California State University, Northridge Punch Drunk A
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CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY, NORTHRIDGE PUNCH DRUNK A project submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Masters of Fine Arts in Screenwriting by Brian Bourque May 2019 Copyright by Brian Bourque 2019 !ii The thesis screenplay of Brian Bourque is approved: _____________________________________ ____________ Professor Jared Rappaport Date _____________________________________ ____________ Professor Dianah Wynter Date _____________________________________ ____________ Professor Scott Sturgeon, Chair Date California State University, Northridge !iii Table of Contents Copyright Page ii Signature Page iii Abstract v Punch Drunk 1 !iv ABSTRACT PUNCH DRUNK: A FEATURE SCREENPLAY by Brian Bourque Master of Fine Arts in Screenwriting After witnessing the murder of his ex, a jaded college professor and his hitman-wannabe brother get tangled up in the criminal underbelly of New Orleans and must learn to work together to unravel a conspiracy that threatens to destroy their family. !v PUNCH DRUNK FADE IN: INT. FUNERAL PARLOR - DAY The blotchy, red face of a man in his 30s stares down into an open casket, disappointment in his glassy eyes. This is CLAUDE BARRILEAUX. He sneaks a furtive glance over his shoulder. Then makes his move, snatching a flask from under the arm of the deceased. Claude unscrews the cap. Attempts a swig. Empty. He re-caps and stares at its calligraphic engraving: C.R.B. He places it in his coat pocket. Shakes his head. CLAUDE What a prick... Behind him, a woman’s voice. In Creole patois. GREAT-AUNT GINNY What was dat, sha? Claude jolts slightly. He turns to find a diminutive septuagenarian tugging at his sleeve. GREAT-AUNT GINNY. He leans down, level to her ear. CLAUDE I said... (louder) What a prick. Aunt Ginny still doesn’t quite catch it but smiles and nods, all the same. GREAT-AUNT GINNY Ya daddy was a regular Catahoula cur, him. He’be missed. 1 Claude steps away to make room for Aunt Ginny and passes by a large memorial photo: a 62-year-old man in a judge’s robe poses in front of a stone-grey backdrop and a U.S. flag. Beneath it: CLAUDE REX BARRILEAUX SR. 1932-1994 EXT. METAIRIE CEMETERY - DAY Midday but you couldn’t tell. Overcast skies and a light rain, but the only umbrellas you’ll find are being twirled by participants in a FUNERAL PARADE. Solemn but up-tempo JAZZ accompanies the rain, blasting out of the tubas and trumpets of a SECOND LINE BAND as they march through rows of grey, raised tombs. In case it isn’t obvious yet, we’re in NEW ORLEANS. But across the cemetery it’s another story. A more conservative affair, the Barrileaux procession reaches its natural conclusion at the family mausoleum. CLAUDE (V.O.) There were two bits of wisdom my father wanted to make sure he passed on. I know this, because he said them all the goddamn time... Claude lights a cigarette as the MOURNERS disperse. CLAUDE (V.O.) Never make your roux with butter. A LIMO DRIVER escorts Great-Aunt Ginny out of the cemetery. She pats Claude on the forearm as she passes by with a wink. GREAT-AUNT GINNY Catahoula cur... As FAMILY and FRIENDS clear out, FOUR BLACK WOMEN in mini-skirts and black boas---ranging from their early 20s to mid 40s---hang back, consoling one another as they WEEP. CLAUDE (V.O.) And it’s all pink on the inside. Claude approaches the women. He offers up his pack of cigarettes. They each take one and light up. 2 CLAUDE (V.O.) Although, the latter was usually addressed to my brother. The drizzle becomes proper RAIN. The Second Line approaches. Claude files in, gesturing for the hookers to join him. They do. EXT. FRENCH QUARTER, SEEDY ALLEY - NIGHT A single streetlight glows softly high above. Thick mist and puddles abound. The last place you want to be at night. Claude approaches a battered, non-rescript door. No numbers. Only a plaque next to it that reads: THE HIDEAWAY. EST. 1846. INT. THE HIDEAWAY - NIGHT - SAME And it shows. Dark. Discreet. Smokey. Claude enters. CLAUDE (V.O.) It was the year of our lord, nineteen hundred and ninety four... He’s immediately greeted by the sight of a HORNY JUDGE in his 70s, carousing in a corner with a FEMALE PARALEGAL, questionable whether she’s drinking age. CLAUDE (V.O.) But in the Hideaway, it may as well have still been the 50s. At the bar, a group of MIDDLE-AGED WASPS---ties loosened, shirts unbuttoned---slur through Smiley Lewis’ Lost Weekend. THE WASPS I work hard like a dog Spend my money at the bar I'm crazy 'bout my whiskey And I don't care what it cost Tending the bar, CHARLES HADLEY, a stout, cheery fella in his 60s, spots Claude. He pours them whiskey shots from an unlabeled bottle---his own formula. He joins in. 3 HADLEY/THE WASPS They tell me to save my money But that stuff is made to spend I'm gonna keep on buying whiskey Get drunk with all my friends Hadley slides a glass to Claude. They toast. HADLEY To Rex. Glasses TAP the bar. They shoot. Several HISSES as Hadley’s engine cleaner hits the back of their throats. Claude mounts a stool. Hadley posts in front of him. HADLEY (CONT’D) How was the service? CLAUDE You’d know if you’d been there. HADLEY I’m right where Rex would want me to be. CLAUDE Right where he’d want to be. HADLEY Gimme your glass. Hadley pours another. Claude shoots. Wipes his mouth. HADLEY (CONT’D) How much longer you in town for? CLAUDE Just ‘til the estate sells. Hadley shakes his head, disappointed. CLAUDE (CONT’D) What? HADLEY I didn’t say anything. 4 CLAUDE What the hell am I gonna do with forty acres and a mansion? HADLEY Settle down? Raise a family? CLAUDE Ha! I need a family like I need another hole to piss from. CLAUDE (V.O.) A piss sounds good right now... Angry BANGING interrupts the men. HADLEY Speaking of family... Hadley gestures to NIKKIA, a nine-year-old black girl, SMACKING a Back to the Future pinball game. She YANKS the plunger then KICKS the coin door. NIKKIA Piece of shit! Claude shakes his head. Stands. HITS a key on the register and pulls out a handful of quarters. He DROPS a dozen into the machine. CLAUDE Where’s your dad? NIKKIA Mom says he’s not my dad. He’s just a sperm donor. She immediately goes back to playing. CLAUDE Well, where’s the sperm donor? NIKKIA How should I know? I’m nine! 5 From the bar--- HADLEY Wasn’t he at the funeral? CLAUDE I figured he was here. HADLEY Not for a couple hours now. Must’a got skunk- drunk, too, ‘cause he forgot this... Hadley dips down behind the bar and lifts up an old, leather attaché. Claude walks over, grabs it. Gives it a once over. Initials on the tag: C.R.B. CLAUDE Where the hell’d he get this? HADLEY It’s your dad’s. CLAUDE I know it’s---I mean how’d it come to be in his possession? Hadley shrugs. HADLEY Beats me... Then nods toward the pinball machine. HADLEY (CONT’D) Mind walking her home? It’s definitely past her bedtime. Nikkia sets off a bonus game, stealing Claude’s attention. NIKKIA Hell yeah! Claude looks to Hadley again... CLAUDE She’s not really my responsib--- 6 ...but he’s stepped away to tend to the other patrons. Claude SIGHS. EXT. TREME NEIGHBORHOOD - NIGHT Claude and Nikkia climb up the porch of a shotgun shack. Claude KNOCKS. The door opens to reveal an unamused woman. TEAL, early-thirties, hair in curlers, smoking a cigarette. TEAL Where’s Floyd? CLAUDE At the Hideaway. He asked me to bring Nikkia home for him. Teal looks to her daughter to corroborate. NIKKIA (nonchalant) He abandoned me there. She looks back at Claude. Takes a long drag on her cigarette. Gestures inside. Nikkia trots in. Teal EXHALES in Claude’s face. Points a finger. TEAL This why they still call y’all the Barrileaux boys. CLAUDE No one’s called us that in a long time... CLAUDE (V.O.) And for the record, I haven’t been a “boy” since Brittany Briscoe, sophomore year of high school. Just, uh... for the record... Teal spots the attaché in his hand. TEAL Why you got Floyd’s briefcase? 7 CLAUDE It’s not his. It’s---it was Rex’s. TEAL Well, then he’s been dealing weed out your daddy’s briefcase. Claude lifts it up, gives it a sniff. Wrinkles his nose. TEAL (CONT’D) Thanks for bringing my baby home safe. You see the sperm donor, tell him everything’s fine, and he should definitely come by tomorrow. CLAUDE I was hoping I wouldn’t run into him before I leave. TEAL Where the hell you goin’? CLAUDE I’m getting the hell out of this clown pervert’s clammy fever dream. TEAL Ya lost me... CLAUDE Take care, Teal. As Claude steps away--- TEAL Say... what’chu think odds are on me getting child support now that your daddy’s gone? Claude mulls it a sec. Shrugs. CLAUDE You know Floyd, he’s got about as much money as he has sense. TEAL Mmm-hmmm... She eyes him one last time before CLOSING the door. 8 He reaches the sidewalk, takes a second glance at the case. Lifts it a few times, shakes it--- something’s off.