· · ·
turning to page one
turning to page one
A cavernous space. Sound-proofed walls. And in the center, a DRUM SET. Seated at it, in a sweat-marked white T, eyes zeroed on his single-stroke roll, is ANDREW NEIMAN.
He’s 19, slight, honors-student-skinny -- except for his arms, which have been built from years and years of drumming.
Suddenly -- a MAN enters the practice room. Stopping, rising--
ANDREW
Sorry... I’m -- I’m sorry--
MAN
It’s ok. Stay there.
The MAN steps forward, removes his coat. He’s tall. Late fifties. Black T-shirt, black slacks, black shoes. We’ll know him as FLETCHER.
The room is silent now. And then, softly, as he’s one of those people whose whisper can scare the crap out of you--
FLETCHER
What’s your name?
ANDREW
Andrew Neiman, sir.
(It’s pronounced “Nayman”.)
FLETCHER
What year are you?
ANDREW
I’m a first-year, sir.
FLETCHER
You know who I am?
ANDREW
Yes...
FLETCHER
You know what I do?
Pink (9/10/2013)
ANDREW
Yes...
FLETCHER
So you know I’m looking for players.
ANDREW
Yes...
FLETCHER
Then why did you stop playing?
Beat. Andrew nods, smiles. He gets it. Summons up all his remaining energy and resumes playing, trying to really show off this time. Rolls, fills, speedy stick-work. He finishes.
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
Did I say to start playing again?
Andrew looks at him.
ANDREW
(then, blanching,)
I’m sorry, I misun--
FLETCHER
I asked you why you stopped playing. Your
version of an answer was to turn into a
wind-up drummer monkey.
ANDREW
I’m sorry -- I--I stopped playing becau--
FLETCHER
Show me your rudiments.
Andrew nods. Plays one rudiment after another: double-stroke roll, paradiddle, ratamacue, flam, flamadiddle.
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
Uh-huh. Double-time swing.
Fletcher begins clapping his hand in time. Fast. Andrew plays.
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
No. Double-time. Double it. Bop-bop-bop-
bop-bop-bop-bop-bop-bop-bop.
Andrew tries doubling the tempo. But he can’t. Fletcher STOPS CLAPPING. The sign of death.
Andrew keeps playing, eyes shut... Then -- he hears the door CLOSE. He stops, and looks up. Fletcher has left the room.
Pink (9/10/2013)
A moment later -- the door OPENS. It’s Fletcher. Andrew’s eyes widen. Maybe it’s not over...
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
Woopsy-daisy. Forgot my coat.
Fletcher grabs it, steps back out, CLOSES the door. Andrew stares ahead, alone again at the drums -- and totally deflated.
It’s over.
WIDE SHOT of the band room as Andrew slowly rises. A title card:
Shaffer Conservatory of Music
Fall Semester