Heya,
Using this as a place to showcase my 30 minute script assignment. This version is completely awful due to it being totally unedited. The formatting screwed up during export too, so it’s going to be pretty hard to read, sorry 
ext. Sidewinder club. night.
The Sidewinder club in Brighton is in the full swing of a typical friday night. A rabble of noise can be heard down the street, and punters are lined up attempting to get in. Some do, others don’t.
dalmar
(V/O)
My name is Dalmar Xasan. I was born, and for the most part raised, in Mogadishu, the capital city of Somalia. You may know my country from that movie with the helicopter crash. I have vivid memories of hiding under a table for the best part of 24 hours waiting for the shooting to stop, but somehow I doubt Ewan McGregor would have considered a script like that. My family lived in a small apartment downtown and spent a decade scraping together enough money selling scrap metal so myself and my younger brother could be bought passage to England where, we were promised, we would live out our lives in security and prosperity.
ext. dream house. day
An idealistic vision of an England in which DALMAR and his brother, TABAN are stood besides a large house, next to two well polished sports cars, beside them stand two trophy wives. Cut to:
int. sidewinder club toilet. night.
Inside the club’s male toilets, we see DALMAR, clad in clothes that attempt to create a facade of style, despite clearly being cheap. He is only in his twenties, but holds himself with a level of emotional maturity that sets him apart from many of the similarly aged people in the club. He stands behind a makeshift stall near to the door, which is covered with an array of personal hygeine products and confectionary items. From the main dancefloor, a typical club tune blares. Dalmar leans against the somewhat dirty toilet wall and sings, his voice is nothing special.
dalmar
(singing awkwardly)
Freshen up for the poonanny, poonanny, poonanny!
Some club goers pass by amused, others with a hint of sympathy, Dalmar’s voiceover continues again.
dalmar
(V/O)
As you can see, this was something of a white lie.
A EXTREMELY DRUNK MAN passes Dalmar and attempts to let loose his potent wit.
drunk clubber
Alright mate! Nice song!
Dalmar smiles weakly and nods, hoping the man will purchase one of his wares. He doesn’t.
dalmar
(V/O)
Still, I suppose at least no one is mugging me at Kalashnikov point for a pack of batteries.
Dalmar goes back to staring at the wall, cut to:
int. club toilet. late night
Dalmar is packing up and preparing the leave. The club is largely desolate, with only staff remaining. Dalmar finishes placing all of his items in his bag, he hasn’t sold much, sighing, he slings his back over his back and walks out of the club.
ext. city streets. late night
Dalmar drives his car – a small, beaten up hatchback – back home to the nearby town of Worthing. We can see that he is tired and frustrated. The radio quietly plays jazz music as he cruises along an A Road.
A montage of driving scenes follow, ended by him pulling into his small apartment and preparing to go inside.
int. dalmar’s apartment. late night
Dalmar closes the door behind him and throws his keys on a nightstand before walking towards the grimy balcony that overlooks the city. His younger brother, TABAN, is stood on it smoking a cigarette. Taban is much more the typical young man than Dalmar, with a degree of carefully constructed rebelliousness and a more casual dress style.
Dalmar
Hey Taban.
taban
What’s up, brother?
Dalmar begins taking off his jacket and shoes.
daLMAR
Same old night spent stood knee deep in piss and vomit, singing about genital organs wondering if I’ll make enough money for us to pay our heating bills. On the upside, there’s a dead fox down the street we could probably barbeque.
tABAN
(Laughs)
You are far too negative, Dalmar. We’re doing alright for ourselves. Britain is a land of plenty.
daLMAR
The only thing I see that is plentiful here are sexually transmitted diseases and poorly priced drinks. We’ve left one rat infested shithole and entered another one, but this time, the rats wear baseball caps.
taban
(Takes a drag of his cigarette)
Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic? Most of our countrymen would kill to get out of Somalia, and you’re here complaining about over priced Jagerbombs. Don’t get me wrong man, overpriced drinks are an issue I feel very strongly about myself, but I learn to sit back and occasionally take something at face value. You heard about those ICU dicks and their sharia law? We live in a country where a woman can walk down the street wearing a miniskirt and not be labelled a whore. Isn’t that comforting?
Dalmar sighs, leaning heavily against the bars of the balcony. Beneath him, a police siren is heard distantly. Taban flicks his cigarette off the balcony and, sensing a lack of reply from Dalmar, walks back inside. We pan away from Dalmar as he sits thoughtfully on the balcony and time lapses to:
int. Dalmar’s apartment. day
The balcony is empty, food packaging and ashtrays litter the apartment. Dalmar, evidently tired, sits on the sofa reading a lifestyle magazine, as he narrates, we see the pages he is flicking through – They display overpriced clothing and furniture items.
dalmar
(v/o)
Somali culture is heavily diluted. Through thousands of years, different religions, societies and factions have occupied the land and have left their own individual stamps upon it and it’s people. This ranges wildly from genetic lines and great Mosques to bullet holes, but it always alters things just a little bit. British culture is very similar, but in it’s own way.
Dalmar twitches nervously before putting his head in his hands. Cut to:
ext. worthing high street. day
Dalmar, walking down a busy highstreet, continues his internal narration.
Dalmar
(V/O)
(Cont.) Walk down a British road fifty years ago, for example, and you will see a picture of post war society, a people beaten and bruised, but defiant in their efforts to rebuild. I have always admired hardiness. Walk down that same road today, and chances are you’ll see glass fronted insurance offices, chains of Starbucks and McDonalds, and all you can drink watering holes. A matter of years after the Norman victory at Hastings, England’s upper classes were speaking French like true natives. In comparison to our social history, this was not a slow and gradual process. Western peoples are much quicker to adopt change. Perhaps that is why they prosper.
Dalmar stops off at a supermarket and enters through the automatic door.
int. Supermarket. Day
The supermarket is a jungle of aisles and bright lights, with an assorted rabble of people inside. We see Dalmar’s confusion and frustration at trying to shop, and hear a cacophony of random noise from his passers by. Babies crying, people talking into phones, bleeps from checkout machines.
Dalmar continues walking through the buzz of shoppers. Occasionally, he places something into his trolley, barely looking at it as he does so.
Finding a place away out of sight, Dalmar leans his head against one of the shelves and closes his eyes.
int. dalmar’S APARTMENt. early evening.
The Alarm clock reads 7:32PM as Dalmar hurries around getting ready for work. From out of his room comes Taban, who himself is getting ready to go out for the evening, if for pleasure, as opposed to business. In the background, Taban talks on a mobile phone, we do not hear the other side of the conversation.
tabaN
(On phone, heard distantly)
So, we’re still set for tonight? Uh-huh… Yeah, man… Should be cool… We can hope… Haha… Maybe we should come down to Sidewinder and piss off Dal… Buy some lollypops… Hahaha.
Dalmar throws him a dirty look which he shrugs off. Taban grabs a cold slice of pizza from the fridge and begins to eat it messily as he leaves the apartment, slamming the door noisily behind him.
int. club toilet. late night.
We see two clubbers, one male, one female, snorting cocaine from a toilet sistern. They tilt back their heads inpleasure before kissing sloppily, in the distance we can see Dalmar, looking on concerned.
dalmar
(V/O)
In my line of work, you get used to seeing people in the toilets doing what they’re not supposed to be doing. Most of the time, it’s sex, other times, it’s drugs. If it’s a really good night, you’ll see a fight. If you’re going to the club as a patron, it’s generally best to steer well clear of it all, but for the poor bastards who toil away there, it’s expected of us to actually lift a finger and stop it.
Dalmar awkwardly approaches them, clearly unsure of whether or not to intervene. The HIGH MAN sharply turns his head towards Dalmar, breaking his kiss with the woman, who lets herself fall back against the toilet wall.
dALMAR
(Unsure)
Excuse me, I don’t think you…
High man
(Interupting him)
What is it man?
HIGH MAN sniffs and arches his back, eyeing Dalmar up.
hIGH MAN
C’mon man, what have you got to say?
dalmar
With all due respect, could you not do that in here. I-I could lose my job if I don’t report it.
hIGH MAN
You gonna go crying to the police man? Fuck you! I just came here to have a good time, not to be judged by some fucking uppity purfume guy.
The HIGH WOMAN snorts in agreement. The man punches the stall door.
dalmar
Look man, I’m sorry, I just…
Egged on by the woman, the high man continues his tirade, standing up jerkily, his eyes diluted.
high man
You got a problem with what I do, huh? You reckon you’re better than me, do ya? At least I don’t make my money standing in a filthy club toilet selling shit to people who don’t want it!
Dalmar begins to walk away with a look that says “Fuck it”
high man
You don’t even come from here man! Go the fuck back home if you don’t like it!
Dalmar turns around, clearly the high man has touched a nerve. The high man’s girlfriend starts laughing brashly.
dalmar
Do you know how difficult it was for me to get over here? My parents had to lie, cheat and steal just to earn me and my brother a place in a fucking shipping container!
high man
(Kisses his girlfriend, revelling in the argument but failing to see how much his jibes sting Dalmar)
I ain’t stopping you from catching another back to whereverthefuck youcamefromistan!
Dalmar has clearly had enough, in the space of a moment he sucker punches the high man, sending him spiralling back into the toilet stall. His girlfriend looks on shocked.
dalmar
Fuck you, you stuck up knuckle dragging piece of hormonal shit!
Dalmar turns to the man’s girlfriend, who is staring on.
dalmar
Why don’t you fuck off as well, you spoiled, uptight whore!?
high man
You fucking… Fucker! I’m gonna have your fucking job for this, you god damned savage!
The man leaps towards Dalmar, knocking him to the floor with a single punch, his girlfriend cheers loudly as other club goers look on fearfully.
In a cocaine induced haze, the man climbs on top of Dalmar and begins to beat him brutally, ignoring his pleas. The beating is unrelenting. After a short while, a group of bouncers burst into the room and push both men apart forcefully, evicting the high man and his girlfriend with several rough pushes out of the room.
int. Club manager’s office. early morning
Dalmar is patched up, the tissue around his nose stained with blood. His expression is reminiscent of a child being scorned by an angry parent. The nightclub MANAGER stands near to him, a bundle of caffeine induced stress attempting to hide a received pronounciation accent behind a mockney one. It is clear that neither of them have slept, outside, walkie talkies are heard.
manager
Provocation or not, Dalmar, it makes a bad impression if our staff are punching people out in the toilets.
dalmar
With all due respect, I may have struck the first blow, but you can see with your own fucking eyes what he did to me!
mANAGER
That’s the problem though, as you said, you struck the first blow. While he’s been taken into police custody, he could technically claim that his initial actions were in self defense.
The manager steps away from his desk. Dalmar mops at the blood around his lips and nose with the tissue.
manager
(Cont.)
I mean, hell, Dalmar, you saw the ruckus that this all created. That guy kicked up a storm, the police were called, and when they found out that drugs were involved…
The manager runs a hand through his hair, sighing with exasperation he hands Dalmar a fresh tissue.
manager
They let me speak to you because I told them that several of my staff witnessed him beating you, not you throwing the first punch. Problem is, there’s about five witnesses that saw the whole thing… I don’t know what to make of this, but I think it’s best that for now you don’t come into work for a while, wait for the dust to settle, eh?
Dalmar cradles his head in his hands.
dalmar
(Clearly troubled)
Look man, I know that what I did was stupid… And, I know that a lot of people are gonna judge me for it, and if you think that I’m… Not ready to be put back into society or something, then fine. But please, let me do something, even if I have to mop specks of vomit off the floor at six o’clock in the morning…
The Manager’s phone rings, he picks it up.
Manager
Hello? Yeah… Sure… Okay, come right up…
He hangs up and continues.
manager
I’m sorry, but I just can’t deal with controversy right now. You’ve been under a lot of stress, it doesn’t take a shrink to see that you’ve not had an easy life. But, I’ve got enough shit on my plate at the moment without you flying off the handle over some drunken, hepped up moron and his stupid bitch… I’m sorry, Dalmar…
dalmar
(v/o)
“Shit on my plate” – What a charming metaphor. At this point, I have two choices. Either I tell the coked up charlatan in front of me just how I really feel about his run down piss cellar of a nightclub, not to mention his particular brand of sexual pervasion, shown by his habit of taking the drunkest girls from the dance floor up to this very office to “check the new sound system” or I get on my knees and grovel to him about how much I need the pay and go home unsuccessful and ashamed. It’s crunch time.
An awkward pause, Dalmar looks up as if he is going to speak, but doesn’t.
manager
(Cont.)
I’ve called your brother, he’s gonna take you home… The time off will do you good.
dalmar
(v/o)
Damn, missed the chance.
A knock at the door. The Manager walks over and opens it, Taban is stood there. Reluctantly, Dalmar stands and leaves – Ignoring the manager on the way out. The manager and Taban nod to each other before Taban and Dalmar leave the room.
int. Dalmar’s Car. Morning
Taban is driving, Dalmar sits dispondant in the passenger seat. He is unresponsive to Taban’s constant dialogue. On the radio, a club anthem plays.
taban
Just to let you know, man, that guy was a total jackass. I think my mate Scott knows him. He told me he was a total jackass. It was about time someone laid him out. Of course, seems that you came off a little worse. Oh well, rematch sometime?
Taban laughs at his own affectionate jibe. Dalmar doesn’t.
taban
Stupid thing, toilets in nightclubs. Stalls, that is. People only use ‘em for fucking and dosing. No one is retarded enough to take a shit in a nightclub. I mean, I guess if you *really* needed to go, but then why would you go to a fucking nightclub if you had diahorria anyway? That’s just an accident waiting to happen, man. Point is, no toilets mean no fuckheads doing Coke, means no random acts of violence. It’s a vicious circle.
dalmar
(Deadpan)
Are you high?
Taban laughs and continues driving, but doesn’t answer.
A beat.
dalmar
(Regarding the music)
Turn that shit off, I’ve heard enough of that to last a lifetime.
int. dalmar’s apartment. night
Dalmar sits alone in the bedroom, the lights out, his face illuminated in the blue light of a nearby neon sign. The sounds of a party can be heard coming from the apartment.
dalmar
(v/o)
And so I was left without a job. For how long, it was difficult to tell. As investigations into the attack continued, I did what any self respecting twenty something with a weight on his shoulders and a sudden increase in free time would do. I procrastinated…
Outside, Taban’s voice can be heard. We only hear his side of the conversation.
taban
(o/s)
I can get that easy… It’s difficult to say, really mate… Fuck, man, I don’t know… You know I’m not *that* serious about this… Yeah, Dalmar is in trouble, but… I see… I’ll consider it, man…
Dalmar lies back on the bed, sighing.
ext. city street. day
Dalmar walks down the street, shuffling past others that are walking in the opposite direction.
dalmar
(v/o)
I figured that the more time I spent watching mind grindingly dull daytime TV and feeling sorry for myself, the worse my condition would be become and so, taking the advice of my brother, I decided to get out and make good of my free time, whether I wanted it or not.
As he finishes his narration, someone blindsides him and almost knocks him over.
dalmar
(v/o)
Of course, this would all be easier if I could sleep.
int. Library. Day
The library is a jungle of books. A forced, almost awkward silence drifts through the room as Dalmar skims a copy of National Geographic, for the first time looking truly happy.
In the background, a child bursts into tears, but even this doesn’t distract him. We see the magazine cover, it’s an special on East African History.
He takes a seat next to a woman of around his age, with reasonable good looks hidden behind tired eyes and a weary demeanor. She takes a look at him which he returns, if a good five seconds too late.
As Dalmar and the woman continue exchanging stares occasionally, an old man coughs loudly, startling the both of them.
Seeing this as an excuse, Dalmar chuckles slightly in the direction of the woman, who smiles back.
Settling down, the old man grumbles and walks away. Building up the courage, Dalmar opens a line of communication in hushed whispers.
dalmar
(Whispering)
Hey there.
Emilija
(Whispering)
Hi.
dalmar
My names Dalmar.
emiLIJA
Emilija.
dalmar
(Gestures to the book she's reading)
You reading F. Scott Fitzgerald?
emilija
(Smiles)
The Great Gatsby.
dalmar
(v/o)
A book about social seclusion and emotional pain. Sounds about right.
dalmar
It’s a classic.
Emilija nods and there’s an awkward pause.
dalmar
(cont.)
How long you staying here for?
dalmar
(v/o)
And that wasn’t creepy at all… May as well just go and ask for her cup size while I’m at it.
emILIJA
Oh, probably until closing time. I like the peace and quiet.
dalmar
(v/o)
Shit, was that a hint?
emilija
(Realises her faux pas) Sorry, that wasn’t a hint.
dalmar
Haha, that’s quite alright.
dalmar
(v/o)
Fuck yeah! Get in!
Dalmar smiles, and they lock eyes for a moment until another awkward pause forces them both to go back to their respective books.
dalmar
(v/o)
It’s very uncharacteristic of me to flirt. I’m not a naturally passionate or impulsive person. This is why what I am about to say to this random woman I’ve only just met in a library is very strange indeed.
dalmar
Emilija… Would, would you like to go grab a coffee or something when you leave? I was planning to leave about the time you did… I mean, not that I’m waiting around for you or anything. It’s just, I don’t really have anything planned and… Well, I’m quite a lonely person.
Dalmar cringes at his last sentence.
emilija
Are you always this smooth?
Dalmar smiles sheepishly, his expression that of slight disappointment.
dalmar
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, it was creepy.
emILIJA
I didn’t say no. I’d love to hang out with you. Let’s just hope I don’t wind up in pieces by a roadside, eh?
Dalmar laughs, perhaps a little too much.
int. library. early evening
Time passes, and the two are packing up, ready to leave. Emilija places items in her bag while Dalmar rubs his eyes.
dalmar
So… Coffee?
emilija
I’ll be honest with you, I’d prefer something a little stronger.
dalmar
Espresso?
emilija
(Chuckles slightly) That’s awful.
dalmar
Yeah, I know.
Emilija finishes packing her bag and they stand and leave together, Dalmar holds the door open for her, then lets it go and it shuts with a bang.
int. pub. evening
We see beer draining from a glass as Dalmar finishes another drink. In a booth next to him sits, Emilija, with a half full pint. On the table lie several discarded glasses. The pub is reasonably quiet, with the lights of the city shining in through the partially closed blinds. We join Dalmar and Emilija half way through an in depth conversation about film.
dalmar
There’s nothing wrong with the film per se, it’s the fans that get me. All you need to do is take a look online and you’ll see a hundred forum threads from spoilt morons blabbering about how much ass was kicked, and how they gave it to us *douchebags*. I mean, it’s not too hard for the US Military to kill a thousand scared, untrained civilians with rusty old Russian assault rifles.
emilija
You take Ridley Scott films too seriously. You gotta let that drop.
dalmar
(Takes a sip) Yeah, maybe… So, what’s your story?
eMILIJA
Aww hell, I guess I’ve had enough cheap beer to tell you. I hail from Serbia. My father took full advantage of the fall of the Soviet Union and managed to raise a sizeable fortune in the import/export business. My family settled into a newly forming middle class and, for a time, lived in reasonable comfort. We were prospering, even though our countrymen weren’t. We kept our heads low and tried to ignore what was brewing in the world outside our large, country house.
Emilija takes another sizeable gulp of her drink.
emilija
(v/o)
Then, of course, the effects of the war reached us. As I say, at first we tried to avoid it as best we could. But one by one, my brothers went to war. Once Zoran, the second youngest to me, died at the hands of some Bosnian rebels, my comfortable existance fell around me. My oldest brother, Jordan, he… He changed. The violence, the bloodshed, the horror, it transformed him. He went from my loving, protective brother to a racist, genocidal maniac. At home, things were the same, my parents’ once loving relationship fell apart when my father decided that his love for his country outweighed his love for his wife…
Emilija faulters for a moment, as if she is about to break down. She composes herself.
emilija
(Cont.) They would sit in the kitchen for hours, arguing about everything they could, hurling crude insults at each other and acting like they were the only two people in the world while there was so much suffering going on around them…
Dalmar gazes on introspectively.
EMILIJA
So, my father went to command a militia and me and my mother were left with nothing. The only news we got from the rest of the famiyl wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t really any surprise when my father and Jordan were found guilty of war crimes. Apparently they held quite a lot of respect for his unyielding hatred of Bosnians, and their effectiveness in killing them. They were dubbed by the UN as high value targets, and were declared guilty… They found them both hanging from their cells soon afterwards, can’t say as I’ll miss them…
Emilija sniffs loudly. A beat.
emilija
God. I’m sorry, I’ve only just met you and I’m talking like this… I must be drunker than I thought. It’s just good to get stuff into the open, I hope I’m not being self obsessed.
Dalmar
No, no, of course not. I’m just, rather taken aback is all. I’m not used to such honesty in my line of work.
Emilija manages a weak smile, which Dalmar awkwardly returns.
dalmar
(v/o)
There was something about her that was undeniably endearing, and it could be said that Emilija felt like a mirror image of me. A less whiny, more down to earth mirror image of me, but one still the same.
Emilija and Dalmar drain their glasses and exchange a look. There is a degree of tension in the air, but Emilija quickly breaks it.
emilija
Oh good, look at the time. I should really be heading home. This very unlike me, meeting a guy and going out drinking, not to mention mumbling out my life story like that. Hope I haven’t made an idiot out of myself.
dalmar
Not at all… Are you sure it’s not too late for you to heading back alone? You could crash round mine if you’re okay…
emiLIJA
Is that you making moves?
Dalmar looks up from his empty glass, a sudden urge of confidence building as they walk out of the pub.
ext. Pub. Night
dalmar
(Flirtatiously) Do you want it to be?
emilija
(Sweet but firm) I’m not going to sleep with you, Dalmar. You’re nice and everything, but I’ve only just met you, and I’m far from being on the pull. Sorry.
Dalmar’s look of disappointment is visable, but it’s clear he understands.
dalmar
(v/o)
And like that, it’s over. I’m not the type to blindly pursue sex, that was always my brother’s game, but to say that I wasn’t disappointed would be a flat out lie.
dalmar
I wasn’t trying to take advantage…
emilija
I know. I’m not judging you, I’m just not in the right frame of mind to commit myself to one night stands, especially with men I meet in Libraries, seems kinda polarised.
dalmar
Can I walk you home?
emilija
I’m getting a bus, Dalmar. Chivelry isn’t worth £2.50.
dalmar
Oh…
emilija
Goodnight, see you around.
Emilija kisses Dalmar on the cheek before walking away, leaving Dalmar siluetted against the dark, rainsoaked street.
dalmar
(Speaking Arabic: “Son of a bitch!”) Eben El Sharmoota!
int. dalmar’s apartment. late night
Dalmar enters his apartment, somewhat disappointed but built up by his encounter with Emilija. Taban, and a shifty man, MIKE are sat at the cheap coffee table discussing something. Dalmar approaches them quizically.
dalmAR
Taban?
taban
(Nervous) Oh, hey Dalmar! Meet Mike, Mike, this is my brother Dalmar.
Mike grunts at Dalmar, clearly more interested in whatever he and Taban were doing before Dalmar entered the room.
taban
Yeah, me and Mike met at a club and we’re just chilling out here for a bit. T… Told you you should get out more Dal, it’s good for the social life.
dalmar
My social life is fine, brother… Are you okay? You seem kinda, tense…
taban
I’m fine mate. Just been a few heavy nights, right Mike?
Mike rolls his eyes, reluctant to join in on the banter.
mike
Yeah, totally. Hefty.
Dalmar looks on with confusion, but shrugs it off.
dalmar
Right, cool.
A beat, yet another awkward silence.
mike
I’m off now, Taban. So you game?
Taban nods.
mike
Cool. See you soon.
taban
See ya, man.
dalmar
It was good to meet you, Mike.
mike
(Emotionless) Yeah, same mate.
Mike leaves, Dalmar takes his place on the sofa.
dalmar
He seems nice, in a creepy, detached, passive aggressive sort of way. I see why you hang out with him, he must be a blast on the dancefloor.
taban
(Defensive) Hey, Mike’s alright, man. He just comes across as a bit… Abrasive.
dalmar
That’s an understatement. So, where have you been lately? You’ve been like a Ghost.
taban
Says you! I’ve been working. Ever since you got your arse suspended I’ve had to be the breadwinner around here.
DALMAR
And how have you been doing that, dare I ask?
taban
(Frustrated) Pulling double shifts at the fucking burger van. You could show a little more thanks, man. I’m sweating my arse off over poorly cooked, indigestable hotdogs while you mope around all day.
dalmar
You’re right, I apologize. I’ve just, been kinda mixed up lately.
taban
D, you’ve been mixed for as long as I can remember. That’s your problem, man. You’re too caught up your issues from back home. We left Somalia behind a long time ago, for better or worse. You need to drop the tormented immigrant act and learn to appreciate what we have. We’re as British as any of the stoners and hedonists you rant about all day.
Dalmar shrugs.
dalmar
Maybe you’re right, but I just feel like I’m a guy with two Nationalities and no identity. We can wear clothes from Primark, eat out at Little Chef and kill our brains with reality television, but that won’t stop some ignorant racist on the street labelling us as putrid outsiders just because of the way our accents sound.
taban
We barely have accents, bro! This is what I’m talking about! You’re so whiny and melodramatic about everything. You think I see my future in flipping burgers? Life isn’t some life affirming, Hollywood pic produced by some air headed faux-liberal with a hybrid car and a bag full of dirty Californian money he pretends to feel guilty about. Sure, we were promised infinate opportunity and plenty here, but we the truth isn’t always that shiny, is it?
Taban angrily sits down, giving Dalmar a moment of self reflextion.
dalmar
(v/o)
My brother and I often squabble, one of us often proves the other wrong and we often walk away pretending to have taken something from the whole chirade then revert to our old selves moments later. Maybe I did what I did because I wanted to get away from my brother or maybe something in his angry tirade actually got through, but for some reason I genuinely felt inspired at that moment. I knew at that point that there were two things I desperately needed to do.
dalmar
I’m having an early night, Taban.
Taban looks up, having calmed down.
taban
Why?
dalmar
I’ve got a big day ahead of me tomorrow.
taban
(Distantly) You and me both.
int. LIBRARy. day
We see Dalmar and Emilija stood in the library lobby. Clearly Dalmar has just asked something very important.
emilija
No.
Dalmar’s face drops, his previously enthusiastic expression now one of self loathing cringiness.
dalmar
Oh.
emilija
Not that I don’t appreciate the passion in inviting me here on the spur of the moment to deliver a insanely long monologue about your feelings for me. But I’m a girl of my word.
dalmar
(v/o)
Okay, so the first thing I desperately needed to do didn’t work out so well. Still, there were a lot of hours in the day and another task, and this one involved anger! Now I just had to dodge the torrent of bullets unleashed in the wake of awkwardness from asking out a woman I met 24 hours ago and failing massively.
dalmar
God, I must look so pathetic. Sorry to waste your time.
emilija
(A little too enthusastic, given the circumstances) Oh, not at all! In fact, I have a pamphlet to give you.
dalmar
(With glum sarcasm) If it’s for the Golden Dragon massage parlour, I’ve tried it. It’s an actual massage parlour.
emilija
How romantic. No, it’s something to do with your life, here.
She passes him a brochure for a small, little heard of university.
emilija
(Cont) They have courses in English, and History…
dalmar
I’ve never even heard of… Is this a real city? You’re not really setting the bar high, Emilija.
emilija
(Sighs) Sorry, but Oxford never got back to me. Listen, it doesn’t take a therapist to see that you’re unhappy, torn apart, even. You’re not in the best bargaining position, but you can get grants, at least you’d be doing something productive.
Dalmar puts the brochure in his pocket, other things on his mind.
dalmar
Yeah, you have a point. Sorry to be so ratty. I’ll definitely consider it… You wanna get a bite to eat or something?
Emilija considers for a moment.
emilija
I would, but… I’m needed back home.
dalmar
Ah, fair enough… Who are you seeing?
EMILIJA
(Pauses) Hope to see you around…. I… I had fun last night.
She gives Dalmar a slight hug and walks out of the library. Dalmar stands alone. Fade to:
int. Sidewinder club. evening
Dalmar walks brisky past the bouncers and heads through a crowd of clubbers. They dance wildly and aggressively, forcing Dalmar to make some constructive shoves to get past.
As he climbs up towards the manager’s office, he is stopped by a bouncer, the same one who broke up his fight earlier.
bouncer
Dalmar? What are you doing here?
dalmar
I’m here to see the boss. I promise not to assault any crackheads or anything.
BOUNCER
Look, man. I think what they did… What they’re doing to you was pretty fucked up, but I really don’t think you should be going up there. Especially if you’re gonna do anything stupid.
dalmar
I’m not looking for a fight. I just need to get something into the open. I wouldn’t normally ask this of you, but please let me through. I’ve worked here for 3 years, three spirit crushing years of my life spent standing in a foul smelling toilet singing crap to myself watching flies buzz around just wishing I could go home and go to bed, but knowing this is the only way I can vaguely support myself and my brother. Can’t I have one word with the guy deciding my future?
The bouncer puts his head in his hands, clearly uphappy with the decision he’s making.
bouncer
I am gonna get in so much shit for this… Fine, go through.
Dalmar begins to walk, he turns.
dalmar
I appreciate this, Joe.
The bouncer nods slightly and Dalmar continues.
bouncer
Wait.
Dalmar stops in his tracks, turns around. Curious.
bouncer
(Sighs) The manager is the guy who decided your future. Not deciding. It’s over. Thought I’d break it to you, instead of that coked up prick. Sorry, mate.
Dalmar snorts, unsurprised.
dalmar
Eh. No shock. Thanks again.
Dalmar continues into:
int. club manager’s office. night
Dalmar walks in through door to see the manager, Taban and Mike. They are sat around a table which is covered in money and a large number of ecstacy tablets. Mike and Taban have clearly broken the “Don’t get high on your own supply” rule.
taban
Oh, hey brother!
dalmar
(Taken aback, ignoring Taban) Fuck, looks like the party’s kicking off in here.
manager
How did you get in here?
dalmar
Joe let me in. It seems that unreliability in your staff is here to stay.
MANAGER
Then I’m guessing you know that you’re no longer an employee of…
dalmar
I do, and let me be the first to congratulate you on making such a exacting downsizing. To be honest, friend, I was going to hand in my fucking resignation anyway. You’re nothing but a drug peddling perverted piece of plankton, and Taban, I don’t even know what to say to you…
Taban violently stands up, explosive anger tainting his fast, stuttery speech. He is clearly far gone on the drugs.
taban
Well, that’s a fucking first! You always seem to be the man with the calculated cynical put down and the downbeat demeanour. That’s always been your fucking problem, D. Through rain or shine, hail or sleet, war or fucking peace, you will always be there to be a stuck up depressive little shit!
dalmar
Better that than a hedoistic, self medicating brat too wrapped up in the club scene to give a shit about the world around him. You’ve always been an escapist, Taban, you were always the one to hide in the bedroom playing king of the castle while our neighbors were killing each other, while our relatives were dying!
Dalmar hit a nerve. Taban jumps at him and pins him against a wall.
taban
You think I enjoy my life? You think I felt brave burying my face in the cushions while dad was shot down on the pavement, trying to save his family from our so called liberators? You think I felt content shaking with fear as he bled out in the sand? You think I felt like king of the fucking castle curling up into a ball for the last decade, seeing his lifeless body every time I close my eyes? I don’t enjoy this fucking life. In fact, I hate it, I hate all the neon signs, I hate the thumping music, I hate the whores and rabid cunts that pollute the dance floor, and I fucking hate that feeling like my brain cells are popping everytime I wake up in the morning! I hate it all, Dalmar, but it’s all we fucking have!
Dalmar
We don’t need to life like this, you can change… You don’t need to sell drugs…
taban
(Spits, interupting) Don’t be fucking naive. You’re the reason I sell drugs, if you could get your self righteousness to yourself and stop decking stupid people in club toilets, I wouldn’t need to make up the difference selling E! You brought this on, you ignorant fuck! You wanna play boy scout and save me from falling? You should have thought about that before you pushed me.
Taban pushes Dalmar to the floor, walking back to the table.
taban
Go on, get the fuck out of here. Go spout your bullshit and try and carve a fairytale out of a nightmare. Just remember me when you realise the fairys started shooting up a long time ago.
Dalmar slowly gets to his feet, dusts himself off. He considers talking, but falters and leaves, not looking back. Taban screams out and shoves the money and pills from the table.
int. sidewinder club. night
Dalmar is steaming, he descends the stairs from the office, as he does, the bouncer from earlier accosts him.
bouncer
Dal, what the fuck was going on in there? I thought you said you weren’t gonna…
Not even making eye contact, Dalmar shoves past the bouncer, who ponders questioning it, but instead walks into the office.
Not even trying to remain polite, Dalmar pushes his way through the club towards the exit, causing a trail of destruction and spilt drinks on his way out. He pushes open the club’s door, not noticing the lack of bouncers to see:
ext. sidewinder club. night
Outside the club are several police cars and two vans. A large group of people, including the bouncers are stood watching, being pushed back by officers trying to corden the club.
Dalmar’s expression turns from anger to shock when he is caught in the flashlight of an Armed Response Officer pointing a gun at him. After a surreal moment of tension, he is ushered towards the barricade with the rest of the onlookers.
A sizeable group of armed officers approach the front doors of the club, forcing them open with a sharp kick. Screams and shouts are heard from within and Dalmar runs a hand over his poorly shaven stubble, his face caught in the lights of the police cars.
We hear Taban’s monologue from earlier over the muffled sounds of chaos.
taban
(v/o)
Life isn’t some life affirming, Hollywood pic produced by some air headed faux-liberal with a hybrid car and a bag full of dirty Californian money he pretends to feel guilty about.
The officers drag Taban, Mike and the Manager onto the pavement and force them down, cuffing them with cable ties. Taban, overwhelmed by the drugs and recent events, breaks down into incomphrehensible blubbering.
taban
(v/o)
Sure, we were promised infinate opportunity and plenty here, but we the truth isn’t always that shiny, is it?
The officers shine flashlights onto him, dragging the three into a van. Dalmar, unable twayear anymore, turns his face away as it drives away.
He removes something from his pocket, the brochure that was given to him earlier. He scrunches it up in rage, his hands shaking. Emilija is heard in the same way Taban was.
emilija
(v/o)
It doesn’t take a therapist to see that you’re unhappy, torn apart, even.
Slowly, he unscrunches it and stares for a moment.
emilija
(v/o)
