Last night, whilst waiting for my daughter Amy as she
trained, I spent the best part of 2 hours scripting the final short scene. Perhaps the most difficult scene in the story but one I had covered off in my treatment, as
was appropriate, with the last but one soundtrack from Jane
Taylor’s album, Compass. It has all the hallmarks of being a phenomenally
moving scene, mixed with anticipation, dread, fear, wonderment and utter
sadness. So for my treatment I allowed a brief description to move along with the
album track and predictably it brought many, including me, to tears. Turning this into a scripted piece, with all of
the emotions and feelings, was not going to be easy.
A medical element required some research. I turned to
several websites and watched a few short films (some on YouTube). Again, since I
don’t want to give anything away I’ll be careful how I explain my anguish.
This scene is incredibly important in bringing about a
conclusion to the life of the main character, Sarah. Condensing as is necessary
the process by which she undergoes her final hospital care I managed to script a
bland but medically sound occurrence, one of the most beautiful events, in a
human’s life.
Pitching my version up against the various medical websites and
recorded video evidence identified a scene that was apparently common place the
world over. Fraught, comedic, embarrassing even repulsive for some men this was
a time when one type of man took on the role of being as useful as a wet paper
bag to being nothing more than a gawping spectator.
And yet my scripting the last scene fell badly flat. It even
felt flat, unemotional and riddled with clichés. In mirroring at these times the actions of a typical
‘man’ I reduced my lead’s partner into an equally flat and boring role. Being almost
powerless is appropriate but a poor mix when so much emotion is in play.
Returning to my treatment the description I wrote many moons
ago read, if I do say so myself, beautifully. To be honest it wasn’t my words
but the action you understood and the music which gave it true meaning, true
understanding.
As I drove my daughter home, after another gruelling swim, I
mentioned my disappointment. Looking at my iPhone she could see that I had
browsed and watched many videos covering the unmentionable subject… OK, I
expect many of you know exactly what it is about but I’ll still pretend you don’t
know..!
Then, in the way that your children offer advice as if its
second nature she suggested how I should cover the scene, in many ways returning
to my treatment, keeping the scene simple and uncluttered, utilising the music and
lyrics from Compass to bind the action thereby losing the need for the majority
of dialogue.
So thank you Amy, and thank you Jane. The answer to my dilemma
was definitely close at hand.
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