Creative
7 Feature Screenplays
“A well-rounded man is an artist, warrior, and philosopher.”
Benvenuto Cellini
Near-future thriller · a mountain town
One general law leads to the advancement of all organic beings… the strongest live and the weakest die.
Darwin
A flannel shirt flapping in a truck doorframe. Ethan Engel drives a '69 baby-blue Ford F-150 down the main road of a booming mountain town, his pregnant wife Daniella beside him. He pulls in outside a corner store, puts down a shotgun, and goes in for milk — stopping at a bottle of whiskey, thinking twice, taking it anyway.
Near-future thriller · the grid
The good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.
John
Robert Engel hangs off a concrete wall above a sea of black droids, lip-syncing to Loverboy on an old yellow Sony Walkman. Through binoculars he pans the landscape, tracks a hawk across the lens, then locks onto a single droid in the line, zooms, and stops. He writes its number in a notebook and slips off the headphones.
Near-future thriller · the Island of Numa
Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, must, like men, undergo the fatigues of supporting it.
Paine
A man runs across fresh black volcanic rock, a colossal stratovolcano behind him. On the reef, John and Michael Henman stand in crystal water with spears cocked. John holds his son off — wait for it, wait — Michael fires early and the shot glides past the fish. John tracks it harder and dives off the reef.
War · the Mekong Delta
A party of operators sludges through a waist-high rice paddy, exposed, on casual alert for Charlie. John Lee — early thirties, Airborne, Ranger and Special Forces tabs on his arm — takes a question from McCarthy about what they are looking for in this valley, twelve hours after they were told they would make contact. Then the script cuts back twelve hours, to explosions and machine-gun fire.
Crime · Brooklyn
An engine roars and a stick shift drops into second. A wood-grain wheel slides through a man's hands; he brakes, downshifts, and spins. A 1967 bright red Camaro slides through a corner throwing smoke, and Vito Luchese — mid-forties — recovers from the skid, punches the gas, and checks the rear-view at the string of police cars behind him.
Horror · a processing plant
We close on a pair of eyes behind goggles, to the sound of clanking metal. Blood splatters the lens; a turquoise glove wipes it clear. A manager off-screen tells the kid to hurry it up, to pull the damn trigger. George Leeman — early thirties, fresh-faced — takes off the goggles and leaves frame, and the manager walks in: white trench coat, hairnet, clipboard, and a stare gone numb to death.
Western · Sedona
Over black, the instrumental of Bobby Vinton's “Sealed with a Kiss.” The frame dissolves like burning paper onto Colt Cody, mid-forties, rugged and clean-shaven, bouncing in and out of the shot. He hits the reins and blasts through the red rocks of Sedona. A shot goes off somewhere distant and echoes down the valley.