brings you to Camp Ugunduzi. Anything else I’m missing, Josh?
JOSH
Mmm. Happy place.
* * *
Confusion flickers briefly over Jessie’s stern expression. Stella buries her face in her hands.
JESSIE
Sorry?
JOSH
Happy place. Where is your happy place? The place where you feel most at home. At one with yourself. In line with the rest of the universe. At peace—
JESSIE
Right. Happy place. Of course. Go ahead, Stella.
STELLA
I’m Stella. Seventeen. From Wethersfield, Connecticut. My happy place is... Well, it’s definitely not here, I can tell you guys that much.
JESSIE / JOSH
Stella! / Hmm.
JESSIE
Is this really the note you want to start camp on, Stella?
STELLA
Well, I didn’t really want to start camp on any sort of note, thanks very much. Or at all. But since no one asked me, I guess this is the note we’re all stuck—
JOSH
Hmmmmmm.
* * *
Josh’s voice is so deep and mellow and pleasant that both Stella and Jessie stop arguing.
JOSH
If you could be anywhere else right now in the universe—feel free not to limit yourself to this world!—where would it be?
STELLA
Running. Well, that’s not a place, but—On the road, I guess. On the road, running.
* * *
Josh looks at Stella very seriously.
JOSH
Hmm.
JESSIE
And why you’re here.
STELLA
And why I’m here.
* * *
Deep breath.
STELLA
I don’t know. I used to be this normal, happy-go-lucky kid. But then at some point I couldn’t remember the last time I felt normal or happy-go-lucky. I couldn’t remember the last time I even wanted to get out of bed.
* * *
For a moment, Stella looks surprised at her own honesty. Then she pulls it together and makes the bitchiest face imaginable to compensate.
STELLA
The point is, I couldn’t bullsh—oops, I mean BS—about feeling fine well enough to get my psychologist to believe me. Whatever. You go.
* * *
Stella turns to the BLOND GUY next to her, who is tall and blue-eyed and tan in a way that makes me hate him instantly.
ANNOYINGLY ATTRACTIVE TEEN
Mason. I’m seventeen, and I’m from Bethesda, Maryland. My parents are idiots, is basically why I’m here. My happy place is...a land...governed...by rationality.
* * *
He pauses every few words, an obvious (not to mention incredibly irritating) effect meant to demonstrate how profound he is. I watch Stella’s eyes get narrower and narrower until they’re barely even slits.
MASON
Somewhere where people use logic instead of succumbing to blind emotion.
* * *
Mason sighs, as if the burden of being the lone rational agent in a dumb, emotional world is heavy on his shoulders indeed.
MASON
So, sure as hell not in that world. Oops, sorry, that might have been a little aggressive.
BEN (V.O.)
Mason is so into himself that it’s terrifying. Mason is Patrick Bateman in training. Oh, and if cinematic precedence means anything in the real world, it’s that Mason is so going to hook up with Stella by the end of Week 3.
* * *
Mason shrugs, then looks over at me, expectant. I realize, suddenly, that I am standing next to Mason, that the camera has panned left and I am on-screen with absolutely zero lines written and a captive audience. I take a deep breath and swallow hard.
* * *
Here is the anticlimax:
BEN
I’m Ben. Sixteen. From the suburbs of New York. I guess I would say that my happy place is...being in a movie theater. You know, like, the minute the opening credits roll. Which is, uh, which is kind of like the moment you disappear from this world, into another, if you think of it that way...
And why I’m here. Uh.
BEN (V.O.)
And just like that, I’m panicking. What other personality traits do you have, Ben? Intimately acquainted only with fictional characters? Literally incapable of human interaction? Caught between an endless string of down days and up days and days when you don’t feel anything at all?
* * *
Josh strokes his beard thoughtfully. Jessie raises an eyebrow. Mason looks terribly, terribly above it all. Stella makes an “And...?” face.
BEN (V.O.)
Say something say something say something—
BEN
I’m horribly emotionally unstable.
* * *
I stop.
Everyone is still looking at me.
BEN
Except for when I, like, don’t feel anything at all.
* * *
Continuing expectant silence.
BEN (V.O.)
Here is a list of things I do not say:
I do not say: I am sorry. I am sorry that introduction was pointless and I am sorry I couldn’t come up with anything more interesting to say because it is one of those times when I don’t feel anything at all.
And I do not say: It’s not always like this; I’m not always so far away. Sometimes life is real to me, and I’m sorry this isn’t one of those days.
And I do not say: But the truth is I’m not sorry. The truth is that sometimes it is easier to not feel, to pretend we’re all just actors waiting for the credits to roll and disappear forever, than to be a cocktail of feelings waiting to burst into flames. The truth is that this is one of those times.
BEN
That’s it.
* * *
Here is the falling action:
BEN (V.O.)
I am trying to stay with the moment, but I am rapidly losing focus. The camera pans from one person to the next and I just can’t will myself into believing that it’s any different from an on-screen fight that falls flat, or a miscued pseudoromantic beat. I rewrite the lines I’ve already said six, seven, eight times in my head, as if the director will shout, “Cut,” at any moment and I will get the chance to say them again, but better this time.
This is the moment everyone always worries about, because I could do anything—because anyone could do anything—and it would all feel equally trivial to me. Stella could punch me, I could slice my wrists open, the Asian girl currently talking could melt into the ground and disappear, and I just wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t care, because—
* * *
Here is the denouement:
BEN (V.O.)
I am waiting for the screen to fade to black.
