I promise I’ll do something new pretty soon, but right now have something very old. It’s also quite shit, mainly because I tried to squash a whole story into 5 pages, and that was a very stupid thing to do. This was before I realised that stories are always as long as they need to be, and that trying to force them to a certain length is very silly.
Anyway, here you go, following the jump is my second ever attempt at writing a comic script.
A small establishing shot of the outside of 10 Downing Street in mid-to-late afternoon. The usual police presence is visible although there are a few more officers than usual, perhaps two or three extra.
CAPTION; DOWNING STREET, LONDON
CUT TO: Inside the Prime Minister’s Office. A largish office, with a bookcase covering the entire back wall, stocked with the typical law books and the like. An oak desk sits in front of a wide bay window, the room’s only source of natural light. A flat-panel computer monitor sits on the desk, next to a red rotary phone with a more modern looking cordless phone and an intercom somewhere else on the desk. Behind the desk is an empty black leather executive chair.
The PM is pacing back and forth in front of his desk. His tailored suit is creased, his hair a mess, dark stubble on his face, the usual “haven’t slept for a week” look. Top button of his shirt undone, tie loosened, the works. The PM has a fair resemblance to George Orwell, tall and thin with a long face. He is clearly very nervous.
A close-up of the PM’s upper body in profile, the large windows in the background. His face is locked firmly in a gesture of despair, the despair of a person who knows that something big is happening and is racking his brain for some way to avoid it.
PM: IT…IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS WAY… THIS ISN’T RIGHT…
A slightly smaller picture, the PM reels in shock as the intercom buzzes loudly.
The PM has pressed a button on the intercom and is speaking into it.
PM: WHAT? WHAT IS IT NOW?
INTERCOM (JAGGED): THE DEPUTY PRIME MINISTER IS HERE TO SEE YOU SIR.
PM: OH…OK. SEND HIM IN.
The PM, still by the intercom looks at the door as a rather squat man enters. He’s a few inches shorter than the PM and a little heavier, but not fat, just a little podgy. His general appearance is equally as dishevelled as his boss, except he is completely missing his tie and his suit is a slightly different colour. The DEPUTY has clearly had as rough a time as his boss.
DEPUTY: PRIME MINISTER, I HAVE BAD NEWS.
The DEPUTY has crossed the room to the PM. Both are now standing in front of the desk, the PM leaning on it anxiously as he speaks.
PM: WELL I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD BE GOOD NEWS. DOESN’T SEEM TO BE A LOT OF THAT AROUND THESE DAYS DOES THERE?
The PM has turned away from his DEPUTY and is walking around his desk to his chair as his nervous DEPUTY explains the situation.
DEPUTY: IT’S THE CHANCELLOR, SIR…
DEPUTY: HE’S GONE MISSING.
DEPUTY (LINK TO PIC 4): THAT’S THE ENTIRE CABINET, SIR! ALL OF THEM GONE BECAUSE OF THIS MESS WITH THE RUSSIANS!
The PM is now sat behind his desk. This should be an almost statesmanlike picture. Just the desk and the PM with the window in the background, similar to how you would expect an emergency TV broadcast to look, except that the PM is clearly visibly distressed by this news. Perhaps he slumps in his seat, this news has broken him.
PM: ALL…ALL OF THEM? BUT…BUT…
The PM breaks down and puts his head in his hands, as he does the red rotary phone on the desk rings. The DEPUTY, seeing the PM has snapped, reaches gingerly to answer it.
A small close-up of the DEPUTY on the Red Phone, looking incredibly scared.
The DEPUTY on the phone again, shouting.
DEPUTY: NO! PLEASE! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!
The PM is looking out the window of his office, surveying London. We are looking in through the window, straight at his face. The DEPUTY is making a bolt for the door, which we can just see to the side of the chair, the PM is sitting completely expressionless.
DEPUTY: THE RUSSIANS SIR, THEY’VE LAUNCHED!
DEPUTY: WE NEED TO GO SIR!
A small close-up on the PM’s eyes, completely uninterested in the situation.
A massive nuclear explosion, obliterating London.
CUT TO: A dark room. In the centre is a sleek metal bed, slightly resembling the table in a morgue, under a vast spotlight. Wires are hanging from the ceiling in a sinister fashion giving the impression that there are many computers hidden in the shadows. There is a figure on the table that we can’t quite make out.
A small close up of an eye, closed tightly.
Another small close up of the eye, this time gently opening.
One more small close up, the eye now open, shocked.
The figure sits up on the bed and we see that it is the PM. His hair is long and filthy and he has a full, scraggly beard, but it is clearly the PM. He is dressed in filthy hospital scrubs and his feet are bare. He is looking around in disbelief.
PM: WHAT THE HELL?
The PM staggers towards some double doors at the far edge of the room, reaching out with both hands with which to push them open, although he makes it look difficult.
This should be the biggest picture on the page, at least as much as possible. The PM is standing in the doorway of a large array of cubicles that all lead out onto what is quite clearly a TV set similar in style to the Big Brother eviction set. The cubicles are elevated above the stage, with a large steel staircase leading down to the circular stage below. The stage is emblazoned with a large, yellow radiation symbol with the word “Fallout” stencilled on it in black.
Stood in the middle is a rather pretty TV PRESENTER looking up at the PM whilst a cameraman films her. The PRESENTER resembles Kat Deeley to a certain extent, wearing a brightly coloured dress and carrying a microphone.
PRESENTER: WHAT’S HE DOING HERE?
The PM is descending the stairs, totally bewildered and nearly blinded by the bright lights. The young PRESENTER has made her way to the bottom of the stairs, closely followed by the cameraman.
PM: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?
PRESENTER: MR CUMMINS, PLEASE, CALM DOWN. YOU’RE ON TV.
The PM has sat down near the bottom of the stairs, looking a little exhausted. The PRESENTER has knelt next to him to explain what has happened to him.
PRESENTER: FOR THE LAST YEAR YOU’VE BEEN IN A SIMULATION OF POLITICAL LIFE. A REALITY TV SHOW.
PRESENTER: YOU WERE THE LAST ONE LEFT IN THE SHOW FOR THE CLIMAX. ALL YOUR CABINET WERE VOTED OUT.
A close up of the PM’s face, looking elated as though he has realised something.
PM: DOES THAT MEAN I’VE WON? OH MY GOD! DID I WIN?
PRESENTER (FROM OFF PANEL): UM…
A close up of the PRESENTER, looking slightly awkward.
PRESENTER: ERR…WELL NO. THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS.
PRESENTER: THE PUBLIC VOTE FOR WHO THEY WANTED TO SAVE FROM THE NUCLEAR ATTACK. A WAY OF MAKING POLITICS INTERESTING AGAIN.
Back to the close up of the PM’s face, this time looking deeply shocked and miserable at what he has just been told. Tears are building in his eyes.
PRESENTER (OFF-PANEL): THE EXPLOSION WAS SUPPOSED TO KILL YOU. SENSORY OVERLOAD OR SOMETHING.
PRESENTER (OFF-PANEL): YOU LOST.