mordysworld

[mordysworld]

This is a WIP and it is the beginning to my planned video essay about the film ruby sparks and it's intrinsic link to incel culture

Incels at their core, at their most basic and molecular level are misogynists. Through and through they're entitled misogynists with quite frankly, no grasp on reality. This culture, unfortunately has gone on the rise in small echo chambers on the internet, festering in places such as reddit, 4chan and recently its stretching its putrid tendrils onto more obvious mainstream portions of the internet like Tiktok- Poisoning the minds of the male youth and greatly warping young men's perception of masculinity, what's right and proper and forcing twisted, quite frankly extremist, traditional views on these impressionable young people. 

But that is just how I see them, my own personal definition of them lets see googles definition: Incel (an abbreviation of involuntary celibate) is an ideology, a subculture, an online community and/or a movement characterised by public displays of romantic/ sexual frustration. Some discussions on incel forums are characterised by misogyny, hatred, misanthropy, self hatred, racism, a sense of entitlement to sex and the endorsement of violence towards not only women but those who are sexually active. Incels have been described as mostly white, mostly male and mostly heterosexual.

Incels at their core, at their most basic and molecular level are misogynists. Through and through they're entitled misogynists with quite frankly, no grasp on reality. This culture, unfortunately has gone on the rise in small echo chambers on the internet, festering in places such as reddit, 4chan and recently its stretching its putrid tendrils onto more obvious mainstream portions of the internet like Tiktok- Poisoning the minds of the male youth and greatly warping young men's perception of masculinity, what's right and proper and forcing twisted, quite frankly extremist, traditional views on these impressionable young people. 

But that is just how I see them, my own personal definition of them lets see googles definition: Incel (an abbreviation of involuntary celibate) is an ideology, a subculture, an online community and/or a movement characterised by public displays of romantic/ sexual frustration. Some discussions on incel forums are characterised by misogyny, hatred, misanthropy, self hatred, racism, a sense of entitlement to sex and the endorsement of violence towards not only women but those who are sexually active. Incels have been described as mostly white, mostly male and mostly heterosexual.

So it's safe to say they're a pretty undesirable group of people. “But how does this link to ruby sparks!?” I hear you cry- well I'm getting to it, don't be impatient!

Ruby Sparks is romantic comedy-drama from 2012 directed by Valarie Faris and Johnathan Dayton and written by Zoe Kasan who also plays Ruby; it tells the story of Calvin Weir-Fields, described in the character wiki as the protagonist and an insecure control freak, a 29 year old author who wrote one successful book and struggled with writer's block for a decade and hasn't had a hit since. Strange how he could forget how to write but didn't forget misogyny or how to be abusive? This was until he created Ruby.

The film starts; an orange hue surrounds a lone silhouette who stands stationary for a moment before limping towards the camera a soft voice exclaims “There you are! I've been looking for you” She continues to limp forward towards the camera. We learn the reason for her limping is because she had lost a shoe. It's worth noting, the camera is stationary while ruby inches forward showing that even in Calvin's dreams he's not willing to put work in. Ruby is the one that has to move, has to initiate conversation as even fictional him isn't willing to go the distance.

The next sequence is Calvin waking up and realising what he saw, what the audience saw, was just his own imagination- his idea of a woman. I feel like it's worth mentioning that what we see- this snippet of Calvin's idea of a woman is someone who cannot properly function without him, who can't get by without his guidance and input- this is how we are first introduced to the mind of Calvin.

So it's safe to say they're a pretty undesirable group of people. “But how does this link to ruby sparks!?” I hear you cry- well I'm getting to it, don't be impatient!

Ruby Sparks is romantic comedy-drama from 2012 directed by Valarie Faris and Johnathan Dayton and written by Zoe Kasan who also plays Ruby; it tells the story of Calvin Weir-Fields, described in the character wiki as the protagonist and an insecure control freak, a 29 year old author who wrote one successful book and struggled with writer's block for a decade and hasn't had a hit since. Strange how he could forget how to write but didn't forget misogyny or how to be abusive? This was until he created Ruby.

The film starts; an orange hue surrounds a lone silhouette who stands stationary for a moment before limping towards the camera a soft voice exclaims “There you are! I've been looking for you” She continues to limp forward towards the camera. We learn the reason for her limping is because she had lost a shoe. It's worth noting, the camera is stationary while ruby inches forward showing that even in Calvin's dreams he's not willing to put work in. Ruby is the one that has to move, has to initiate conversation as even fictional him isn't willing to go the distance.

The next sequence is Calvin waking up and realising what he saw, what the audience saw, was just his own imagination- his idea of a woman. I feel like it's worth mentioning that what we see- this snippet of Calvin's idea of a woman is someone who cannot properly function without him, who can't get by without his guidance and input- this is how we are first introduced to the mind of Calvin.

[mordysworld]

This is the original draft of my personal statement which I later scrapped.

2009's Fantastic Mr. Fox is an adventure/comedy, stop motion animation film following the lows, highs and eventual triumph of a fox over his human counterparts (apologies if I spoiled the ending, it will happen again). This is one of the film's I hold closest to my heart and is truly an inspiration to me.

Every good film must begin as a solid idea. In Wes Anderson's case, he had the groundwork laid out for him beforehand: Fantastic Mr. Fox, a children's novel written by Roald Dahl and illustrated by Quentin Blake from the 70's, it's a fan favourite among Roald Dahl readers even some 50 years after it was published. I remember reading it in primary school, Dahl was one of my favourite authors and I had most every book that he had written (minus a few) and even though I was, and admittedly sill am, a slow reader, I would figuratively devour any of his books that were given to me; I found the man's story telling mesmerising! I couldn't quite fathom how one man could come up with so many phenomenal stories with not one of them being too dull for me to endure reading. In fact, it wouldn't be far fetched to say that this author sparked both my love for reading and for writing, granted my chosen writing form back then was poetry, but it was still linked to his work in that I'd try to replicate the little songs and rhymes dotted throughout Dahl's literature.

In any case, the book was (in my admittedly rose tinted vision, and in the eye of many an online reviewer) a masterpiece the perfectly weaved together humour that could be laughed at by all generations as well as interesting characters with a well fleshed out story and intriguing antagonists in the human farmers who attempt to kill Mr fox later in the story. (I did mention there would be spoilers!) And something that I find personally important, there is reason (or at the very least seemingly) behind the characters actions. They have motivations, ambitions and you can tell when the characters have grown as..animals(?) When you see the clear change in their motivation. As a writer I aspire to get to that level of detail in my writing. I'd say I'm fairly new to writing as I've only been doing it for the past 10 or so years of my life and everytime I sit down, be it at my laptop or at my desk with pen and paper my writing improves. With every tale of heartbreak or adventure I weave, my technique, spelling, grammar and vocabulary improve. My writing won't be to the standard of Roald Dahl for some time but I can with certainty say I will get there.

Another element that is crucial to film is creativity, and Wes Anderson is indeed a creative and innovative filmmaker. I had been curious as to how films came to be much before college, but doing A Level film studies really ignited the spark I had for film. It helped me understand film on a deeper level which I will forever be grateful for, it truly changed the trajectory of my ambitions. Creative writing has always come easily to me and doing this degree would help me channel those creative impulses into something that could be seen by the many, rather than the few and that prospect excites me like no other. The techniques used to create Fantastic Mr Fox are most impressive, and the attention to detail given by Anderson makes his work all the more impressive. For example the character design. For this film the characters were already designed by Dahl himself but the decisions Anderson made himself were what made them unique; he made sure the models used for their animation were created from real animal fur rather than synthetic fur. This was both a stylistic choice and also to add some realism to the way the fur moved and looked on camera. These sort of definite, stylistic and creative choices are entirely intriguing and the sort of decisions I would be well suited to making. In group tasks where filming or writing were needed I have always taken on a directorial role and I feel doing this degree will help efficiently allow my skills to further blossom and improve and provide an environment for me to form and nurture my own style, sense of self and realise my own artistic visions. I hope to one day put the same love, attention to detail, care and creativity that Anderson put into Fantastic Mr Fox into my own creations and have it impact people the way this film impacted me growing up.

[mordysworld]

An encounter with God: a script

This is my latest draft of the script adaptation of my short story. (Warning: mentions of suicide, talk of death)

INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT

Fade into a tired haggard MAN (34, dark longish curly hair in a ponytail and dark eye bags with a deep frown etched into his features) shuffles room to room in his apartment.The interior is dark, cramped and claustrophobic. Photo frames in the living room have been turned on their fronts, coasters have half finished mouldy cups of tea on them. Take away boxes piled high spilling over the coffee table and dead plants decorating the window sill. The curtains are drawn in each room and no lights remain except from the dim light in the bathroom- he needed to see at least a little in there.

Man:

(he sighs with relief)

"Aaahhh" 

Camera closes in on the face of the man before panning down to the bath he's sat in. The water is stained red.

He basks in the feeling for a moment until a dripping sound interrupts him.

Camera spins round to show the tap dripping. He ignores it instead by getting out of the bath, drying himself and dressing his wounds. He pulls out a small first aid kit from a shelf in the bathroom and takes out everything he needs, uses them all and then puts them back.

He shuffles into his bedroom collapsing on the bed. Camera is positioned next to his pillow as it follows his sluggish movement to the bed and watches him close his eyes.

EXT. THE GOOD PLACE - DAY

It is seemingly mid day, the sun is high in the sky and the trees are a luscious verdant green, bird trills could be heard all around. Even though it is mid-day, fireflies fleet through the air along with butterflies and other pleasant insects.

Cut from a pan of the peaceful forest to him opening his eyes. They grow wide and panicked, darting from place to place., paranoid. He had no idea where he was. He was in clean white flowing robes but noticeably not chilly despite the breeze that swept through the scene. He basks in the tranquillity for a while. He looked to the ground and he could see stunning yellow and pink wild flowers and grass swirling in the direction of the wind- not fighting the harsh breeze flowing with it  

Man: 

“Where the fuck am I?”

He puts a tentative hand to his chest feeling an absence of pain and pressure from everyday suburbia. He refused to pinch himself because if this was a dream he’d rather not wake up. Slowly and with much caution he shifts, sitting up and watching his surroundings. Cut to a zoomed out shot of both the man and the forest. You can see the scale of the forest in comparison with him, he is small he is insignificant-

He finds some strength and stands awkwardly and inoffensively before walking in a direction, body suddenly sure of itself. His name echoes in the wind, an unseen force beckoning him.

A lady stands with long curls cascading over her shoulders, she looks youthful but you can see the experience and wisdom in her eyes. A crown sits upon her head (it's not a traditional gold one; it's made from bits of nature) Her facial features are soft looking and her aura that of kindness, tinged with sorrow.

Two shot which alternates between the man and the goddess being the subject of the shot

Man:

(cautiously) 

“hello?”

She looks at him with tear filled, rose quartz eyes.

Ethereal Being:

"I made you, are you aware?"

The man simply continues to gape at this goddess(?) his eyes scan over her over and over, she analyses him in kind. The man agrees, this surprises even him. The ethereal being nods before continuing.

Ethereal being (cont’d):

"I can see what you're thinking, feel how you are feeling- why do you hate my creation?"

Tears roll down her cheeks, the camera then cuts to a guilt stricken man, he looks conflicted for a second before the goddess speaks once more.

Ethereal being (cont’d)

"I made you perfect as you are, Please don’t break my heart!"

She hugs him tightly, but with the utmost care. Close up shot of the two’s faces, we can just see the vice-like grip he has on her, as if he never wants to let go.

Man:

"Please don’t make me go back there, I'm not strong enough to do it anymore!"

The pair separate and a one shot of the goddess is clear and stable as she talks once again.

Ethereal being:

"I know one way I can ease this pain but you would have to abandon everything you know in your realm and live up here. This is a big decision to make; my child you will not see your loved ones again for quite some time. This is usually a last resort but I can see the anguish you experience on a daily basis- I can feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and I wish to save you, to save my creation. So…what shall you choose?"

A long moment passes, he looks down to the floor, his answer doesn’t need to be spoken.

Ethereal being:

"I can feel the pain and suffering you feel and I wish to set you free, that is the only way you will be able to see how wonderful my creation truly is."

She puts her fingers on the camera lens (it like we see from the man's POV)

Ethereal being:

"Sleep now my darling for when you awake you shall emerge a beautiful phoenix from the ashes."

The final thing we see is the soft smile of the Ethereal being and the sparkle of rose quartz eyes before the screen fades to black.

[mordysworld]

An encounter with God: a short story

This is a short story I wrote detailing a depressed mans experience with meeting a Goddess. Once again this contains quite dark themes with mentions/descriptions of self harm.

A tired body carried an even more haggard soul room to room. Isn’t that what a body is though? Isn't that the very reason for it’s conception? Just a fleshy vessel to ferry around the mind and soul. Such a fragile thing isn’t it, human flesh.

No light dare set foot within the threshold of the cold apartment. Any and all darkness that came from within threatened to suck the joy from anything it touched leaving nothing but an empty shell. Though, one supposes, it is much like a vacuum. There's no hope of escape once you enter its clutches; it suffocates you stealing any molecule of oxygen you could hope to happen across then watches gleefully as your organs shut down and the light leave your eyes-

“Aahhh” the shell of a person sighed in relief. Thick crimson blood trickled down the incision on his thigh and suddenly he was back. He could see the dull, cramped apartment which was all he could afford on his minimum wage job. That same job where he gets abusive insults hurled at him on the daily, he can never escape the nauseating scent of burger grease either, it haunts him. He can feel the pleasurable sting from the cut on his leg, its grounding, he supposed, makes him feel alive again and satiates the hunger for pain and the high he feels, cut after cut after-

What's that?

Clear, clean drops of water dripped periodically into the sink. Ceramic plates were crusted with caked up food, piled up high in and around the sink. Great. More shit to do. He sighed deeply trying to focus on the euphoric realisation that he can actually feel something again. If he's not careful, someone might think him mad. Although he has done this before, this feeling doesn't last too long, even if he tries to savour it while it's there. What was he talking about? Oh yes, madness. Didn’t someone once say, the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and expecting different results? 

What was he doing with his life?

Instead of spiralling further into his own self deprecating thoughts, he headed to his bed; he’d take unconsciousness over this- anything, over this. He laid on the lumpy mattress on the floor, of which he had the gall to call a mattress, and let sleep wash over his soul.

He opened his eyes to be met with a dense forest. Before sitting up he looked around, eyes darting, paranoid. Where in fucks name was he? He laid on the forest floor, still clad in some boxers and a tattered vest yet the cold didn't bite, the breeze didn’t blow, it was tranquil and a welcome escape from the mundanities of city life; he honest to god couldn't remember a time where he had felt so at peace and so- happy isn't the word, but the usual ache which came with his very existence no longer hung over him, the vice like weight that gripped his chest every moment of everyday that made it hard to breathe, was absent. 

Usually when one encounters a situation like this, they would pinch themselves. He did not. Whatever this was, dream or no, he did not want to wake up. If he were to die like this at this moment? He would feel a genuine joy that he hadn’t felt since his childhood. Above all else, a hope, that his final moments weren't as agonising as his actual life.

He finally gave in, sitting up and turning left and right, no one was there. Just the beautiful forest floor dotted with yellow and pink wild flowers, each one blooming and bursting with vibrant colour and leaving a pleasant smell in his nostrils. With little difficulty he stood, meek in his posture, he glanced around once more before he felt it, a tugging sensation in the very depths of his soul. A soft voice called to him beckoning him towards them. Cautiously, he walked towards the origin of the sound and came across the most ethereal being he had ever seen with his wholly unworthy eyes. 

Auburn curls cascaded down her shoulders in waves, each strand perfect and shiny. Her skin was dark and smooth as silk and he was sure if he touched it it would feel even better than it looked. The robes she wore hung elegantly off of her full frame, reaching the ground and pooling around where he assumed her feet would be. Butterflies sat on her hair like a crown, each one flapping their wings gently ever so often. Her face…he’d never seen someone so beautiful. She held a certain familiarity but he knew that he had never seen her, if he had he would surely have remembered. Her features were soft and kind, only helped by the white freckles which littered her face but were particularly prominent over her nose and cheeks. She had an aura of safety and kindness, a security that usually only a parent could offer you. This woman spoke a silent promise that in her presence, no harm would ever come to you whether the threat be external or internal.

“Hello?” He spoke hesitantly to the giant lady Goddess before him. She looked down at him, tears gathering in her rose quartz eyes.

“I made you, are you aware?” She finally spoke, offering a giant hand for the man to crawl upon. He did. He looked up at her, squinting slightly. A halo of sunshine burst from behind her skull making her already bright and bewitching aura almost blinding to his puny mortal eyes. She held him at face height scrutinising him, analysing his every feature and waiting for his reply. Every bone in his body compelled him to agree to her question. This was, to him, without a doubt the great being who created him- it had to be.

“I hear your thoughts, I see what you do to yourself- why do you hate my creation?” She asked gently a stray tear rolling down her cheek. He curled in on himself, head bowed in shame. Crystalline droplets of salty tears fell onto the palm that held him. It wasn’t his fault was it? He didn't mean to be this way, he didn't ask to be made broken.

“I made you perfect as you are, please don’t break my heart” She cried further bringing him to her chest, cradling him gently as if she held too tight, he may shatter. He curled into the giant woman's embrace, leeching off the warmth and comfort she provided, soaking it up like a flower in the sun.

“I don’t want to go back, please don't make me go back, I'm not strong enough to do this anymore” He whispered, he desperately wished not to return, he fears if he is sent back he may break her creation. The last thing he wanted was to break her heart. 

“I know one way I can ease this pain but you would have to abandon everything you know in your realm and live up here. This is a big decision to make; my child you will not see your loved ones again for quite some time. This is usually a last resort but I can see the anguish you experience on a daily basis- I can feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and I wish to save you, to save my creation. So…what shall you choose?” She asked gently. She didn’t rush, nor push, nor poke. She simply sat admiring the silence they sat in, her aura so bright and clear and pure it single-handedly fought off any awkwardness that threatened to penetrate the bubble they'd seemingly created.

“I can feel the pain and suffering you feel and I wish to set you free, that is the only way you will be able to see how wonderful my creation truly is.” She gently used a finger to caress the man's cheek offering a welcome warmth he hadn’t felt in so long. She gently lent forward once more planting a soft kiss on his unruly crown of curls, then everything faded to black.

[mordysworld]

Recent Essay work

This was a response to a mock question which I shall detail shortly; I added some corrections from the improvements that I made after the fact which will be written in bold

Explore how the representation of a key character contributes to the meaning of the documentary you have studied.

Amy (2015) is a documentary detailing the life of Amy Winehouse it tells of her successes and failures and her eventual death. Amy is the main subject of the documentary; there are other key people who contribute to the overall story and who were greatly influential in Amy's life such as Blake.

Kapadia allows us to see Amy as a whole person rather than the entitled performer the press had once made her out to be. One example of this is through scenes of people talking about Amy while music is playing with her handwritten lyrics fade by in a montage. These shots would often be accompanied by interviews of her talking about how and why she wrote her lyrics. Kapadia using these clips in conjunction with each other allows the Spectator to feel this sincerity of Amy's character as she writes about her hardship wearing her heart on her sleeve. One possible meaning with the film may be to show Amy's sincere character.

Towards the middle of the documentary, there is a scene where Amy's ex-husband is talking about how he got her hooked on crack cocaine and heroin juxtaposed with clips of Amy saying on camera that if her husband's happy she's happy. The mise en scene in the next clip displays a room in Amy's apartment each decoration in the shot represents a piece of a Amy whether it's just CDs or the other miscellaneous personal items there is also a skull in this shot- a physical representation of the toxic relationship she shared with Blake and unfortunate things to come- this skull could also represent the vulnerability Amy must've felt. Kapadia encapsulates Amy's now broken persona, the skull in the context of the shot and the things in Amy's future acted like a warning label, her love for Blake would be fatal showing how Kapadia uses mise en scene to characterise Amy and create meaning.

Kapadia did not directly add himself into the documentary like Michael Moore would have, had he directed it. However, Kapadia very obviously creates an air of sympathy around Amy while actively vilifying her dad and Blake. An example of this would be the scene where Amy wishes to spend time with her father on holiday day and her father is encouraging her to take photos with fans, it shows that her father is more interested in her career than her as a human and as his daughter. This greatly contrasts with the vulnerabilities of my being displayed creating a great feeling of empathy towards her and her situation. Kapadia does this all while simultaneously displaying her talent and affinity for music. This film was made to both celebrate for life and mourn the loss of Amy Winehouse and I believe Kapadia achieves this through his characterisation of Amy.

[mordysworld]

Film Induction Assignment

This is where my film essay writing skills began, these were my answers for my film studies introduction assignment. The first question was asking for an analysis of the importance of cinematography using an opening scene from a film of my choice and the second question asked for an example of a director who could be considered an auteur.

The importance of opening of Shrek (2001)

The movie opening of Shrek is an iconic scene that is still remembered and referred to when thinking of the movie shrek 20 years later but what exactly makes this scene so memorable? The opening establishes our protagonist Shrek and walks us through his morning routine starting with him exiting his toilet.

When we first meet Shrek he’s shot from a low angle which then transitions into a wide shot of his home, the swamp. The low angle used establishes that in this environment, shrek has a level of power, authority and status and then the wide angle makes his home look bigger so makes the audience think shrek is a character with a lot of authority as he owns his own land which is typically an indicator of power and status. We see Shrek smile before the camera pans to the swamp where a spotlight appears overhead. This kind of lighting  has heavenly or angelic connotations which makes the viewer think that shrek highly values the swamp and sees it as a gift from the heavens above. The swamps lighting and deep depth of field make the viewer focus solely on Shrek's home which could also emphasise the importance of the home to him as we see the swamp from shreks point of view.

None of the shots are filmed in a hand held camera style, this could be to show the steady, never changing routine that the character has already established. Shrek has a steady set, day to day schedule and this could work as foreshadowing that the stable, pre-established monotony of his life would soon change and chaos would ensue. The same could also be said for the heavy focus on his attachment to his home and that his power and authority over his home and land would be threatened by someone even bigger (metaphorically of course) later on in the film. Another important element of the scene is the music. The song ‘All star’ by Smash Mouth is the music that accompanies the scene. The establishing shots of shrek are important but the memorability of his character also comes from the association with this song as well as the first introduction we have to shrek, the cinematography and music go hand in hand.

The Cinematography in the scene is incredibly important; It establishes Shrek's character and the dominance of his character at the beginning of the film and foreshadows a waiver in that status to come. It also establishes the deep attachment he has to his home and why it's so important. The close up and more personal shots show us how comfortable, happy and at ease the character feels in his natural environment which helps to illustrate the deep attachment he has to the setting. The cinematography also helps set the more light-hearted and jovial tone for the movie as well as the pace. This is an example of how pivotal the cinematography is for creating a powerful response in the viewer.

Question 2

Fantastic Mr Fox: The Work Of An Auteur?

Many different components go into creating a film. Editors, actors, set designers and the directors among other things. Arguably one of the most important people that are crucial to the creation of a film is the director. A film director's job is to  manage the creative aspects of the production. They direct the making of a film by visualizing the script while guiding the actors and technical crew to capture the vision for the screen. They control the film's dramatic and artistic aspects.

Wes Anderson is the director of many films including Fantastic Mr fox, the grand Budapest Hotel and Isle of dogs. 

Anderson has a distinct directive style. His films have symmetry and meticulously chosen colour paler in common. Anderson directing could be described as 'direct directing' and he has a hand in producing idiosyncratic and immensely detailed films. Something important is to note a film could have the same cast, crew and script but be directed by a different person and turn out very different. It's all about the creative direction and execution. 

The aesthetic of Fantastic Mr Fox is deliberate and at a glance the scenes could look simplistic but the closer you look the more intricately detailed it seems. An example of this could be character design. The characters already have a base design thanks to the book the film was based off but a decision that Anderson made as director was, having the characters be made from real animal fur rather than synthetic fur as a stylistic choice. 

Another popular shot in Anderson films are profile shots. In Fantastic Mr Fox in our introduction to Mr Fox and his wife we see multiple profile shots when characters speak which gets us to focus our attention solely on the characters and their dialogue. In this scene there is also the visual gag of me fox saying "you're practically glowing, maybe it's the lighting" and then it cuts to a wider shot of both the foxes and she's literally 'glowing'. Anderson movies share a similar sort of dry/visual gag element of humour which isn't exclusive to Anderson movies but is consistent throughout his light-hearted or comedic films

[mordysworld]

Shots of scenery I found interesting or personally beautiful while out and about. (All images were taken by me)

[mordysworld]

I love taking candid shots of people; these were all taken by me and taken to preserve and reflect memories with the people I know.

[mordysworld]

Perfectly Perfect: A script for a short film

The following is the drafted script adaptation of my short story 'Perfectly Perfect'. A Warning: This script contains themes of death, suicidal ideation and intrusive thoughts.

INT. HOUSE - EVENING

CUT TO A BIRDS EYE SHOT OF A PLATE OF FOOD, IT LOOKS DRY AND BLAND- THE PLATE CONSISTS OF COLD LOOKING PEAS, DRY CHICKEN AND CARROTS. THE SHOT IS STILL, CLEAR AND BRIGHT.

UNKNOWN LADY'S: 

How was work dear?

THE AUDIO IS MUDDIED AND SOUNDS LIKE THE LISTENER IS UNDERWATER. 

A clock can be heard ticking in the background but somehow louder than the other sounds in the room.

UNKNOWN LADY'S VOICE: 

Honey..?

THE MAN (V.O.):

Oh right, she's speaking to me

THE MAN(CONT'D) 

It was fine dear... same as always John got permission to move forward with his pitch in his meeting today

THE MAN (O.S.) 

It was my idea, I got zero credit, it's fine.

UNKNOWN LADY 

Oh that's good. 

(An uncomfortable silence stretches between them)

The bland boiled carrots on his plate stare mockingly at him so he picks up a fork full eating and killing them, if he focused hard enough he could taste their blood. (a dribble of crimson blood leaks out of the corner of his mouth he wipes it up licking his fingers) ( The clock continues steadily clicking )

THE MAN (V.O.): 

I wonder, if water perhaps enjoys being drunk? If it finds a spark of joy from travelling down the gullet of those who are lucky enough to come by it?

He takes a sip of his glass of water, a scowl on his face as he replaces the glass on its coaster.

THE MAN(V.O.) (CONT'D):

Impossible. It was foolish of me to even ask such a question... How could anyone truly feel happiness in this awful world? A world where intrusive thoughts are a regular occurrence, where even if you wanted to you couldn't feel anything, a world in which everyday is a struggle- where waking up feels like a burden- where a coherent thought is hard to come by- WHERE THAT DAMN CLOCK WON’T STOP TICKING

( The Clock continues to click)

The man's eyes refocus and he stares down at his plate, heart racing. He sees a small collection of eyeballs on his plate- he eats them without a second thought.

THE MAN(V.O.):

I want to leave.

THE VOICE:

Then leave.

SHOT OF THE TABLE SHOWS THAT THE LADY AND A CHILD ARE HAPPILY CHATTING AWAY. THE MAN IS CONFUSED AS HE SHRUGS AND WALKS AWAY, THE CAMERA FOLLOWS.

INT. BEDROOM.

ALL SHOTS UP TO THIS POINT HAVE BEEN STILL, STABLE SHOTS.

The man sighs as he enters his room, not one of relief but one of tiredness. He slowly but surely strips off his clothes. A ringing sound can be heard as he stares at the clothes in his hand, a muffled distant screaming can be heard. 

Shot from the perspective of the Laundry basket as we see him look at the clothing before throwing it in the basket before turning away.

INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT

The man walks into the bathroom now naked; we see him glance at the shower.

THE MAN:

What a pain.

Mistakenly he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, flinching at his own reflection.

THE VOICE:

You’ve let yourself go… you've been eating too much again haven't you?

The Man refuses to respond.

THE VOICE:

Pity. You looked so handsome when you were younger…why does everything on wither as time moves forward? Everyone and everything is destined for this disgusting decay. What's the little one's name? It honestly doesn't matter- she will grow up to  be just like you, I can see it in her eyes. What sort of man are you that you can't even spare your own child from this suffering? I thought a man's job was to protect his family?

The voice takes a moment of pause from its degradation

THE VOICE(cont’d):

Pathetic.

He stepped under the cold shower water, barely twitching at the temperature

SHOT OF THE MAN TURNING THE NOZZLE ON THE SHOWER TO COLD AND WE SEE HIM JUST STAND BLANKLY STARING AT THE WALL.

Camera shows blatant and dark eye bags and a deep set frown but his eyes look soulless as if all the life had been sucked out of him. He collapses in a heap on the floor of the shower, falling to his knees.

He appears lost in thought, scratching at his arm- he comes to and realises that he’s bleeding.

THE VOICE:

You should kill yourself

THE MAN:

I know

THE VOICE: 

Then do it, coward

THE MAN:

Not now

THE VOICE:

You're a miserable excuse for a human being, you know that?

THE MAN:

I think I want  meatballs for dinner tomorrow. I’ll have to ask if she can pick up the ingredients.

THE VOICE:

I hope you choke and die on your food you pig.

The man starts to sob silently, curling in on himself and laying in the foetal position. His tears and blood mixed together with the shower water.

When he finally gets up it is visibly much later than when he entered the shower.

A long uncomfortable shot ensues, the camera remains still across the room watching the man attempt to move.

He crawls over to the counter to heave himself up using all his strength, it shows on his contorted face. Forgoing the towel he attempts to walk back into his room but he collapses to the ground before he reaches his bed. His cuts were deep and still seeping blood. He

INT. HOUSE - EVENING

CUT TO A BIRDS EYE SHOT OF A PLATE OF FOOD, IT LOOKS DRY AND BLAND- THE PLATE CONSISTS OF COLD LOOKING PEAS, DRY CHICKEN AND CARROTS.

UNKNOWN LADY'S VOICE 

How was work dear?

THE AUDIO IS MUDDIED AND SOUNDS LIKE THE LISTENER IS UNDERWATER. 

(A clock can be heard ticking in the background but somehow louder than the other sounds in the room)

THE MAN (V.O.):

Was that clock always so loud?

UNKNOWN LADY'S: 

(hesitantly)Honey..?

THE MAN (V.O.):

Oh right, she's speaking to me

THE MAN(CONT'D) 

It was fine dear... same as always John got permission to move forward with his pitch in his meeting today

THE MAN (O.S.) 

It was my idea, I got zero credit, it's fine.

UNKNOWN LADY: 

Oh that's good. 

(An uncomfortable silence stretches between them)

The bland boiled carrots on his plate stare mockingly at him so he picks up a fork full eating and killing them, if he focused hard enough he could taste their blood. A dribble of crimson blood leaks out of the corner of his mouth he wipes it up licking his fingers ( The clock continues steadily clicking )

THE MAN (V.O.): 

I wonder, if water perhaps enjoys being drunk? If it finds a spark of joy from travelling down the gullet of those who are lucky enough to come by it?

He takes a sip of his glass of water, a scowl on his face as he replaces the glass on its coaster.

THE MAN(V.O.) (CONT'D):

Impossible. It was foolish of me to even ask such a question... How could anyone truly feel happiness in this awful world? A world where intrusive thoughts are a regular occurrence, where even if you wanted to you couldn't feel anything, a world in which everyday is a struggle- where waking up feels like a burden- where a coherent thought is hard to come by- WHERE THAT DAMN CLOCK WON’T STOP TICKING

( The Clock continues to click)

The man's eyes refocus and he stares down at his plate, heart racing. He sees a small collection of eyeballs on his plate- he eats them without a second thought.

THE MAN(V.O.):

I want to leave.

THE VOICE:

Then leave.

SHOT OF THE TABLE SHOWS THAT THE LADY AND A CHILD ARE HAPPILY CHATTING AWAY. THE MAN IS CONFUSED AS HE SHRUGS AND WALKS AWAY, THE CAMERA FOLLOWS.

INT. BEDROOM/BATHROOM - EVENING

ALL SHOTS UP TO THIS POINT HAVE BEEN STILL, STABLE SHOTS.

The man sighs as he enters his room, not one of relief but one of tiredness. He slowly but surely strips off his clothes. A ringing sound can be heard as he stares at the clothes in his hand, a muffled distant screaming can be heard. 

Shot from the perspective of the Laundry basket as we see him look at the clothing before throwing it in the basket before turning away.

The man walks into the bathroom now naked; we see him glance at the shower.

THE MAN:

What a pain.

Mistakenly he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, flinching at his own reflection.

THE VOICE:

You’ve let yourself go… you've been eating too much again haven't you?

The Man refuses to respond.

THE VOICE:

Pity. You looked so handsome when you were younger…why does everything on wither as time moves forward? Everyone and everything is destined for this disgusting decay. What's the little one's name? It honestly doesn't matter- she will grow up to  be just like you, I can see it in her eyes. What sort of man are you that you can't even spare your own child from this suffering? I thought a man's job was to protect his family?

The voice takes a moment of pause from its degradation

THE VOICE(cont’d):

Pathetic.

He steps under the cold shower water, barely twitching at the temperature

SHOT OF THE MAN TURNING THE NOZZLE ON THE SHOWER TO COLD AND WE SEE HIM JUST STAND BLANKLY STARING AT THE WALL.

Camera shows blatant and dark eye bags and a deep set frown but his eyes look soulless as if all the life had been sucked out of him. He collapses in a heap on the floor of the shower, falling to his knees.

He appears lost in thought, scratching at his arm- he comes to and realises that he’s bleeding.

THE VOICE:

You should kill yourself

THE MAN:

I know

THE VOICE: 

Then do it, coward

THE MAN:

Not now

THE VOICE:

You're a miserable excuse for a human being, you know that?

THE MAN:

I think I want  meatballs for dinner tomorrow. I’ll have to ask if she can pick up the ingredients.

THE VOICE:

I hope you choke and die on your food you pig.

The man starts to sob silently, curling in on himself and laying in the foetal position. His tears and blood mixed together with the shower water.

When he finally gets up it is visibly much later than when he entered the shower.

A long uncomfortable shot ensues, the camera remains still across the room watching the man attempt to move.

He crawls over to the counter to heave himself up using all his strength, it shows on his contorted face. Forgoing the towel he attempts to walk back into his room but he collapses to the ground before he reaches his bed. His cuts were deep and still seeping blood. He passes out and the screen fades to black. The credits play over top of a translucent background where you can just make out the scene of an ambulance lights flashing brightly, sombre jazz plays over it.

[mordysworld]

Perfectly Perfect

The following is a short story I wrote with the intent of making a film adaptation of it; in my next post I will be showing my progress on the script thus far. This post contains themes of suicidal ideation and intrusive thoughts.

~~~

Viridian peas lay still on the cold ceramic plate, unmoving, unwanted.

“How was work dear?”

They looked disgusting. So did the dehydrated chicken that sat depressingly next to it; he could practically hear the morsels of dead flesh, begging for moisture, begging to once again be put out of their misery, to finally be extinguished from existence.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Was that clock always so loud?

“Honey?” Oh right. She was speaking to him.

“It was fine dear..same as always. John got permission to go forward with his pitch in a meeting today” It was his idea. He got no credit. It was fine

“Oh that's good” The quiet stretched on between them, like a giant chasm forcing them to keep their distance for if one leant too close they’d plummet to their death. If the fall did not kill them, they'd surely drown in the awkward and oppressive atmosphere consuming them. Like a vacuum in space it twists and sucks warping the very fabric of ones being suffocating any will to engage in meaningless vapid tongue flapping.

The bland, boiled carrots stared at him, mocking him. Stabbing them through their tiny vegetable hearts, he picked them up, consuming them. He hated being mocked, and wanted to vomit. If he focused hard enough he could taste blood, that thought made them a little easier to swallow.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He could feel every vibration of movement at the table in his very being. The slight ripples in the glass of water waved in greeting as he scowled down at his plate. He wonders briefly if water enjoyed being drunk. Whether it found a spark of joy in travelling down the gullet of those fortunate enough to come by it. 

He shook his head slightly. 

Impossible.

How could you be happy in this world? A world where intrusive thoughts are a regular occurrence, where even if you wanted to you couldn't feel anything, a world in which everyday was a struggle where waking up feels like a burden where a coherent thought is hard to come by WHERE THAT DAMN CLOCK WON’T STOP TICKING.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He looked back to his plate to see several small eyeballs, sitting uneaten. He picked up the fork, scooping up the small things before shoving them down his throat. 

He just wanted to leave. 

Plate empty, he stood from the table leaving his wife who sat happily chatting away with the kids…the kids.

He looked at the pair again. Like fish out of water, they sat opening and closing their mouths but not a sound could be heard, just the dull clattering of teeth and the soft rattling of ribs as lungs inhaled- In, out, in, out, in, out, in- hearts beating and beating and beating away. He continued on his way to his room ignoring it, it happened more often than not anyways. He didn’t need help, he was fine, perfectly perfect.

Sluggish movements, that's how he moved. A bone deep ache sent jolts of pain through his throbbing muscles as he climbed the stairs to his uncomfortable mattress and scratchy bedroom. Why did it hurt to live? He wondered, and not for the first time today.

He painstakingly relieved himself of the clothing that caged him, strangled him. Discarding them into the dirty clothes basket, he heard them scream and beg to be not tossed aside, imploring him to care again, to be helped, for the pain to stop. He closed the lid, muffling their howls of agony, he didn't know how to help them (help himself).

Now naked, he walked into the adjacent bathroom; showering was a chore. Some, like his wife, found the task relaxing, enjoyable even. Not him. He thought of it as just that, a chore. One that was short, a nuisance and above all else frustrating. It was so bland and it never washed away the thoughts.

You’ve let yourself go.. You've been eating too much again haven’t you?

The voices only amplified in the barren echoey shower room. He didn't respond.

Pity. You looked so handsome when you were younger…Why does everything only get worse as time goes on? The poor little one.. what's her name?  It doesn’t matter- she will grow up just like you, I'm sure of it. She’s just as broken, I can see it in her eyes. What sort of man are you that you can’t even spare your child from this suffering? 

Pathetic.

He stepped under the cold water, he didn’t deserve to feel warmth.

Crystalline droplets of cold water graced his dry skin. A grimace painted his features as he continued to be pelted by the offending molecules. His knees finally gave out. A thud could be heard as he hit the ground, his knees would surely be bruised now, wouldn’t be the first time he supposed. 

Showers were a chore, did he mention that?

Breathing was also a chore these days. It got harder and harder to do as days went by. 

He despised his wife. As much as he loved her deep down, he hated her. Not for her God awful cooking, not for the looks of pity, not for her boring tirades about other mothers on their street who were rude to her, no none of that. He hated her for the ease of which she breathed. He knew deep in her soul was a turmoil, unseen by the naked eye. But when around others she breathed so easily as if it wasn't a conscious decision like it was easy as anything, it was that which he detested her for.

He looked down at the cold tile sitting below him, the water ran red. He’d been scratching again.

It’s fine. Blood was fine. He liked blood, it comforted him in a way.

You should kill yourself

“I know”

Then do it, coward.

“Not now”

You're a miserable excuse for a human being you know?

“I think I want meatballs for dinner tomorrow. I’ll have to ask so she can pick up the ingredients” he spoke to himself.

I hope you choke and die on your food, you pig.

The ‘so do I’ went unsaid but still hung in the air like a hellish weighted blanket, preventing him from moving. He cried silently, his tear ducts disobeying his commands, he was losing control of his body. He was fine.

He curled in on himself, crying silently really hurt your throat apparently. He laid in the foetal position for God knows how long, salty tears swirled with crimson blood, swiftly escaping the man who attempted to keep the two captive, escaping to freedom down the drain. When was his turn to escape he wondered. The water was still ice cold but it didn’t matter, he was numb to it by this point. Numb to the pain. If he got a cold after this, well, serves him right for laying down in such cold water for so long, too long. How long had he been here?

When he finally found the strength to get up it was late, he just knew it. His time blindness was ever present, only even seeming to leave when he would contemplate just how much of his miserable life he had wasted, down to the seconds. He always wasted time in the shower.

Showers were a chore, did he mention that?

Begrudgingly he crawled over to the bathroom counter to heave himself up, it was an exhausting task. His bones creaked at the movement, whining in protest. They’d just have to suck it up, he has to. Every goddamn day he had to suck it up, so they could take moving his useless head room to room.

Each step towards his unbearable bed felt like lead, his feet getting harder and harder to lift a pathetic few centimetres off the ground. Eventually his tired body melted into the concrete where he lay, too tired to move a muscle. For once he just wished to have control of a single aspect of his life. Just once. One. Single. Time. 

He would eventually, but for now he just needs some sleep.

[mordysworld]

I love taking photos of the sky, forever trying to imagine what goes on beyond it

[mordysworld]

Down the rabbit hole - a series of photos I took upon a visit to a castle and it's extensive and wondrous garden