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turning to page one
turning to page one
Dashes in from backstage. The PLAYERS have taken their places, finished tuning, are about to perform. Andrew sees Fletcher. Fletcher sees him. Hiding his arm behind his stick bag--
ANDREW
I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.
Doesn’t even wait for Fletcher’s answer, goes straight to the set where Ryan is seated. Nothing is going to stop him now--
ANDREW (CONT’D)
Get off. Get off the fucking set.
Ryan looks at Fletcher. Fletcher waits -- then nods, almost smiling. Seems he’s having fun with this. Ryan slides off, pissed, and takes a seat next to Carl. Andrew takes his place.
His left hand still hidden, Andrew props up his music and pulls out a pair of sticks. Tries to hold his left stick properly -- but it keeps giving way. With his index finger broken, it’s impossible to keep the stick steady...
He looks at the music: “Caravan”... Looks back at his hand... Tries to move his left fingers, mimicking the stick patterns... Just up ahead -- Fletcher. Animal intensity...
Andrew closes his eyes... Tries to block out the anxiety... The pain... The stress that just keeps mounting and mounting... Gropes inside his STICK BAG. Pulls out his bag of pills. Drops it. Pills scatter. Picks a pill up, pops it, out of sight.
ANNOUNCEMENT (V.O.)
The Shaffer Conservatory Studio Band...
Fletcher raises his hand, ready to cue... Andrew tries to get his breathing under control... Ryan and Carl lean forward... Ryan catches a glimpse of Andrew’s left hand, just as...
...Fletcher’s finger MOVES.
THE BAND IS OFF. It explodes into CARAVAN DUNELLEN at lightning- speed.
But Andrew is already in trouble... Blood getting on the snare... Ears starting to RING... Left hand barely keeping
He closes his eyes. Mouths: “Come on come on come on...”
Pink (9/10/2013)
A big FILL coming up. He needs both his hands. Launches into it -- and his left stick CATCHES the edge of a stand...
...AND GOES FLYING. Falling and sliding under the hi-hat pedal.
ANDREW
(still riding with his right hand)
Stick...
Carl stays still. Andrew looks at him. But Carl won’t move.
Panicked, Andrew turns, eyes his old Nassau Band peer -- Ryan.
ANDREW (CONT’D)
Ryan... Stick...
Ryan hesitates. Doesn’t want to think of himself as a saboteur. But he looks at Carl, Carl looks back at him...and right then and there he makes his choice.
ANDREW (CONT’D)
Please...
Neither Carl nor Ryan moves.
Andrew, thinking fast, eyes the fallen stick. Trying as hard as he can to keep that tempo going with his right hand, he slides down the left side of his body, stretching his arm as far as it can go... His broken finger grazing the stick... Grabbing hold...
Pulls up -- and -- another CRAAAAAACK as his finger is caught against the hi-hat pedal and the bone is bent 90 degrees. He GASPS, almost cries out in pain. Has to hold it in.
Pulls himself back up to the set -- and there, looming over him already, is Fletcher. Eyes fiery--
FLETCHER
The fuck are you doing...???
Andrew keeps playing. But the PAIN is harder and harder to ignore. His snare drum completely smeared in red now, his stick stained, his whole arm shaking. And that RINGING -- just growing and growing, drowning out everything else...
He looks at the SHEET MUSIC, suddenly lost... The horns blast out a hit -- but Andrew isn’t on it. Fuck. Launches into another fill -- and hits the crash at the wrong time.
Fletcher stares at him. The look says it all: it’s over. But Andrew keeps fighting. Another missed hit, then a missed time- signature change, the beat falling apart beneath his feet. Total chaos, and then, finally, the sign of death -- Andrew STOPS.
Pink (9/10/2013)
Almost immediately, the rest of the band grinds to a halt. It’s a horrible sound, like a car screeching, nails on a chalkboard.
Fletcher stands in place, eyes on Andrew. In fact, all eyes are on Andrew. The theater is dead-silent. Disbelief everywhere.
Calmly, Fletcher approaches Andrew and whispers one last thing:
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
You’re done.
Then he turns around. Andrew start shaking, his eyes brimming -- and, suddenly, something takes over inside. Almost despite himself, he RISES -- and KICKS OVER THE DRUMS.
Cymbals CRASH to the wooden stage-floor like bombs. Andrew CHARGES forward -- and, just as Fletcher turns to him, TACKLES the man to the ground...
Andrew goes absolutely batshit crazy on Fletcher, murder in his eyes... Raises his fists, about to POUND into Fletcher’s face, when SECURITY GUARDS yank him off, pulling him away in a flash...
Torn from his target, Andrew breaks down into TEARS. Every- thing inside him spilling out like water. Fletcher, stunned but uninjured, gets back on his feet. His shirt drips with blood -- not his own, but Andrew’s. A SECURITY GUARD rushes onto the scene, and Andrew, kicking and screaming, is DRAGGED OFF...
We linger inside the theater. A hush over the audience, the players and their instruments. And then, a card:
Final Competition of the Winter Season
OMITTED
OMITTED