THE SANDMAN PRESENTS...MARQUEE MOON SECOND DRAFT
Peter Hogan, 1997
Hi, Peter, Alisa, Neil, and anybody else reading this.
As you all know, this is a story set in the heyday of punk, just as it was making the transition from cult status to national (outraged) headlines. And before we dive into our story, I'm afraid you're going to have to sit through a short lecture about punk, all of which is intended to help you draw and understand it better (and my apologies if you already know all this stuff).
As with most popular movements, punk was already in decline by the time the masses discovered it. Its origins lie in the mid-Seventies, when Britain was a really grim place. The pound had collapsed, inflation was spiralling (26%) and unemployment was rocketing (highest among the 19-24 age group), industrial relations were in tatters, Jim Callaghan's Labour government was only just managing to cling to power, the National Front were on the march and Margaret Hilda Thatcher was waiting in the wings like a drooling vulture.
And everything looked grottier in those days. Though things would get far worse under Thatcher, London (where most of this story is set) never looked worse; the city acquired a chainstore gloss during Thatcher's reign—before then, there were lots of grubby, poky little shops that Dickens would have felt at home in. Everything was generally shabbier and more run down—there were over 30,000 squatters in London at this point, and one reason for this was that houses which would later be renovated and rescued and sold for lots of money were then just left to decay. Street graffiti abounded: NF, SWP and anarchist logos, plus lots of slogans (the most prophetic of which was probably 'Tories want war'). A couple of photographic books of mid-'70s graffiti were produced years ago (think there's one by Roger Perry) which might be worth checking out; for general glimpses of London at the time, I can't think of any obvious movies, but I suppose you could suffer through some old episodes of The Sweeney (poor you).
Generally speaking, the populace was as shabby as the city. Revivalism and nostalgia have since coloured the era's fashions as being more fun than they were—in reality, most clothes were ludicrously cut and badly made, usually in beige or some other pastel colour. Quality was far less of an issue then, and the English looked like what they were: a nation of paupers. (One opinion poll at the time asked people if they'd leave Britain, given the chance; 50% of those polled said yes.)
As to music: Circa 1972/3, glam and glitter had been a brief flare of pop energy with a sense of the ludicrous, but no more than that...and so it quickly died out. Mainstream rock music was in steady decline, the 'progressive' music of the hippie era having degenerated into smug complacency and self-parody (along with its ideals). It was sanitized and safe, and almost never exciting—a few bands were playing stripped-down R&B on the pub circuit, but none of them were making much impact. Heavy metal was (and is) a world of its own, and had even less impact on the mainstream, most of which seemed to be produced by truly dire bands who began with the letter 'E' (Emerson Lake and Palmer, ELO, the Eagles). Youth culture? Hardly. It was "adult-oriented rock," and it was bland and boring and shite.
If you were young—especially if you lacked qualifications—there was a lot to be pissed off about, and crap pop music was the least of your problems. Careerwise, you were probably already on the scrapheap. It didn't even look like things might get better, and Lydon's "no future" line turned out to be grimly prophetic (though he'd later admit that the punks had been pissed off at the wrong people—youth unemployment doubled during Thatcher's first year in power).
There was no video in those days, and only three channels on TV. No multiplexes. No heroes. No fun. No future! And this climate bred a disaffected generation who felt themselves to be (to quote Lydon) "outcasts, the unwanted."
John Lydon: "I was a young chap who thought I was severely ugly and nobody would ever speak to me. There was this movement full of people feeling exactly the same way. It was a social way of meeting equally ugly people."
There were small pockets of people like Lydon all over the country, some in the suburbs, some stuck fifteen floors up in tower blocks. All they had in common was a hatred of the mainstream, be it in politics or music, and a deep distrust of their elders, especially the generation that had preceded them. The non-movement grew slowly and organically, generating its own fashions and music for their own amusement (and sod everybody else). By 1977 (when out story takes place), most of them were kids of 17-19 or thereabouts—Johnny Rotten turned 21 that year, though some bands were a few years older (but not many). We have a scene set in the Roxy, the first punk club, just after it opened; prior to then, punks tended to gather in places where they wouldn't be bothered by outsiders—mainly gay bars and lesbian clubs. Consequently, they melded with others who were hiding out there for similar reasons: prostitutes, people who would once have been categorised as freaks (dwarves, etc), plus (of course) gays and lesbians. There was also a lot of contact with the whole reggae/Rasta scene. The resulting crossmix tagged along for the ride, making punk "a carnival of subterranean people."
Musically, punk's roots can be found in rock's grittier and artier veins (the Velvets, Iggy Pop, the New York Dolls, Bowie and Roxy Music), and also in reggae and (to a much lesser extent) electronic Krautrock. Punk bands usually started before they could play at all, so they kept it simple: three chords and an attitude. And it worked: energy plus enthusiasm plus experimentation equals excitement, pure and simple. No matter how sceptical you were initially, if you were even vaguely young, there was no way to avoid getting swept up in it.
And amazingly, it all rested on the shoulders of one man. John Lydon/Rotten was the most articulate spokesman rock had thrown up since Dylan, voicing a set of sensibilities which had the establishment reeling, appalled by the progeny they'd produced. Richard Hell can bitch all he wants to about who invented punk, but even though he coined the term "blank generation," Lydon was undoubtedly that generation's true voice.
That punks were radically different was obvious, and visible. It's not that they looked weird in themselves (if you check out photos of punk audiences, most of them look incredibly normal and average to modern eyes—you probably pass more extreme-looking individuals in the street every day). It's the contrast—they looked so different to what was then the current norm. Short hair really stands out from the crowd, when the crowd all has long hair—and pretty much everybody (male) had long hair, regardless of age or class (and many had facial hair as well—mainly beards and sideburns, but moustaches hadn't yet acquired an exclusively gay association). Punk haircuts weren't just short, but often really badly cut (usually enthusiastically—and drunkenly—self-inflicted). Male punks were—pretty much without exception—clean shaven. No, not even stubble.
As with music, punk fashion was stripped-down and streamlined. If hippies liked something, punks didn't (on principle). Everybody wore flared trousers, so punks didn't—the upshot being that (eventually) everybody wore straight-legged trousers once again. But on a more radical level, punk style was often akin to street theatre— intended to shock, to provoke, an extension of the conviction that aggressive confrontation was always better than apathy (besides, there's something really satisfying in feeling like a bete noir, even in a mundane way). Coupled with various aspects of behaviour (spitting at bands, mock-throttling each other on the dancefloor), to superficial observers the message was clear: "punk looked scary."
Of course, it wasn't. I saw the Damned at the Marquee in early '77—my first exposure to punks en masse—and I vividly remember thinking, how sweet—all these art school kids have made their own costumes. That's what it was really like. I immediately realised something else then as well—this was Hippie Two. Wear what you like and speak your mind. Of course, as with hippie, it all fell to bits pretty quickly, and the fashion eventually deteriorated into cliché and uniform. But all that comes long after our story—what we're concerned with here is the earlyish days.
Marco Pirroni: "The 1976 punk look was a mixture of absolutely everything. A lot of Ted, a lot of rocker, a lot of fetish stuff, transvestite sort of stuff, a bit of Mod and a lot of Glam. That's what it was. People didn't wear leather motorcycle jackets in 1976. Mohawks didn't exist then, either." Bondage trousers were around, as was bondage and fetish rubberware and leatherware (courtesy of Vivienne Westwood). Coloured leather motorcycle jackets (red, blue or green) hit London during the month our story takes place, so we might glimpse one or two of them. But much of what was being worn was secondhand and deliberately 'unfashionable' (suits from the '40s or '50s), often in appalling condition and/or altered with a bit of imaginative DIY: shirts might be painted (stripes or splatters or slogans or all three), or ripped and customized—often very slightly (a single safety pin). Bizarre earrings and razorblade pendants were popular. Other influences include Cabaret, A Clockwork Orange and The Rocky Horror Show.
Clothes (jackets and shirts as well as T-shirts) often had slogans scrawled on them. 'Autonomy for Kids', 'Only Anarchists Are Pretty', 'Be Reasonable—Demand The Impossible' and 'Destroy !' all came from the McLaren/Westwood shop (but were probably copied widely). Most DIY ones were less highbrow: 'I am an outsider', 'Hate & War', 'I hate true love,' etc., etc. Johnny Rotten first made an impact on McLaren by turning up in a Pink Floyd T-shirt with the words "I hate" scrawled above the group's name. There were armbands that just read: 'Chaos.'
Punks also flirted with Nazi imagery (swastikas, mainly)—as a means of causing outrage rather than because of any fascist leanings. Only the stupidest of them (hi, Sid) carried it on for any length of time, since it simply didn't work—all punks wanted to do was annoy their parents, but outsiders largely assumed the wrong motives. For that reason, I think we should avoid showing anyone wearing swastikas at all—twenty years on, it looks even more stupid and is even harder to explain.
As with hippie, punk changed the world so radically that you can't really imagine how much, because you've forgotten what the world was like before. Mostly, this was ideological—though most of the fashion and music hasn't endured, the approach to music and fashion has. A lot of grass roots social/political movements started here, it radically altered design/aesthetics and made 'small is beautiful' a sexy concept. The DIY influence spread everywhere like a virus. In short, there was a lot more to it than three chords, a spiky haircut and straight trouserlegs. A lot of gays have said that the visibility of punk made it easier for them to become publicly visible—and women were active participants in punk, in a way that had just never been seen before in youth/music movements.
John Lydon: "During the Pistols era, women were out there playing with the men, taking us on in equal terms. Sexy became not the old cliché of long blonde luxurious hair, mild-mannered and sitting in the corner. Quite the opposite. Punk women were hounds from hell. Excellent. It wasn't combative, but compatible. Loved it."
Though many punks of both sexes were pretty much asexual (disinterest being the eventual side effect of amphetamine sulphate), many more were not. There was an aggressive sexuality at play, with the women often taking the lead—it wasn't about love or romance or dating or relationships. It was simply about sex (usually quick liaisons in toilets involving a lot of fumbling—hence Lydon's famous comment about "two minutes of squelching noises").
And for the first time musically women had a role beyond being backup singers or harmony vocalists. As one commentator noted: "Boy bands were getting up on stage who couldn't play a note, so it was easy for girls who couldn't play a note to get up on stage as well...Punk made women feel they could compete on equal terms to men." And they did—the Slits, Laura Logic, Chrissie Hynde, Gaye Advert...It's a long list, and they all played instruments (some of them very well).
Finally, in case you've ever wondered, punk names like Johnny Rotten and Wreckless Eric and Captain Sensible weren't just a joke or a showbiz gimmick. They were genuine aliases, because all these guys were on the dole and so couldn't use their real names—none of them (except maybe Rotten) expected their success to last longer than a week or so. My favourite 'new' ones discovered during the research for this are Lucy Toothpaste and Richard Gotobed (one can only hope they were an item at some point).
Peter now has a ton of books and videotapes for visual reference—he might get some background faces out of it, if nothing else. PETER: I know most of the books are falling to bits, but I would like them back eventually (no rush). And if you've got enough time to do some reading, I'd strongly suggest that you read John Lydon's autobiography (Rotten: No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish) for general atmosphere (and a rattling good read), and Jon Savage's England's Dreaming for real detail (you'll probably find this one the more useful of the two). Sorry, but I'm afraid you're going to know this period backwards and in minute detail before you're done...
There are also four films that might be worth seeing (though they're all pretty dreadful): Jubilee is good on period detail; Sid & Nancy (it's good on clothes, but otherwise grim viewing); The Great Rock 'N' Roll Swindle (good archive footage of early Pistols gigs); and Rude Boy (made in '79, but—as I recall—a good portrait of London then). Also Don Letts made a film called The Punk Rock Movie which might even be out on video (ask around).
The other thing you'll need for reference is a copy of the Sandman story 'The Hunt', which you'll find in the Fables & Reflections book collection. It's there that you'll learn about The People, who are originally of Russian origin but spread through all of Europe and eventually on to the New World. (ALISA: before I forget, I wouldn't mind doing a story someday about Vassily as an immigrant in New York circa 1910.) And the People are the 'real' basis behind lots of legends (like vampires and werewolves and ogres etc), and they aren't all of one type— the witch Baba Yaga is one of them. 'The Hunt' focussed on werewolves, and the heroine of our story is from the same family...though they're not exactly werewolves as such—they're not compelled to turn lupine by the rays of the Full Moon, nor do they become mindless and savage. It'd be more accurate to describe them as shapeshifters—they change form by an act of will, and even in animal form there's a conscious/intelligent mind in control. Our heroine Tamara is the mother of Celeste (the young girl in 'The Hunt'), so there'd be a resemblance between the two, and I suggest we make it a strong one.
So, this is a story about someone who is genuinely wild (and used to hiding it) getting the chance to publicly run wild with people who only wished/pretended that they were wild. It's also the story of a band, from first rehearsal to breakup—not an important, earthshaking group, just one of the numerous third division one-hit- wonder outfits that came and went like mayflies that year.
Finally, finally: if there's anything else you want to ask/chat about, feel free to give me a call.
ALISA: Can't remember if you said this was impossible or not, but...Somewhere in all this (inside cover? back cover?), there's a period illustration I'd like to run as a tone/backdrop. It's from a fanzine of the era, and shows three bar-chart guitar chords, with the text: "This is a chord. This is another. This is a third. Now form a band." You'll find it on page 280 of England's Dreaming (and with a title like that, you really ought to read the book).
Enough prelude. Ahh onetwothreefour...
PAGE ONE
Panel 1. Large panel. This is also effectively our title page, so one possibility would be to have a framing arch above the panel, featuring the title (preferably including the Marquee logo) with a full moon and a couple of wolves. And in the panel itself, we meet Tamara straight away. As stated, there's a strong resemblance between her and Celeste. She's about 5' 7" tall, shoulder length dark hair (curly=a perm), slight build (almost boyish). Aged about 18/19 and definitely pretty (Celeste was portrayed as dropdead gorgeous—maybe Tamara's less so, i.e. at a slightly gawky stage—though we'll be watching her blossom in this story) with riveting green eyes. Somewhat innocent. Right now she looks pretty roadworn and bedraggled—no makeup at all. She's carrying a backpack (not a massive one, but pretty big—and it looks bigger on her) and is dressed for the road: hideously ugly walking boots (or earth shoes or clogs), flared blue jeans with massive bellbottoms, one of those padded/quilt anorak jackets (a dull red). When she takes the jacket off we'll see a tight round-necked pullover with a flowery pattern around the yoke and the frilly collar of the white blouse that's underneath that (Karen Carpenter has been a big influence on Tamara's fashion sense). She's occupying the centre of the panel, and is standing outside Victoria Station, looking at an unfolded map or an open A-Z. It's New Year's Day 1977, and pretty cold and rainy. Lots of pedestrians (of all types and ages—but no punks) trudging past her—and we want them to be ragged and dull, a flared-trouser freakshow, all of them looking dead-eyed and defeated. Even though she's tired and wet Tamara (and the punks we'll meet later) looks vividly alive by comparison.
TITLE: MARQUEE MOON
TODD: Ideally, we should use the Marquee logo for the title (it'll be seen several times in this story).
CREDITS:
Writer: Peter Hogan Artist: Peter Doherty Letterer: Todd Klein Color & Seps: Daniel Vozzo Editor: Alisa Kwitney Consultant: Neil Gaiman
Based upon characters created by Neil Gaiman
CAPTION: I WAS SO DIFFERENT BACK THEN. I WENT THROUGH SOME REALLY BIG CHANGES, THAT TRIP TO LONDON...
Panel 2. Medium/wide: Tamara standing outside an old redbrick mansion block somewhere near Victoria. Looking up at it, or entering its doorway.
CAPTION: IT WAS NEW YEAR'S DAY WHEN I ARRIVED, AND BOY, WAS I TIRED...
CAPTION: I'D BEEN ON THE ROAD FOR MONTHS, SCHLEPPING AROUND EUROPE SEEING FAMILY AND VISITING MUSEUMS. THIS WAS MY LAST STOP, AND THERE WERE NO MORE RELATIVES TO SEE...
CAPTION: THIS ONE WAS JUST FOR FUN, AND I INTENDED TO HAVE SOME.
ALISA: Your eagle eyes will doubtless have spotted that I didn't mention what the year is. We'll convey that information a bit more subtly (visually), within the next couple of pages.
Panel 3. Smaller: a door being opened, revealing the occupant: a small and extremely dowdy woman in late middle-age (almost wizened). Like Madge, Dame Edna's friend. She's wearing a shapeless cardigan and is in bad need of a visit to the hairdressers. Cigarette dangling from lip (a centimetre of ash about to drop from tip). Her name's Elsie. If you've got room to show more, you could show Tamara outside in the corridor (could even be outdoors, on a balcony). Flat has a number on door (Thirteen).
CAPTION: I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE STAYING WITH AN OLD FRIEND WHO'D BEEN LIVING HERE FOR THE LAST YEAR...
CAPTION: BUT WHEN I GOT TO HER PLACE...
ELSIE: YES?
Panel 4. Small close-up of Tamara, from Elsie's perspective. Tamara is hesitant, uncertain that she's got the right place, worried that she hasn't.
TAMARA: er...
TAMARA: DOES JUDY LIVE HERE?
PAGE TWO
Panel 1. Medium/wide, and from Tamara's perspective. Behind Elsie Tamara's friend Judy has appeared, pulling the door wide open and grinning broadly. And Judy's a dominatrix/prostitute, her image somewhere between Emma Peel and Julie Walters in Personal Services—she's wearing a skintight black vinyl catsuit, high heel shoes or boots. Her fair hair is up in a ponytail, she wears lots of eye makeup, green (DANIEL!) nail varnish and lipstick. Judy is a few years older than Tamara (25 or thereabouts) but is not one of the People, just a mere human with nothing remotely supernatural about her.
JUDY: TAMMY...
JUDY: YOU MADE IT. COME ON IN.
JUDY: ELSIE, PUT THE KETTLE ON...
Panel 2. Smallish two-shot: the two of them being huggy-kissy in the doorway, or just inside. It's just an ordinary/plain hallway—except for a cheesy 'erotic art' print (framed) hanging on one wall—with a corridor leading to the rest of the flat, with several doors leading off it. Tamara has taken her backpack off, and is either carrying it or else has just dumped it on the floor. Elsie has vanished off-panel.
JUDY: HAPPY NEW YEAR. HOW WAS PARIS?
TAMARA: IT WAS OKAY...
TAMARA: WHAT'S WITH THE CATSUIT? YOU JUST GET BACK FROM A PARTY?
Panel 3. Medium/wide: in the foreground we want to see a rear view of Judy's slave-client, a podgy middle-aged man wearing a rubber bondage mask and very little else (either nothing or else a studded leather codpiece/jockstrap). In the background both girls have turned to look at him—Tamara surprised and shocked, Judy semi-amused but trying to hide it.
SLAVE: DID YOU CALL, MADAM?
SLAVE: IS THERE ANYTHING YOU REQUIRE?
Panel 4. Medium, from Tamara's perspective: Judy's turning on the slave viciously, pointing back down the corridor and almost spitting out her words. Slave is slinking away like a whipped dog, down the corridor and into the background.
JUDY: NO. NOW, GET BACK IN YOUR BOX.
JUDY: AND DON'T COME OUT TILL I GIVE YOU PERMISSION.
SLAVE (small): yes, mistress.
Panel 5. Small close-up of Tamara, part puzzled, part shocked, part intrigued.
TAMARA: YOU'RE A HOOKER?
PAGE THREE
Panel 1. Smallish close-up of Judy, scowling slightly—sort of annoyed that her secret profession got revealed so dramatically. Lighting a cigarette (in a cigarette-holder) with a flashy lighter (Dunhill or similar).
JUDY: OH, DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT.
JUDY: IT'S OKAY FOR YOU, BUT THE REST OF US HAVE GOTTA EARN A BUCK OR TWO...AND I COULDN'T GET A WORK PERMIT TO TEACH HERE.
Panel 2. Two-shot: Judy exhaling, left arm across her waist and holding elbow of right arm, right hand flourishing cigarette-holder. Very matter-of-fact. To the right of Judy, Elsie enters from kitchen, carrying a teatray.
JUDY: BESIDES, I DON'T FUCK THESE GUYS. I JUST TIE 'EM UP AND WHIP 'EM A BIT.
JUDY: IS THAT SO BAD?
ELSIE: TEA'S UP.
Panel 3. Medium/wide: Judy taking tea tray from Elsie, Tamara a bit stunned.
JUDY: THANKS, ELSIE.
TAMARA: I...I DON'T KNOW. IS IT?
JUDY: IT'S A LIVING. C'MON, LET'S GO SIDDOWN IN MY ROOM.
Panel 4. Medium/large: Judy entering her room (carrying tea tray), followed by Tamara (carrying her rucksack). Judy grinning, Tamara still shocked-but-curious. And this is Judy's room i.e. the place where she lives, with no sexual or S&M trapping whatsoever. It's effectively a bedsit, with a lot of cheap and tatty G-Plan furniture: a double- bed, a tatty sofa, a coffee table, a small portable TV, a Dansette record player. Records stacked up beside it (most of them out of their sleeves (which are dogeared). Albums would include early Iggy Pop and Bob Marley. Coffee table has magazines: Time Out (you get extra bonus points if you use the genuine issue—and give Dominic Wells my regards) and Sniffin' Glue (you'll find the December 1976 issue in the book collection). Also has ashtray (overflowing with lipsticked butts).
Judy's not very tidy, so there's girlie clutter (make-up, knickers etc) all over the place. A couple of books by her bed (a Jackie Collins novel, plus some scholarly academic work). Posters on the wall (taped, not framed): maybe something arty from Athena (Mucha or Lautrec) and/or a movie poster for A Clockwork Orange, plus postcards and snapshots. Also, somewhere prominent (on the wall) we want to see a calendar that says '1977' in big letters. ALISA: we'll plant a few more '1977's' over the next couple of scenes (though not in the flashback, obviously), so people should be in no doubt what year it is. Especially not after they see Mr Strummer's shirt in a few pages' time...
JUDY: YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE IT, BUT THAT GUY'S A BIG GAME SHOW HOST HERE.
TAMARA: REALLY?
Panel 5. Smallish: Judy putting a 7" single on the dansette, placing needle in the groove. It's the EMI pressing of Anarchy In The U.K. (show the label, if you can manage it and can find reference) which came in a completely black sleeve—so maybe Judy is holding the sleeve in one hand. That teatray is now resting on the coffee table.
JUDY: OH, HONEY—I'VE HAD THE LOT. POLITICIANS, JUDGES...
JUDY: WHAT IS IT WITH THE MEN IN THIS COUNTRY?
Panel 6. Judy smiling—part contentment/pride, part whimsical sigh. The Dansette behind her emits musical notes.
JUDY: FORTUNATELY, I FOUND A GOOD ONE.
JUDY: HIS NAME'S RAY—YOU'LL MEET HIM LATER ON.
RECORD PLAYER: A few musical notes.
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1. Smallish: Tamara is now sitting (perched, still somewhat uncomfortable) on the sofa, and has removed her jacket. She's glancing/gesturing towards the record player. Judy still standing, fiddling with stuff or en route to the sofa.
RECORD PLAYER: A few musical notes.
TAMARA: WHAT ARE WE LISTENING TO?
JUDY: THE SEX PISTOLS.
TAMARA: WHO?
Panel 2. Mainly a close-up of Judy stopped in her tracks, slightly surprised and mildly gossipy; Tamara deeply puzzled (or off panel entirely).
ALISA/TODD: If there's room, could we have musical notes floating about for the next few panels (to show the record's still playing)? On the other hand—and this'll crop up again every time we have music playing—would it just be an annoying, confusing and intrusive mess? Vote now!
JUDY: YOU'VE NEVER HEARD OF THEM? THEY'RE LIKE, PUBLIC ENEMY NUMBER ONE IN THIS COUNTRY.
TAMARA: A ROCK GROUP? WHY?
Panel 3. Two-shot: both on the sofa. Judy on our right, pouring tea and smiling teasingly.
JUDY: OH, THEY SAID 'FUCK' ON PRIMETIME TV—BUT ANYONE'D THINK THEY'D KILLED SOMEBODY, THE WAY THE PRESS REACTED.
JUDY: SO, ARE YOU SHOCKED? BY ME, I MEAN...
Panel 4. Another two-shot: Judy is now stretched out on the sofa, knees bent up (or feet resting in Tamara's lap), cupping her mug/cup and giggling; Tamara a bit embarrassed but not wanting to be thought prudish, choosing her words carefully.
TAMARA: NOT...SHOCKED, EXACTLY. BUT...
TAMARA: IT DOES TAKE A BIT OF GETTING USED TO...
JUDY: hee...THAT'S WHAT I SAID.
Panel 5. Small close-up of Judy, serious and caring.
JUDY: YOU STILL WANNA STAY HERE? I MEAN, YOU WOULDN'T HAVE TO SEE ANY OF THE CLIENTS OR ANYTHING...
Panel 6. Small close-up of Tamara, smiling ruefully.
CAPTION: PART OF ME WANTED TO JUST LEAVE, STRAIGHT AWAY. BUT I WAS SO TIRED...AND ANOTHER PART OF ME WAS KIND OF THRILLED AT KNOWING HOW MUCH DAD WOULD DISAPPROVE.
TAMARA: IF YOU'RE SURE...
TAMARA: I MEAN, I GUESS...
CAPTION: SO I STAYED.
PAGE FIVE
Panel 1. Medium two-shot: Judy smiling, pleased and relieved, prodding Tamara with one foot; Tamara leaning slightly, pushed by Judy's foot, grinning.
JUDY: GOOD.
JUDY: THEN GET CHANGED—WE'RE GOING TO A GIG, SOON AS I GET RID OF MISTER RUBBERHEAD OUT THERE.
Panel 2. Similar, but smaller: Tamara is slumping back, one forearm on her forehead, brushing her hair back. Judy has swing round into face-front sitting position, and is reaching for a packet/envelope or box on the coffee table.
TAMARA: NO WAY. I COULDN'T—I'M POOPED.
JUDY: OH, WE HAVE THE CURE FOR THAT.
Panel 3. Smallish: in the foreground, Judy's hands chopping out a couple of lines of white powder (with a razor blade) on a small pocket mirror; in the background, Tamara is sitting up and forwards, frowning slightly. Curious, a little shocked, very wary and an eentsy bit thrilled at this proximity to la vie boheme.
TAMARA: IS THAT...COKE?
Panel 4. Smallish: Judy from Tamara's perspective. She's kneeling on the floor, rolling up a banknote (hey, remember when we had pound notes?) and concentrating on what she's doing. We can clearly see the two white lines on the mirror.
JUDY: NOPE. THIS IS SULPHATE.
JUDY: YOU KNOW—SPEED.
Panel 5. Similar, from the same perspective/angle: Judy proffering the rolled-up banknote towards us/Tamara. Wiping the underside of her nose with the forefinger of her other hand. One of those lines on the mirror has now disappeared.
JUDY: snnnf
JUDY: HERE...
Panel 6. Close-up of Tamara, a little scared, her loyalties torn. A large part of her wants to give this stuff a try.
TAMARA: I CAN'T. I MEAN, I DON'T DO DRUGS.
TAMARA: I MEAN, I PROMISED MY DAD...
PAGE SIX
Panel 1. Scene change, and a flashback. We're in JFK airport, outside passport control near some checking-in desks (I think Freddie Laker was operating by this point—though good luck tracking down reference on his logo. Maybe it'd be easier using a more established airline—was Pan-Am still going? Or TWA?), where Tamara is saying goodbye to her mum and dad. She's similarly (though not identically) attired to when we first saw her, though a lot less tired and roadweary. This is several months earlier—Octoberish—so it'd already be cold enough for the others to be wearing overcoats and hats.
Vassily, Tamara's father looks pretty much identical to when seen as Celeste's grandfather in 'The Hunt'—maybe a little younger (the People age very slowly, and are very long-lived. Vassily's roughly two hundred years old, but looking good on it. Then again, he'll lose his wife between these two stories, and that would have aged him somewhat). Tamara's mother Anya is blonde, looks fiftyish, and a lot more glamorous (and relaxed) than her husband. She's roughly the same height as he is.
But what we want in this panel is a smallish close-up of Vassily, in stern nagging mode, shaking a finger at us/Tamara.
DANIEL: Rather than have fluffy panel borders, I'd rather we used colour to convey the fact that this is a flashback i.e. have this scene coloured sepia, or else in black and white.
VASSILY: NO DRUGS.
VASSILY: YOU HEAR ME, TAMARA?
Panel 2. Medium: and pull back, to show the whole group. Tamara's rucksack is resting nearby on a baggage trolley. She's shuffling her feet awkwardly, embarrassed (and annoyed at being lectured to), her head bowed. Vassily still stern with hands on hips, Anya serious (but not unkindly).
TAMARA: DAD...PLEASE. PEOPLE ARE LOOKING.
TAMARA: AND YOU KNOW I DON'T TAKE DRUGS.
Panel 3. Smallish two-shot: Vassily still in lecture-mode, Tamara still the lectured, bobbing her head and ready to agree to anything just to shut him up.
VASSILY: I SHOULD HOPE NOT. THESE THINGS, THEY ARE POISON TO OUR KIND...
TAMARA: OKAY, OKAY, I PROMISE.
VASSILY: AND NO BOYS.
Panel 4. Medium group shot: Vassily in background, still grumpily blustering. In the foreground, Anya has dived in between them and is good-naturedly scolding him while serenely fiddling and fussing with (adjusting) Tamara's hair or clothing.
VASSILY: NOT UNLESS THEY ARE OF THE PEOPLE, AND FROM RESPECTABLE FAMILIES...
ANYA: OH, LEAVE HER ALONE, VASSILY.
ANYA: TAMARA IS A GOOD GIRL. I KNOW THAT, AND SO DO YOU.
Panel 5. Two-shot (in profile): Vassily (one hand on hip, waving the other dramatic for effect), still being awkward. Anya serene but firm—we suspect she's ultimately the boss here.
VASSILY: I STILL DON'T SEE WHY SHE HAS TO GO TO EUROPE, ANYA.
ANYA: IT'S EDUCATIONAL, THAT'S WHY.
VASSILY: tcha. BECAUSE EVERYTHING IS OLD AND BROKEN THERE, WITH BAD PLUMBING...
Panel 6. Smaller two shot: Vassily waxing lyrical about the New World, smiling, gesturing broadly with one hand. Anya with one eyebrow raised, quietly half-smiling in triumph. There's a sense of finality/closure here—she approves of Tamara going and too bad if Vassily doesn't—this is her final word.
VASSILY: HERE, EVERYTHING IS NICE. YOU CAN SHOP LIKE A PERSON.
ANYA: AND IN EUROPE THEY HAVE ART.
PAGE SEVEN
Panel 1. Medium, a group shot: Vassily in the background, still bantering but only mildly peeved (he knows he's lost); Anya smiling approvingly at Tamara, her head slightly on one side; Tamara embarrassed, on the verge of blushing.
VASSILY: WE DON'T HAVE ART IN AMERICA?
ANYA: BESIDES, IT'S TIME SHE MET MORE OF THE PEOPLE. WHO KNOWS? MAYBE SHE WILL MEET A NICE BOY OVER THERE...
TAMARA: MAMA, PLEASE.
Panel 2. Smaller: a two-shot: Anya fussing, Tamara placatory.
ANYA: WELL, YOU DON'T SEEM TO LIKE THE BOYS WE INTRODUCE YOU TO HERE. PERHAPS UNCLE NIKOLAI KNOWS SOME NICE BOYS IN PARIS...
TAMARA: sigh. YES, MAMA.
ANYA: AND IN LONDON YOU ARE STAYING WITH THAT GIRL?
Panel 3. Similar: Vassily poking his nose in, concerned/fussing; Anya very matter-of-fact.
TAMARA: JUDY. YES, MAMA.
VASSILY: WHO?
ANYA: SHE WAS TAMARA'S SUBSTITUTE TEACHER LAST FALL. A NICE GIRL. A BIT BOHEMIAN, PERHAPS...
Panel 4. Small two-shot: Vassily flaring up again, Anya making a swatting motion with one hand i.e. relax, don't worry so much.
VASSILY: SHE'S NOT ONE OF US?
ANYA: OH, STOP FUSSING, VASSILY.
ANYA: SHE'S A TEACHER. SHE'S RESPONSIBLE.
Panel 5. And we're out of the flashback, and back in to full colour in Judy's room, picking up where we left off—a close- up of Judy as we last saw her, offering us/Tamara the banknote, eyebrows raised in invitation.
JUDY: THIS ISN'T "DRUGS," HONEY—THIS IS JUST LIKE, NECESSARY.
JUDY: EVERYBODY USES THIS STUFF. IT'S ONLY WHAT THEY STICK IN PEP PILLS.
Panel 6. Smallish close-up of Tamara, a slightly naughty grin. What the hell! Head lowered, already bending down to sniff, banknote in hand.
JUDY (off): OR IS THAT CAFFEINE? I CAN NEVER REMEMBER...
TAMARA: OH, WELL...I GUESS ONCE WOULDN'T HURT...AND THIS TRIP IS SUPPOSED TO BE EDUCATIONAL.
TAMARA: I SNIFF IT, RIGHT?
Panel 7. Similar: small close-up of Tamara, tossing her head back up again, snuffling and smiling, her eyes big, bright and wide in surprise/pleasure (traces of white powder visible round her nose).
TAMARA: snnnnuff
TAMARA: Oh....
TAMARA: WOW.
We interrupt this story for a RADIO CLASH NEWSFLASH: The Clash have kindly agreed—and we have it in writing—to allow us to depict them for a brief cameo here. Which is damn decent of them, and very cool for us. On with the show...
PAGE EIGHT
Panel 1. Scene change: a large close-up of Joe Strummer of the Clash, his face distorted into a grimace (mouth wide open) and dripping with sweat. He's onstage at the Roxy, a new punk club that's only recently opened in Covent Garden. There's a good shot of him at this gig—wearing a special '1977' shirt to christen the new year—on page 290 of England's Dreaming. (You'll find further reference on the Clash in quite a few books; for reference on the Roxy—and more shots of the Clash gig there—see the book 100 Nights At The Roxy). Let's have a good, clear shot of the shirt, so people are in no doubt whatsoever what year this is!
TODD: Could you make this lettering large and doubly bold, please. This is the introduction to a song, but this bit is spoken/yelled (so no musical notes here), but otherwise please treat all the singing bits the same way.
STRUMMER: LONDON'S BURNING.
Panel 2. A large panel (the lion's share of this page). Pull back so we can see the entire band onstage—or at any rate the three-guitar line-up of Strummer, Jones and Simonon (it's Terry Chimes on drums at this point, not Topper Headon—and since I can't find any decent reference shots of Chimes you're probably best off hiding his face behind one of the guitarists). Strummer could have his guitar slung upside down behind his back (he did that a lot—plenty of photos of him doing it) while grabbing the mike stand with both hands, a man possessed.
There's a dancefloor area in front of the stage which is rimmed by benched seats and mirrored walls; in front of the band is a heaving mob of fans (mainly males). No spitting! That came later on, and we'll cover it in due course.
The audience is about 40% female—mainly sitting on those benched seats or standing further back. Tamara and Judy are both standing at the back (so a back view only—if at all), and both girls have changed clothes (see description in next panel). Some distance behind them is a bar. Most people are drinking cans of Special Brew or Colt 45 (remember that? I don't even know if they still make it, but you'll find reference in that Roxy book); a few people are smoking large cone-shaped joints (which were sold behind the bar). There was also an upstairs bar, so presumably there's a staircase at the back leading upwards. The Roxy's site—41-43 Neal Street—is just a couple of shopfronts these days, so the place must have been pretty small.
Incidentally, as regards the lyrics, I came across a nice line about punk's negativity the other day, which explains its central paradox i.e. how can people with so much energy and enthusiasm claim to be bored? And the line is this: "they pretended they didn't care, because they cared so much."
STRUMMER AND JONES (with musical notes, please): LONDON'S BURNING WITH BOREDOM NOW...
STRUMMER AND JONES (with musical notes, please): LONDON'S BURNING, DIAL 99999...
ALISA: We should credit the song on a text page; remind me to dig out the details.
Panel 3. Next three panels are small two-shots: Tamara and Judy, standing at the back of the crowd (other punks surrounding them). Judy has changed clothes—she's now wearing a slinky Chinese dress with mandarin collar, her hair now in insane plaits (like Lene Lovich used to have). Tamara still in jeans, but she's taken her sweater off and has it tied round her waist. Both toting cans of beer. Tamara is extremely animated—bouncy and speeding, shouting in Judy's ear. Judy leaning to listen, smiling slightly.
TAMARA: I'VE NEVER SEEN A GROUP LIKE THIS.
TAMARA: WHAT DID YOU SAY THIS MUSIC WAS CALLED?
Panel 4. Similar: Judy now yelling in Tamara's ear.
JUDY: IT'S CALLED PUNK ROCK, HONEY—AND THEY'RE CALLED THE CLASH.
JUDY: WHADDAYA THINK?
Panel 5. Similar: Tamara leaping about, grinning/excited and speeding like crazy. Judy quietly amused.
TAMARA: I LOVE IT.
PAGE NINE
Panel 1. Medium panel: And now we move back, to the very back of the club, where two music-biz types are propping up the bar (but facing front i.e. watching the band). Both wear satin bomber jackets that are way too tight for them, with longish hair (permed or very neatly cut), one has a paunch and a double-chin. At least one of them has a gold necklace or medallion nestling in his hairy chest (the Bee Gees are a big fashion influence). Let's call them Les and Maurice—Les on the left, very blasé and world-weary, and about ten years older than Maurice (Les is well into his forties).
And within a few feet of them (and obviously eavesdropping) is John Constantine. He's aged 23 at this point, and looks pretty much the same as nowadays but younger (short spiky hair, and let's give him an earring). As you probably know, Constantine was originally modeled on Sting, and this being the era that it is we should make him look as little like Sting as possible. This is a year or so before the Newcastle exorcism that goes hideously wrong and overshadows the rest of his life, so he's less cynical and a lot cockier at this point. And obviously a punk—leather trousers and some suitably arty T-shirt (maybe a headshot print of Aleister Crowley, or the slogan 'Do What Thou Wilt'); there's a very young punk girl (brunette or redhead) dangling on his arm, vying for his attention.
LES: 'COURSE, IT WON'T LAST.
LES: THE TRICK IS TO NIP IN QUICK AND MAKE A FEW BOB BEFORE THE WHOLE THING BLOWS OVER.
Panel 2. Close-up of Les and Maurice, maybe seen from the other side of the bar with the club (possibly including the dancing Tamara and Judy) in the background. Maurice (if possible) nodding or gesturing towards the stage. And if you manage to squeeze Tamara in, we want her to remain extremely bouncy/animated for the rest of this scene.
MAURICE: ARE THIS LOT SIGNED?
LES: NOT YET, BUT THE BIG BOYS ARE ALL SNIFFING ABOUT.
LES: WHAT WE NEED IS SOMETHING A BIT MORE SECOND-DIVISION THAT NO-ONE'S SPOTTED YET...
Panel 3. Similar to panel 1 (but smaller, and a tighter focus): Les stroking his chin thoughtfully, Maurice (scowling) in profile facing Les, Constantine just in panel tapping Maurice on the shoulder (maybe the shoulder-tapping is a tiny insert panel).
MAURICE: JESUS, LES—IF IT WAS THAT EASY...
LES: MAYBE WE SHOULD CHECK OUT THE PROVINCES...
MAURICE: OH, GOD—DO WE HAVE TO?
CONSTANTINE: OI. 'SCUSE ME...
Panel 4. Largish close-up of Constantine, jerking his left thumb off panel (i.e. towards the stage). Lots of arrogant/snotty attitude, cigarette dangling from lip.
CONSTANTINE: YOU LOOKIN' FOR GROUPS, THEN?
CONSTANTINE: ONLY I GOTTA GROUP.
CONSTANTINE: AN' WE'RE BETTER THAN THIS LOT.
Panel 5. Medium: a profile shot, of Constantine facing the duo. Maurice looking mildly amused by this upstart, but Les is politely deadpan and taking him perfectly seriously (after all, this kid might be talented, you never know). Constantine less cool here, more an eager puppy.
LES: YEAH? WHAT'RE YOU CALLED?
CONSTANTINE: MUCOUS MEMBRANE.
CONSTANTINE: GOOD, EH? WE'VE SUPPORTED THE STRANGLERS, AN', AN.'..EVERYBODY.
Panel 6. Small facial close-up of Constantine, looking at the business card he's just been given—disbelieving and delighted, and trying not to show it.
MAURICE (off): OKAY—HERE'S MY CARD.
MAURICE (off): LET ME KNOW WHEN YOUR NEXT GIG IS, AND I'LL COME AND HAVE A LOOK...
PAGE TEN
Panel 1. Smallish: Constantine really pleased, positively smirking, as he rejoins his punkette.
PUNKETTE: WHAT YER GOT THERE, JOHN?
CONSTANTINE: A RESULT, DARLIN.'
Panel 2. Medium: In the foreground, Constantine is dragging his punkette off by the hand (he's smiling, determined; she's complaining). In the background (or to one side) we see Tamara pushing open the door to the womens' toilet. She's flushed and excited-looking. (ALISA: Constantine wouldn't look twice at her at this point, simply because she looks so straight and out-of-place in this crowd).
PUNKETTE: WHERE WE GOIN'?
CONSTANTINE: HOME. I GOT SONGS TO WRITE.
Panel 3. Medium: Interior of the womens' toilet. Cramped and grubby, and pretty small—no more than three cubicles (though one would be enough for our purposes). Cracked porcelain sink, a filthy linen handtowel on a roll (one of those ones you used to have to jerk out of the machine, except this one's hanging loose at the bottom). The floor is filthy. Graffiti is basically sexual ("Tony T has a small cock"), feminist (the old Women's Lib symbol) or territorial ("Bromley!").Tamara is inside, starting to push open the door of a cubicle, which is currently almost shut i.e. very slightly ajar.
Panel 4. Medium: The inside of the cubicle, from Tamara's viewpoint. Inside a couple of very young teenage punks are having sex (either up against a wall, or else she's straddling him while he sits on the seat). Both are more or less fully clothed, but have hoiked the relevant clothing up or down. I suppose you should be moderately discreet here, but we do want it to be obvious that they're having sex, and it should look extremely grubby and sordid and animalistic.
PUNK or PUNKETTE: uh uh uh
Panel 5. Small facial close-up of Tamara, flustered and blushing.
TAMARA: oh.
TAMARA: EXCUSE ME...
PUNK or PUNKETTE (off): PISS OFF.
Panel 6. Medium: Tamara exiting the toilet, still looking a bit shaken. Judy rushing up to greet her, dragging her boyfriend Ray behind her. He's aged about 19/20 i.e at least five years younger than Judy, and is very stylishly punk (though not as much as Constantine)—he's the drummer in a band.
JUDY: THERE YOU ARE...
JUDY: TAMMY, THIS IS RAY.
PAGE ELEVEN
Panel 1. Medium: Ray shaking Tamara's hand (very limp), Judy clinging onto Ray's other arm. Ray affably drunk (a beer in the hand of the arm that Judy's clinging to), Tamara a bit shy and muted (but still flushed), still a bit shaken by what she's just seen, Judy expansive.
RAY: ALL RIGHT?
TAMARA (small): Hi.
JUDY: RAY AND I ARE GOING BACK TO HIS PLACE TONIGHT, SO WE'LL DROP YOU OFF AT MINE...
Panel 2. Small close-up of Judy, quizzical and concerned.
JUDY: HONEY, ARE YOU OKAY?
Panel 3. Close-up of Tamara, still flustered but smiling in an embarrassed kind of way, maybe brushing hair back nervously.
TAMARA: I'M FINE. IT'S JUST, I JUST SAW, I MEAN, THERE WERE THESE PEOPLE...
TAMARA: OH, FORGET IT—IT'S NOTHING, REALLY.
Panel 4. Small/medium: external shot of Tamara leaving Judy's flat, pulling the door shut with one hand while still pulling her coat on. It's still night-time (about 2 or 3 a.m.).
CAPTION: SO I WENT BACK TO JUDY'S, BUT I COULDN'T STAY THERE—I FELT CAGED. I WAS DRUNK AND WIRED, AND IT FELT LIKE EVERYONE WAS HAVING SEX EXCEPT ME...
CAPTION: THERE WAS NO WAY I WAS GOING TO SLEEP, SO I JUST HAD TO GET OUT...
Panel 5. Medium profile shot of Tamara walking past a parade of shops (the one that runs from Victoria up to Buckingham Palace and St James' Park). She has her hands in her pockets, looks deep in thought. We don't need to see any other pedestrians, but you could stick in a couple of drunks making their way home if you wanted to.
CAPTION: AS I WALKED ALONG I THOUGHT ABOUT JUDY, AND HOW DIFFERENT SHE WAS TO OTHER PEOPLE—AND TO THE PEOPLE.
CAPTION: WE SPEND MOST OF THE TIME HIDING OUR WILDNESS, BUT SHE WAS PROUD OF HERS...
Panel 6. Small-medium: a rear view of Tamara, running across an empty street towards the trees of the park.
CAPTION: AND SUDDENLY WALKING JUST WASN'T ENOUGH.
CAPTION: I HAD TO RUN...
PAGES TWELVE AND THIRTEEN
Scene change: we're into St James's Park, which can give us (at whichever point you choose) Buckingham Palace as a floodlit backdrop (seen through the trees). Let's have a Union Jack fluttering on the flagpole. It being January, the trees themselves will be bare. Above, the moon is near as dammit full (it's full in four days' time). And of course, the park is dotted with glowing lamp-posts, and the streets beyond the park (the Mall etc) are all brightly lit. In other words, it's dark but with pools of light.
I leave it up to you how you structure this scene (which has now been expanded a bit) i.e. if you want to do it differently to how I've suggested, feel free.
Panels 1 & 2 & 3. Is a transformation scene. There'll be another one before we're done, so you might want to read the whole script before deciding how to handle it here. Basically, we want it to be pretty obvious what's going on i.e. she's changing into a wolf. Presumably she has to strip her clothes off as well, but since most of my stories seem to involve girls getting undressed in the woods (and I think people are beginning to talk), maybe we can gloss over that aspect here. Half-girl, half-wolf is what we ideally want (but first panel could be human, last almost fully wolf).
Panel 1. CAPTION: I'D NEVER FELT THIS ALIVE...
Panel 2. CAPTION: AND IT WAS GOOD TO CHANGE...
Panel 3. CAPTION: TO LET THE WIND RIPPLE THROUGH MY FUR...
Panel 4. Largish panel: She's transformed completely. And the Tamara-wolf (who is, incidentally, very pretty. For a wolf, that is.) is running straight towards us, tongue hanging out like a lolloping hound-dog, chasing a terrified fox before her.
CAPTION: AND TO CHASE A TRUE FOX FOR THE SHEER FUN OF IT.
CAPTION: THOUGH I THINK I FRIGHTENED THE POOR THING ALMOST TO DEATH...
Panel 5 Close-up: she's paused in her tracks, and is sniffing the breeze. Buckingham Palace here? With full moon?
CAPTION: AND THEN I SCENTED HIM.
CAPTION: A LONE MALE OF MY KIND, NOT FAR AWAY. AND YOUNG, FROM THE SMELL OF HIM.
Panel 6. And she howls. She's standing, and her head is only slightly raised—don't make it the cliched head-right-back image.
CAPTION: I DECIDED TO RISK A CALL...
TAMARA-WOLF: WOOOOOOO
CAPTION: AND HOPED IT SOUNDED MORE LIKE AN INVITATION THAN A CHALLENGE.
PAGE FOURTEEN
Panel 1. A large close-up: she looks forlorn (ears drooping), and those big brown eyes would break your heart. Make this two panels if you want (you should have room)—if so, make the first one a landscape shot (with her in silhouette), and the second one the close-up.
CAPTION: THERE WAS NO ANSWER.
CAPTION: HIS SCENT SOON FADED, AND I COULDN'T HELP THINKING...
CAPTION: WAS I GOING TO STAY A DAMN VIRGIN FOREVER?
Panel 2. Scene change. We're back in Judy's room, where Tamara is sitting up in bed (clothed) and looking very fragile indeed—puffy eyes and cheeks—dabbing at her reddish nose with a tissue. (We want her to remain slightly red- nosed and puffy-eyed for several scenes to come—the speed has indeed had a quite drastic effect on her. Dad did indeed know best!) The curtains are drawn, and lighting here comes from the screen of a small portable black and white TV (we only see the back of the set, balanced on the coffee table). Panel medium/large—make sure it's big enough for all the dialogue.
CAPTION: THE NEXT MORNING MY SINUSES WERE KILLING ME, AND I WAS LIKE, THE LIVING DEAD. IT WAS SUNDAY, AND JUDY WAS OVER AT RAY'S ALL DAY, SO I JUST STAYED IN BED...
CAPTION: SWEARING I'D NEVER TOUCH SPEED AGAIN.
TAMARA: snnnf
TV: AND NOW, A CHANGE TO OUR SCHEDULED PROGRAMME. IN MEMORY OF THE COMEDIAN GROUCHO MARX WHO DIED YESTERDAY, WE NOW PRESENT...
TV: ANIMAL CRACKERS.
Panel 3. And another scene change: it's daytime, in the Kings Road near World's End, and Judy and Tamara are making their way towards Malcolm McLaren's shop Sex (which changed its name to Seditionaries later that month). They're coming from the direction of Sloane Square, on the same side of the street as the shop. And even though this is a ritzyish part of town (and was back then as well), I don't think it's stretching credulity too far to have a shop or two boarded up, and covered with large flyposters advertising albums that have just been released—in each case they'd be a variation of the album cover art, with the words 'out now' or 'their long awaited new album' inserted where appropriate at the top or bottom. You know the sort of thing. Now, none of these would be punk albums, for the simple reason that there weren't any at this point. So, you could have any or all of the following (all released December '76 and January '77):
Arrival—ABBA A New World Record—ELO Wind & Wuthering—GENESIS Hotel California—THE EAGLES Atlantic Crossing—ROD STEWART Evita—ORIGINAL STAGE RECORDING
A pretty dire bunch, which should underline exactly why punk was necessary (apart from Abba, bless 'em). Doubtless some of these posters have been cosmetically altered by local wits i.e. 'Evita' IS SHIT. Good luck with tracking down the relevant album sleeves (no, I do not own any of them)—if all else fails, bribe a record shop to let you photograph them. Whatever you don't use here can be used for other street scenes later on, so bear that in mind (because I'm not going to repeat the list again).
Anyway, what we want here is a largish, longish shot of the two girls strolling along. Tamara is still in the same nerdy clothes; Judy wearing a tight black sweater and leather or rubber pencil skirt, under a flowing 1970s-cut fur coat. Remember to have flared-trousered disco boppers, tourists, Bay City Rollers' fans and drab and dreary old dears among the passers-by. It being a Monday, there won't be too many of them, but every time we have a street scene we want to reinforce how stupid everyone else looks. It's lightly snowing. Tamara still slightly red- nosed (and will be until she stops doing this stuff).
CAPTION: NEXT DAY JUDY FINISHED 'WORK' EARLY, AND DRAGGED ME OUT SHOPPING IN THE KING'S ROAD. I STILL FELT LIKE DEATH WARMED UP, AND PRETTY SORRY FOR MYSELF...
CAPTION: SO I MADE THE MISTAKE OF TELLING HER ABOUT MY PROBLEM.
JUDY: REALLY? STILL?
JUDY: ARE YOU TRYING TO SET A WORLD RECORD OR SOMETHING?
PAGE FIFTEEN
Panel 1. Two-shot: Tamara shuffling, hands in pockets, embarrassed but darting a defiant glance in Judy's direction. Judy all ears.
TAMARA: YOU MAKE ME SOUND LIKE SOME OLD MAID. IT'S NOT THAT BAD.
TAMARA: IS IT?
Panel 2. Similar: Judy, probing. Genuine affection here—she regards Tamara as a younger sister.
JUDY: hmmm. SO, WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?
Panel 3. Tamara gesturing broadly with one hand. They're nearing the SEX shop. PETER: make the most of that stuff we saw. (When Peter and I went to have a look at this stretch of road so he could get reference shots, we discovered something I'd never noticed before and could not have invented: McLaren's shop was/is right next door to the Chelsea Conservative Club. In short, it was practically a sitcom: my punk next door). You could have a poster of Thatcher up in one of their windows...
TAMARA: I DUNNO. I JUST...HAVEN'T MET ANYONE SPECIAL YET.
TAMARA: AND I KEEP THINKING, WHAT IF I DO IT WITH SOME GUY—JUST BECAUSE—AND HE TURNS OUT TO BE A JERK?
Panel 4. Medium: Judy dragging Tamara into SEX (which is a pretty small shop which you can go and visit—it still belongs to Vivien Westwood). Above the door, the shop sign reads S E X in big letters, each of which has been wrapped in some kind of material (rubber or vinyl is my guess). Hopefully there's reference somewhere of the shop front—I'd imagine the window display (if there was one) would be (a) minimal and (b) bizarre—a bondage mask (except we've already used that) or something similar.
JUDY: HONEY, THEY'RE ALL JERKS...OR MOST OF 'EM, ANYWAY.
TAMARA: WHY ARE WE GOING IN HERE?
JUDY: BECAUSE WHAT YOU NEED IS A WEAPON.
Panel 5. Similar: the duo exiting the shop. Tamara bringing up the rear, pleading/whingeing, a bit shocked and also a bit scared—the dress they've just bought is giving her stagefright, as it were. Judy in the lead, confident and supportive and smiling broadly, toting a large carrier bag (in bright pink?) with SEX printed on its side.
CAPTION: AND TEN MINUTES LATER, SHE'D TALKED ME INTO BUYING THIS DRESS.
TAMARA: MAYBE WE SHOULD TAKE IT BACK. I MEAN, I CAN'T WEAR IT IN PUBLIC...
JUDY: DO YOU WANT GUYS TO NOTICE YOU OR NOT?
Panel 6. And scene change: interior; smallish. We're in the hallway of a large but dilapidated house. Hallway jammed with coats on hooks, battered old pushbikes etc. Judy in the lead still, holding a front door key and calling out happily; Tamara bringing up the rear, curious and frowning slightly.
CAPTION: SO I KEPT THE DRESS. OUR NEXT STOP WAS THIS SQUAT WHERE RAY LIVED...
CAPTION: AND EVEN THOUGH MY SENSE OF SMELL WAS STILL KIND OF BLURRY, THE MINUTE WE WALKED IN THERE, I PICKED UP A SCENT I ALREADY KNEW.
JUDY: RAY-AY?
PAGE SIXTEEN
Panel 1. Very large panel: we're entering a large living room, whitewashed badly or painted in really vivid colours (i.e. whatever paint these chaps have managed to steal) and furnished in early grunge. There's a couch and a couple of armchairs (none of which match), a ratty carpet that covers about half the floor, an upturned beer or milk crate being used as a table, and a lot of domestic boy-clutter: chipped coffee mugs, piles of dogeared copies of the NME, ashtrays overbrimming with ciggie butts, crushed beer cans, plectrums, socks, empty vodka bottles, etc., etc. We also need there to be a phone here (it'll be important later on)—an old fashioned black phone with dial, lying on the floor with its lead snaking across the carpet.
Pinned/taped up on one wall is the front page of an old Daily Mirror, the headline of which reads: 'The Filth And The Fury.' Stack of albums propped up along one wall—Bowie's Low and a lot of reggae (Lee Perry, Culture's Two Sevens Clash, the soundtrack of The Harder They Come, Bob Marley & the Wailers' live album)—all this near a bulky but extremely cheap 1970s stereo (with plexiglass lid) from which emanate a few small musical notes.
We don't have to see them here, but up one end of the room—or more likely, this is two large rooms knocked through to make one big one—is a drumkit (pretty minimal/basic), some practice-amps and speakers, with battered guitars (six-string and bass) leaning up against them. A mike stand running through the same amp as one of the guitars.
Lounging about in the sofa/chair area are four young guys. Most are sitting, others can be doing anything you want (rifling through records, or wandering about the room). Most of them are at least half-registering the entrance of Judy (with Tamara right behind her). One is Ray, one is Ray's half-brother Jimmy (aged fifteen, short hair, jeans and a T-shirt that reads: Blank Generation. He's kind of latched onto Ray's lifestyle). The two other guys are both about Ray's age. One is Vic, who's mean, moody and magnificent—dark-haired, good-looking and knows it, leather trousers, a poser-cum-guitar-hero. A younger, better-looking Pete Farndon (one of the original line-up of The Pretenders). He's stretched out full-length on the sofa, reading a copy of the NME (you could probably get away with just showing the logo when we get to a close-up of him). And our final chap is the bassist, known as The Weasel, who has ginger hair cut extremely short (a punk crop), which makes him look quite severe/hard. It'll grow out somewhat in the weeks to come (to a fuzzy bogbrush), softening his face in the process. As it is, he's the least attractive member of this bunch—not hideous, just a bit idiosyncratic (I mentioned the name Billy Bragg to Peter—not as a face to copy, just as a 'type'). Wearing a ratty T-shirt that reads: Born To Be Vile. Judy's waving/gesturing vaguely in his direction.
CAPTION: ONE OF THESE GUYS WAS MY FRIEND FROM THE PARK.
STEREO: a few musical notes.
JUDY: HIYA. THIS IS MY FRIEND TAMMY, EVERYONE.
JUDY: TAMMY, YOU KNOW RAY—AND THAT'S HIS KID BROTHER JIMMY.
JUDY: THE GUY ON THE SOFA IS VIC, AND THE OTHER ONE'S KNOWN AS THE WEASEL.
CAPTION: BUT WHICH ONE? THE DRUGS HAD ROYALLY SCREWED WITH MY NOSE, AND IN THIS FORM I JUST COULDN'T TELL.
Panel 2. Smallish: Tamara is impressed, perching on the edge of an armchair (maybe just vacated by Ray, who is kissing Judy in the background).Tamara also dabbing at nose with a tissue. ALISA/NEIL: No reason why Tamara shouldn't have a brother who we don't actually see—it means a character kept up-the-sleeve for someone to draw on someday.
TAMARA: ARE YOU GUYS IN A BAND? JUDY DIDN'T TELL ME...
TAMARA: snnff
TAMARA: MY BROTHER'S IN A BAND.
Panel 3. Small two-shot, similar poses: Ray pleasant and politely curious; Tamara matter-of-fact, looking up at him.
RAY: YEAH? WHAT KIND OF STUFF DOES 'E PLAY?
TAMARA: OH, COVERS MOSTLY—BOSTON, FOREIGNER, BANDS LIKE THAT...
Panel 4. Small close-up of the Weasel, sneering/scowling.
THE WEASEL: SHIT, IN OTHER WORDS.
PAGE SEVENTEEN
Panel 1. Small close-up of Tamara, surprised at such outright rudeness, maybe can't quite believe her ears.
TAMARA: PARDON ME?
Panel 2. Close-up of the Weasel, maybe pointing pistol-like with one hand, raising a beer can with the other.
THE WEASEL: I SAID, THEY'RE SHIT.
THE WEASEL: ALL AMERICAN BANDS ARE SHIT.
Panel 3. Medium/wide: Vic has lowered his paper to comment, an explosion of derision; Ray more good-natured banter; Judy smiling broadly, taking coat off or dumping it on a chair; Tamara bemused.
VIC: BOLLOCKS.
RAY: YEAH, COME ON, WEASE—IGGY'S GOOD.
JUDY: DON'T MIND THE WEASEL, TAMMY—HE'S LIKE THIS WITH EVERYONE.
Panel 4. Medium: The Weasel grudgingly admitting they've got a point. Behind him, Vic and Ray continue to needle him (Vic still moody, Ray grinning).
THE WEASEL: OKAY, I'LL GIVE YER THAT ONE—ALL AMERICAN BANDS ARE SHIT EXCEPT IGGY.
VIC: AND THE DOLLS.
RAY: AND LOU REED...
Panel 5. Close-up of the Weasel, snarling angrily.
THE WEASEL: WILL YOU LOT FUCKIN' SHADDUP ABOUT OLD FUCKIN' AMERICANS.
THE WEASEL: THEY 'AVEN'T GOT ANY PROPER BANDS, 'AVE THEY? NOT PUNK BANDS...
Panel 6. Medium: Jimmy and Vic both teasing (even Vic's realised this is funny by now); the Weasel swatting the air in annoyance and dismissal; Ray puzzled.
JIMMY: WHAT ABOUT THE RAMONES?
VIC: AND RICHARD HELL...
THE WEASEL: OH, FUCK OFF.
RAY: I THOUGHT WE WAS NEW WAVE NOW?
PAGE EIGHTEEN
Panel 1. Smallish two-shot: Tamara trying to salvage the reputation of her musical taste; Ray pleased and pleasant.
TAMARA: WELL, I LIKED THAT BAND WE SAW THE OTHER NIGHT...
RAY: YEAH, THEY'RE GOOD, AIN'T THEY?
Panel 2. Smallish close-up of Judy, puzzled and slightly peeved.
JUDY: WHERE'S BRIAN?
JUDY: I THOUGHT YOU GUYS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE REHEARSING?
Panel 3. Smallish two-shot: Ray serious, somewhat pissed off; the Weasel also grumpy and disgusted, with arms folded.
RAY: WE HAD A RUCK WITH BRIAN...MUSICAL DIFFERENCES, Y'KNOW?
THE WEASEL: THE TOSSER WANTS TO BE ROD FUCKIN' STEWART.
Panel 4. Close-up of Ray, still pissed off and somewhat exasperated.
RAY: AND THEN THE WANKER WALKED OUT ON US...
RAY: SO WE'VE GOT A GIG FRIDAY NIGHT, AND NO FUCKIN' SINGER.
Panel 5. Two-shot: Judy in the foreground, almost playful (she knows she's making mischief); Tamara in the background, shocked and embarrassed that she's being put on the spot like this.
JUDY: TAMMY CAN SING...
TAMARA: JOO-DEE...
Panel 6. Two-shot: Judy and Tamara in profile. Judy's unrepentant, Tamara's trying to plead her way out of this.
JUDY: WELL, YOU CAN. I'VE HEARD YOU...
TAMARA: THAT WAS LIKE, JUST MESSING AROUND. I'VE NEVER SUNG IN FRONT OF PEOPLE...
JUDY: FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING, TAMMY.
PAGE NINETEEN
Panel 1. Close-up of the Weasel, flabberghasted that anyone might seriously suggest that this nerdette could be in his band.
THE WEASEL: YOU'RE KIDDIN.'
THE WEASEL: I MEAN...LOOK AT 'ER.
Panel 2. Close-up of Judy, eyes narrowed, peeved.
JUDY: IS THAT ALL THAT'S BOTHERING YOU?
Panel 3. Medium/large: Judy has Tamara's hand in hers—and that 'Sex' carrier bag in her other hand—and is literally dragging the bemused Tamara out of the door (the door they came in is fine—we'll assume the bathroom is upstairs).
JUDY: COME ON, GIRL...
JUDY: MAKEOVER TIME.
TAMARA: BUT I DON'T...
Panel 4. Smallish: And that door slams shut behind them.
SFX: SLAM.
Panel 5. Vic looking over his paper, mildly amused. A medium close-up.
VIC: YOU GOT A REAL WAY WITH WOMEN, YOU KNOW THAT?
Panel 6. Basically a two shot (though we need Vic as well—Ray would be addressing him): Ray being reasonable, Weasel annoyed that all this is even being considered. As background business over the next couple of panels, we want to see Vic getting up and fetching a guitar, maybe returning to his seat with it.
RAY: I SUPPOSE WE COULD GIVE 'ER A TRY, COULDN'T WE?
THE WEASEL: WHAT THE FUCK FOR?
PAGE TWENTY
Panel 1. Similar (smallish) two-shot: both Ray and Weasel argumentative.
RAY: BECAUSE WE NEED A SINGER, STUPID.
THE WEASEL: WHY HER? WHAT'S WRONG WITH VIC?
Panel 2. Close-up of Vic, dismissing the idea. Lower lip stuck out, shaking head. Tuning his guitar.
VIC: IF I'D WANTED TO BE A SINGER, I'D'VE BEEN A SINGER. I'M A GUITARIST.
VIC: I'M OKAY DOING BACKING. ANY MORE'N THAT AND MY PLAYING FUCKS UP.
Panel 3. Two-shot: Vic now strumming the guitar in the background. In the foreground, an enthusiastic Ray is addressing the grumpy (arms folded) Weasel. Jimmy chiming in from the background.
VIC: I SUPPOSE HAVING A CHICK SINGER WOULD BE A GOOD ANGLE...
RAY: THAT'S RIGHT. AND WE NEED SOME SORT OF GIMMICK.
RAY: NOBODY ELSE HAS GOT A GIRL SINGER THESE DAYS. 'SPECIALLY NOT AN AMERICAN ONE...
JIMMY: YEAH.
Panel 4. Medium: a two-shot. The Weasel, scandalised/outraged that their principles are being compromised. Ray is taken aback by the depth of this onslaught, is maybe even a little sheepish.
THE WEASEL: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE USING WORDS LIKE "GIMMICK."
THE WEASEL: IF WE'RE GONNA BE SOME POXY POP GROUP, WE SHOULDA JUST HUNG ONTO SODDIN' BRIAN.
Panel 5. Large close-up of the Weasel. Real vitriol.
THE WEASEL: JUST 'CAUSE YOU'RE SHAGGIN' SOME YANK BIRD DOESN'T MEAN EVERYBODY FANCIES 'EM. AND IT DOESN'T MEAN WE HAVE TO HAVE 'ER DODGY MATE IN THE BAND, EITHER.
THE WEASEL: HAVE YOU SEEN HER NOSE? A FIVER SAYS THIS STUPID BOILER'S ANOTHER FUCKIN' SPEEDFREAK.
PAGE TWENTY ONE
Panel 1. Medium two-shot of Ray (puzzled and annoyed) and Vic (reasonable, the peacemaker here).
RAY: MAYBE SHE'S JUST GOT A COLD...
RAY: AN' WHAT'S WRONG WITH SPEED, ANYWAY?
VIC: LOOK, IT CAN'T KILL US TO HEAR HER, CAN IT?
Panel 2. Tiny close-up of Ray, needling Weasel.
RAY: OR ARE YOU GONNA BE A CUNT ALL YER LIFE?
Panel 3. Tiny close-up of the Weasel. Part angry, part hurt.
THE WEASEL: THAT AIN'T FAIR. I'M JUST THINKIN' OF THE BAND.
THE WEASEL: AND ANOTHER THING...
Panel 4. Identical to last panel, but now the Weasel is lost for words.
THE WEASEL (small): fuck...
THE WEASEL (small): me...
Panel 5. Large two-shot, which gets the lion's share of this page and dominates it: framed in the (open) doorway is Judy proudly (and smugly) ushering Tamara (smiling nervously) before her. Tamara's wearing a skin-tight rubber dress (with chain-link belt) that definitely makes the most of what she's got. Dress is not that short (a couple of inches above the knee), but tight enough to make underwear impossible, so let's have some stiff nipples here. She's wearing much more make-up (especially eyeliner—the same as Judy's, 'cause she's supplied it); they've brushed her hair back behind her ears and pinned it (but it's breaking loose in a very charming way—maybe Tamara's fiddling with it nervously). She's barefoot and bare-legged, and her shyness adds a whole extra dimension of sexiness here.
JUDY: YOU WISH.
CAPTION: SO IT WAS ALL JUDY'S FAULT. I'D NEVER HAVE HAD THE NERVE TO WEAR THAT DRESS IF SHE HADN'T MADE ME TAKE SOME MORE SPEED...
CAPTION: AND THE MINUTE I TOOK IT, I FELT HUMAN AGAIN...
PAGE TWENTY TWO
Panel 1. Medium/large panel: the group, full frontal. Ray at the back on drums, both drumsticks currently in one hand. Weasel on bass, Vic on guitar (both tuning up). Tammy standing nervously between the two guitarists. She's holding a hand microphone at about waist level, pointing it away from her. Very tentative in manner. Judy and Jimmy are their audience (don't have to see them in this panel though).
CAPTION: AND I MUST HAVE LOOKED OKAY, 'CAUSE THEY GAVE ME AN AUDITION AFTER ALL.
RAY: WHAT WE GONNA PLAY, THEN?
TAMARA (small): er...
TAMARA: DO YOU GUYS KNOW THAT MARILYN MONROE SONG, 'RUNNING WILD'? IT'S FROM SOME LIKE IT HOT...
Panel 2. Small close-up of Vic, mildly amused, mildly friendly.
VIC: NO.
VIC: BUT THAT WON'T STOP US. HOW'D'S IT GO?
Panel 3. Medium/large: mainly Tamara, singing her heart out.
ALISA: All lyrics—even this one—are by me, unless otherwise stated. And I've trimmed them all to the bone (or thereabouts).
CAPTION: I FELT SO STUPID. I'D CHOSEN THE SONG, AND THEN I COULDN'T REMEMBER ANY OF THE WORDS—SO I HAD TO MAKE UP SOME NEW ONES ON THE SPOT.
TAMARA (with musical notes): RUNNIN' WILD, ON A SPREE...
TAMARA (with musical notes): RUNNIN' WILD, SILLY ME...
CAPTION: IT TOOK FOREVER, BUT I TAUGHT THEM THE SONG—EXCEPT I ALWAYS STARTED SINGING TOO LATE OR TOO SOON...
Panel 4. Smallish: rear view of Tamara taking a bow (or curtseying exaggeratedly); beyond her, Judy is clapping and screaming enthusiastically and Jimmy is smiling and clapping in a more restrained manner.
CAPTION: BUT ABOUT LIKE, AN HOUR LATER WE FINALLY MANAGED TO PLAY IT ONCE RIGHT THROUGH WITHOUT IT SOUNDING TOO BAD...
JUDY: WOO WOO!
JUDY: MORE!
Panel 5. Smallish two-shot: Ray and the Weasel bickering.
RAY: WELL, THAT WAS BOLLOCKS. ARE YOU FUCKIN' DEAF, WEASEL?
THE WEASEL: WHARRABOUT YOU? YOU WERE ALL OVER THE FUCKIN' SHOP...
Panel 6. Small close-up of Vic, smiling approvingly. Impressed and optimistic.
VIC: YEAH, BUT SHE WAS ALL RIGHT...
VIC: SIX MORE LIKE THAT AN' WE'VE GOT A SET.
PAGE TWENTY THREE
Panel 1. Exterior, evening/night. Medium/large panel. We haven't said where this squat is, but Camden would be a good bet. It's a dilapidated Victorian terraced house, and Tamara and Judy are in the process of leaving—Judy pulling the front door shut, Tamara (half-pretending, half-serious) having a go at her. Tamara has changed back into jeans again. Don't forget, there's now a bit of snow on the ground, and this scene gives you another opportunity for passers-by, graffiti and posters. Pools of light from lampposts and car headlights.
CAPTION: SO THEY ASKED ME TO BE THEIR NEW SINGER. EVEN THE WEASEL AGREED.
CAPTION: AND I HEARD MYSELF SAYING, 'SURE, WHY NOT?', LIKE I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING.
TAMARA: JUDY—WHAT HAVE YOU GOTTEN ME INTO?
Panel 2. Smallish two-shot: the duo walking down the street, linking arms. Tamara still in shock, Judy bubbly.
JUDY: I'VE GOTTEN YOU INTO A BAND, SILLY.
TAMARA: GOD, MY KNEES ARE STILL SHAKING...
JUDY: YOU'LL BE FINE. I WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE DRESS, WASN'T I?
Panel 3. Similar. Tamara a bit more relaxed (also puzzled/curious).
TAMARA: I GUESS...
TAMARA: DO THEY ALL LIVE THERE?
JUDY: UH-HUH. EXCEPT JIMMY. HE'S JUST STAYING WITH RAY WHILE HIS MOM'S ON VACATION...
Panel 4. Close-up of Tamara, looking deeply puzzled.
CAPTION: I COULDN'T FIGURE OUT WHICH OF THOSE GUYS WAS LIKE ME...OR WHY THEY DIDN'T SEEM TO HAVE RECOGNISED ME EITHER...
JUDY (off): AND THERE'S A GUY CALLED NIGEL LIVES THERE TOO—HE'S KIND OF LIKE THEIR MANAGER...
Panel 5. Two-shot, quite close in: Judy turning to Tamara in a confidential (and slightly concerned) way. Tamara embarrassed, laughing.
JUDY: YOU DO REALIZE VIC REALLY LIKES YOU?
TAMARA: HE DOES NOT.
Panel 6. Mainly Judy, pushing the point home, grinning. Tamara just visible, blushing slightly and acting both surprised and astounded (implications dawning).
JUDY: HONEY, HE COULD BARELY TAKE HIS EYES OFF YOU.
TAMARA: NO? REALLY?
JUDY: UH-HUH. YOU MADE A HIT.
Panel 7. Small close-up of Tamara, smiling slightly—pleased and flattered and grudgingly admitting the depth of her interest.
TAMARA: I GUESS HE IS KIND OF CUTE...
PAGE TWENTY FOUR
Panel 1. Large panel: Exterior, night. Tamara's in wolf-form, and is standing on a rooftop across the street from the squat, looking down on the house. Maybe her front paws are up on some kind of ledge; she's attentive, but...depressed, and her tail is down. Since we've already had a front view of her looking forlorn, let's have a rear/side view of her here. Behind her, there are paw prints tracked in the snow. This also gives us the opportunity for a rooftop shot of a lightly snow-covered London stretching off into the distant background beyond her (a magical winter wonderland—the same kind of feel as in Peter Pan, or Mary Poppins) with some visibly recognisable landmarks (GPO Tower and Centrepoint would both be visible from Camden). At night, this dilapidated city looked magical even then. Assuming we had the full moon earlier, we don't need it again here (but put it in if you really want to).
CAPTION: I WENT BACK THERE LATE THAT NIGHT, JUST IN CASE MY FRIEND CAME OUT TO PLAY...
CAPTION: BUT EVEN IN THIS FORM MY NOSE WAS JUST SHOT. I COULDN'T SCENT A THING.
Panel 2. Medium: the front door of the squat, and the pavement in front of it, as seen from above and also diagonally (she's across the street). The snow isn't that heavy, but is definitely heavy enough to show footprints. And there's definitely been some foot traffic on the pavement, but we can clearly see a set of human prints (barefoot) leaving the house, and becoming a set of wolf prints (maybe the prints get all mixed up with others, and are clearly wolf as they move away on their own path—into middle of road is a possibility). We need to be fairly close in on all this so it's clear what's going on.
CAPTION: FORTUNATELY MY EYES STILL WORKED, AND THEY TOLD ME I WAS OUT OF LUCK. I'D ALREADY MISSED HIM.
Panel 3. Close-up of Tamara-wolf—sad yet again. Maybe she's turning away disconsolately, or jumping down from her vantage point onto the roof (or a fire escape).
CAPTION: I WAITED AN HOUR OR SO, BUT HE NEVER SHOWED...
CAPTION: SO I GAVE UP AND WENT BACK TO JUDY'S...
Panel 4. Medium/small: outside Judy's flat. She's in human form (and clothed), and is looking at the doormat, where we might (we don't have to) make out the fact that there's a dead rabbit lying there.
CAPTION: BUT WHEN I GOT THERE...
CAPTION: I FOUND A PRESENT WAITING FOR ME ON THE DOORSTEP.
PAGE TWENTY FIVE
Panel 1. Medium: a close-up of Tamara holding up her gift by its ears, regarding it with a romantic sigh (this girl is easily pleased).
CAPTION: WELL, IT WASN'T FLOWERS OR CANDY...
CAPTION: BUT IT WAS A START.
Panel 2. A medium/large panel. We're back in the squat, in the rehearsal area. All just standing or sitting about, though Weasel and Vic have guitars strapped on. Minor changes of clothing for the band (different shirts or T-shirts— maybe Weasel's wearing the same one). But Tamara's made an effort—wearing a chunky long white pullover, black mini-skirt, boots that stop just below the knee. Tied her hair up in ponytail, definitely wearing makeup. Nose still a bit red at the tip (from cold and speed). She's sitting/perching on the arm of a chair, or leaning against a speaker, arms folded, a bit bored. Weasel and Vic are in one mini-conversation, while Ray is standing talking to a new character: Nigel. He's aged a bit older than the band (mid to late twenties), and is a nice guy but a bit dorkish (longer hair, a bit overweight). Wears a battered old leather coat (not jacket).
CAPTION: I KNEW I'D FEEL SHITTY THE NEXT MORNING, AND I WAS RIGHT...BUT JUST LIKE BEFORE, AFTER ANOTHER LINE OF SPEED I WAS FINE AGAIN—JUST IN TIME FOR OUR FIRST SERIOUS REHEARSAL...
CAPTION: WHICH IS WHERE I MET NIGEL...
NIGEL: SO LET ME SEE IF I'VE GOT THIS STRAIGHT...
Panel 3. Medium/large close-up of Nigel, annoyed and exasperated (but trying to keep it under control). In the background Vic is tuning his guitar, a lit cigarette dangling from his lip.
NIGEL: I LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR A DAY AND YOU FIRE THE SINGER, HIRE A NEW ONE, CHANGE THE GROUP'S NAME AND DECIDE YOU'RE GOING TO WRITE A WHOLE NEW SET BY FRIDAY...
VIC: PIECE O'PISS.
NIGEL: IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE I SHOULD KNOW?
Panel 4. Smallish two-shot: Ray, sincere and earnest; Weasel sneering (arms folded, resting on the top of his guitar).
RAY: WE GOTTA DO ALL THIS, NIGE—THE NAME AND THE SONGS WAS ALL BRIAN'S, AND...
THE WEASEL: THE WANKER'S WELCOME TO 'EM...
RAY: WE GOTTA BE US, Y'KNOW?
Panel 5. Largish close-up of Nigel. Annoyed—and visibly/volubly so—but reasonable with it.
NIGEL: YEAH, I DO KNOW. I'D JUST LIKE TO BE CONSULTED ABOUT STUFF LIKE THIS, THAT'S ALL.
NIGEL: JUST BECAUSE I DO YOUR SOUND, GET YOU GIGS AND DRIVE YOU ABOUT DOESN'T MAKE ME YOUR FUCKING SERVANT, Y'KNOW.
NIGEL: I'M A PART OF ALL THIS.
PAGE TWENTY SIX
Panel 1. Medium: in the foreground, Ray being apologetic to Nigel (still frowning slightly); beyond them, Vic is holding up a phone receiver (and cupping the mouthpiece with one hand).
RAY: SORRY, NIGE. BUT YOU WASN'T HERE, SO...
RAY: SORRY.
VIC: PHONECALL, NIGE...
NIGEL: I'LL TAKE IT UPSTAIRS.
Panel 2. A medium close-up of Tamara, perkily trying to change the subject/mood. Behind her we see a rear view of Nigel walking out the door. Nigel now offstage until I tell you.
TAMARA: SO...WHAT ARE WE CALLED?
Panel 3. Small/medium: a triple-shot: Ray grinning, Vic smiling cooly and the Weasel (turning towards the other two but jerking his thumb towards us in a mildly stroppy way).
RAY: WELL, WE WAS CALLED THE BONE IDOLS...
VIC: AND NOW WE'RE THE UNINVITED. WE DECIDED LAST NIGHT...
THE WEASEL: WHAT'S SHE GONNA BE CALLED, ANYWAY?
Panel 4. Smallish two-shot: Tamara (still perched where she was) with arms folded, puzzled and a little peeved; Ray in front of her, very amused—he's talking to Weasel, but we don't have to see him here.
TAMARA: WHAT'S WRONG WITH TAMARA?
RAY: SHE DON'T NEED TO USE A NAME, PILLOCK. SHE AIN'T ON THE DOLE, IS SHE?
Panel 5. Smallish: mainly Ray, grinning as he explains about punk names. Vic and Weasel could be visible in the background (tuning up), or else we could have Tamara being bewildered.
RAY: SEE, WE ALL USE LIKE, ALIASES, SO'S WE CAN KEEP ON CLAIMIN' DOLE MONEY.
RAY: SO I'M RAY GUNN, HE'S VIC VERSA, AND THE WEASEL'S...THE WEASEL.
Panel 6. Another triple-shot, as small as you can make it: Ray teasing Weasel, who's ignoring him (his response isn't nasty, merely automatic), and Vic being impatient. Vic standing, resting left foot on a chair (or something else), resting guitar on his left knee, plectrum in his right hand. Hasn't started playing yet, but is about to.
RAY: WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME, ANYWAY?
WEASEL: FUCK OFF.
VIC: COME ON, LET'S GET TO BLOODY WORK. WE'VE STILL GOT A COUPLE OF SONGS THAT AIN'T BRIAN'S. REMEMBER THIS?
PAGE TWENTY SEVEN
Panel 1. Large close-up of Vic, strumming away and watching what he's doing. Singing quietly and concentrating. If you were a girl, you'd think he was cool and sexy.
VIC (with musical notes): I USED TO RUN WITH A PACK, NOW I'M ON MY OWN...
VIC (with musical notes): I GOT THE MOON ON MY BACK, AND I'M ALMOST GROWN...
Panel 2. Largish close-up of Tamara, stunned but delighted.
VIC (with musical notes): I WANT TO HOWL. I'M ON THE PROWL...
VIC (off): OR ELSE THERE'S THIS ONE...'COURSE, IT NEEDS SOME WORDS...
CAPTION: AND THE MYSTERY WAS SOLVED. HE WAS PRACTICALLY TELLING ME WHO HE WAS, LIKE HE WANTED TO MAKE SURE I KNEW.
Panel 3. Another shot of Vic strumming away (he now looks sensitive and poetic). This could be smallish, were it not for the lengthy caption, so...angle it however you want. Some musical notes emanating from the guitar.
CAPTION: IF I HAD ANY DOUBTS, THEY VANISHED WITH THE NEXT THING HE PLAYED—THIS ROCK VERSION OF AN OLD FOLK TUNE CALLED 'THE PEOPLE'S LAMENT.' I'D KNOWN IT SINCE I WAS LIKE, IN MY CRADLE...
Panel 4. Medium: Vic interrupted by the arrival of Jimmy, in school uniform and carrying battered briefcase, looking chirpy and cheeky. Behind him is a sexy blonde schoolgirl of 15 or 16, also grinning. Vic's stopped playing to look over his shoulder at the new arrivals. Weasel also registering their arrival.
CAPTION: BUT BEFORE I COULD SAY, 'I KNOW THIS ONE', WE GOT INTERRUPTED...
JIMMY: HIYA...
VIC: HOW WAS SCHOOL?
JIMMY: CRAP, AS USUAL.
Panel 5. Smallish two-shot: Tamara, curious in a gossipy kind of way, whispering to Ray; Ray shrugging.
TAMARA: IS THAT JIMMY'S GIRLFRIEND?
RAY: DUNNO.
PAGE TWENTY EIGHT
Panel 1. Large panel: Vic (now standing) has been straddled by the schoolgirl, who has both arms round his neck and both legs round his waist. Vic is holding his guitar off to one side (out of the way of her assault), but is mildly annoyed that she's nearly damaged it. She's attempting to pull him close enough to kiss. We don't have to see them again this page, but if we do then they're snogging (in same/similar pose), or else she's dragging him off somewhere by the hand (or guitar strap).
RAY (off): er, APPARENTLY NOT.
VIC: MIND THE BLOODY GUITAR, DEBS...
DEBBIE: C'MERE.
Panel 2. Two-shot: Ray mildly concerned, Tamara has arms folded across her stomach, with head down (trying to conceal that she's upset). If there's room, let's see Vic and Debbie (kissing) as well. We don't have to see Tamara again this scene, but if we do she's still got the blues—not exactly sulking, but close. NEIL: Tamara's line is a joke I couldn't resist. We will be seeing her transform when it's obviously not the full moon, but if you think this is confusing the issue about the people not being 'traditional' werewolves, then we can change her answer to indicate a cold or indigestion (i.e. drugs and rabbits, another well-known group).
RAY: YOU ALLRIGHT, LOVE?
TAMARA: YEAH...IT'S JUST, YOU KNOW, THAT TIME OF THE MONTH.
Panel 3. And cut to the door, where Nigel's re-entering the room, smiling gently but proudly, carrying a piece of paper or notebook. Weasel registering his entrance.
THE WEASEL: YOU LOOK 'APPY, NIGE...
NIGEL: YEAH, GOOD NEWS. WE'VE GOT A FEW MORE GIGS LINED UP.
NIGEL: 'COURSE, THEY'RE NOT GOING TO GET THE GROUP THEY'RE EXPECTING, BUT THAT'S THEIR TOUGH SHIT. ANYWAY...
Panel 4. Smallish close-up of Nigel, very pleased with himself. ALISA: We will explain more fully what the Marquee is (for the benefit of our American viewers), but not until we actually get there.
NIGEL: YOU'RE GOING TO BE PLAYING THE MARQUEE IN A FEW WEEKS TIME.
Panel 5. Group shot: Ray and Weasel are gobsmacked (puzzled, and looking for the catch). In the background, Vic is also deeply interested, and has disentangled himself from Debbie (to her mild annoyance). Nigel in playful mood, enjoying his triumph. ALISA: Weasel's line is here to keep reader Joe Strummer happy.
RAY: I THOUGHT THEY'D BANNED PUNK?
THE WEASEL: THEY BANNED THE PISTOLS...AND THEY TOLD THE CLASH TO FUCK OFF...
NIGEL: WELL, NOW THEY'VE UN-BANNED IT. OBVIOUSLY, THEY SMELL MONEY.
Panel 6. Small two-shot: Ray (curious/hopeful) and Nigel (laughing).
RAY: SO...ARE WE HEADLINING?
NIGEL: 'COURSE NOT—I'M NOT THAT GOOD. YOU'RE SUPPORTING MUCOUS MEMBRANE.
PAGE TWENTY NINE
Panel 1. Two-shot: Weasel scandalised, Ray pragmatic and thrilled, whapping Weasel in the chest with the back of his hand. In the background, Tamara is possibly looking puzzled as well as grumpy.
THE WEASEL: THAT BUNCH OF TOSSERS?
RAY: SHUDDUP, WEASE—IT 'S STILL THE MARQUEE. WE'RE DOING IT.
RAY: NIGE, I'M BUYING YOU A PINT.
CAPTION: I DIDN'T FIND OUT WHY THIS MARQUEE THING WAS SUCH A BIG DEAL TILL LATER, BUT THE GUYS WERE ALL LIKE, ECSTATIC.
Panel 2. It's a few days after the last scene, and we're onstage at the band's very first gig, where they're about to start playing. The venue is a pub—and a fairly grotty one at that. It was always the worst pubs that had bands on— Watneys and Ind Coope, usually—because they really needed some added attraction to get people through the door in the first place. It'd be small (not tiny, just not a barn), with tables and chairs towards the rear and standing room up the front.
Here we want a medium panel, looking head on at the stage. There's a black backdrop with the name of the pub in red—Newlands Tavern—and the stage is small (small enough so's the band are crowded together a bit) and sunk back into the wall, but jutting out a little into the room. Stacks of amps and speakers at back of stage (very basic, nothing fancy). Two mike stands are set up at front of stage (one for Tamara, one for Vic). Left to right we see Weasel (still tuning up), Tamara and Vic (yelling into the mike, hands already forming a chord on the guitar neck). All of them look a bit nervous—the others are covering it up well, but with Tamara it's a bit more obvious—she's gripping the mike stand for dear life and looks really pale.
The band are all wearing slightly cleaner and flashier gear than we've seen them in to date (but not by too much—these aren't special stage outfits, but stuff they'd wear on the street. That said, their idea of street wear is still comparatively outrageous). Vic definitely has leather trousers on, Ray and Weasel in slightly newer/cleaner T-shirts (with slogans). Tamara has hair tied up in bunches (the mad schoolgirl look) and is wearing the Sex dress from earlier—in reality it'd probably be too hot for this kind of outing, so let's have her sweating before this gig's over).
CAPTION: SO WE REHEARSED AND REHEARSED, AND THEN SUDDENLY IT WAS FRIDAY AND WE WERE DOING IT...
VIC: WE'RE THE UNINVITED, BUT WE'RE HERE ANYWAY...
VIC: AHHONETWOFREEFOUR...
Panel 3. Large panel: close-in on the group, with Tamara the focus. Still looking a bit nervous, but much better than in the previous panel (we've actually time-jumped by a couple of songs).
CAPTION: I WAS NERVOUS AS HELL, AND SPEEDING LIKE CRAZY...BUT IT WAS REALLY EXHILARATING, AND AFTER A COUPLE OF SONGS I STARTED TO UNCLENCH A BIT...
CAPTION: WE PLAYED 'ON THE PROWL', 'RUNNING WILD' AND SOME BOWIE AND IGGY COVERS—AND ONE SONG I'D WRITTEN WITH RAY...
TAMARA (with musical notes): THEY SAY YOU'RE NOTORIOUS—HONEY, I'M NOT EVEN CURIOUS...
Panel 4. Medium/large. Angle this one from the side slightly, so that Tamara's in the front at right of panel, we get a glimpse of Ray in the background at extreme left (both drumsticks raised high and a look of completely manic concentration on his face). Somewhere in the middle is Vic, concentrating intently and seriously on his guitar. We want to convey a bit of ironic contrast between their personal relationship and the lyrics here if we can, so Vic and Tamara should have the lion's share of space. But make sure Weasel's visible in at least one of these panels.
TAMARA (with musical notes): THEY SAY YOU LIKE HER MORE THAN ME—YOU MUST BE BLIND AS FAR AS I CAN SEE...
PAGE THIRTY
Panels 1 & 2. Two medium/large panels (maybe one angled sort of from above and behind, as if you were a backlight, so we can get some focus on the audience). Tamara's a born performer (she's got one hand on the mike—detached from its stand, so it's now a hand mike—and is making some extravagantly sweeping waving or pulling gesture with her other hand, one heel kicking backwards). She's actively singing to the front row. Most of the audience are obviously enjoying the show (grins and approving smiles and glances), and are focussed mostly on her. Very few of these people will be punks—mostly they'll be young guys aged 19-24, and most of them will have long hair (with a few beards in evidence). Dress will be mainly velvet jackets, Levi jackets, those hideous check things that looked like pretend flying jackets, cheesecloth shirts, cowboyish gear...A few of the less socially inept have girlfriends in tow (a mix of schoolgirls and secretaries, all vaguely bored and drinking Campari), wearing chokers and minidresses and knee-high boots with platform heels. How did I forget to mention platforms back when I was talking about fashion?
Among the many faces in the audience will be the supporters' club: Jimmy, Judy, Debbie and Nigel (he's right at the back, bent over a small and primitive sound desk but concentrating on the stage. There'll also be a handful of other punks (of both sexes) here, and they'll really stand out from the herd. Judy could be wearing that Chinese dress again, and Debbie's dressed (minidress, black tights) and heavily made-up to appear much older than she really is.
Panel 1. TAMARA (with musical notes): JUST GO AWAY BOY, YOU BOTHER ME.
Panel 2. TAMARA (with musical notes): 'N' YOU'RE JUST TOO MUCH TRUH-UBBLE...
Panel 3. Medium close-up of TAMARA: beads of perspiration and her hair's plastered to her brow. But she's also smiling, and positively glowing. Post-coital, in fact.
CAPTION: WE WERE REALLY RAGGED BUT...THEY LIKED US. I MEAN, I COULD FEEL THIS RESPONSE.
AUDIENCE (off): MORE.
AUDIENCE (off): WOO!
AUDIENCE (off): YEAH!
CAPTION: IT WAS KIND OF LIKE WHAT I HOPED SEX WOULD BE LIKE...
Panel 4. Medium/small panel. Cut to after the gig (so late at night, after the pub's shut), and we're outside on the pavement. At the kerb is parked a battered old blue Bedford transit van, its back doors wide open. It's rusty and dirty, but this thing is big enough to take all their equipment, plus all of them (and friends/partners—two or three of whom will ride shotgun upfront with Nigel). Ray's crouching inside it, stashing some drum or guitar cases; Tamara's approaching it carrying a mike stand; the Weasel's carrying an amp and a guitar case, tottering under the load. Vic's in the foreground, leaning against the pub's outer wall and smooching with Debbie. Tamara's aware of this, and looks uncomfortable (a disapproving sidelong glance). Everybody in this scene (the band, Judy, Jimmy, Debbie and Nigel) will be wearing jackets or overcoats (it is January, after all). Vic's will be a long, fifties-style overcoat, Weasel's wearing a ratty sports jacket, Debbie a short fur coat, Nigel an old suede car coat, Tamara her sleeping-bag overcoat (she'll get rid of it soon, and not a moment before time), Ray in a Levi's jacket with motheaten pullover underneath, Jimmy in something similar, Judy in that fur coat we saw earlier.
CAPTION: NOT THAT IT LOOKED LIKE THERE WAS MUCH CHANCE OF ME FINDING OUT...
WEASEL: DON'T FUCKIN' 'ELP, VIC.
CAPTION: 'CAUSE VIC WAS STILL GLUED TO HIS SCHOOLGIRL. I COULDN'T BELIEVE HE PREFERRED A HUMAN TO ME.
PAGE THIRTY ONE
Panel 1. Medium/large: the same scene. Ray quite pleased with himself, gently ribbing Weasel (a rear view only—he's loading stuff into the van). Nigel entering at right of panel, exiting pub and strugglng with a smallish speaker cabinet (a monitor speaker, perhaps). In the back of the van will be riding Vic & Debbie, Jimmy and the Weasel...so maybe here Jimmy's already inside, and Vic and Debbie are clambering aboard as well.
RAY: WELL I THOUGHT IT WENT OFF ALLRIGHT. WHADDIDYER RECKON, NIGE?
NIGEL: NOT BAD...
NIGEL: YOU STILL NEED MORE MATERIAL, THOUGH.
Panel 2. Small two-shot: Weasel scowling, climbing into the van or already aboard and closing the doors behind him. Rear view of Nigel.
NIGEL: WE SET? GOT EVERYTHING?
WEASEL: YEAH. LET'S GET OUT OF 'ERE.
WEASEL: I FUCKIN' 'ATE SOUTH LONDON.
Panel 3. Medium: we're in the back of the van, and it's very cramped and crowded. Nigel is upfront in the driver's seat, but turning round or yelling over his shoulder while looking in mirror. In the back, everyone's wedged in uncomfortably amongst all the gear and general rubbish (beer cans etc). Jimmy almost chirpy, Weasel world- weary, Vic & Debbie are cuddled up cosily, and Vic's yelling out cheerfully.
NIGEL: EVERYONE ALL RIGHT BACK THERE?
WEASEL: JUST FUCKIN' DRIVE, WILL YER?
VIC: HEY, NIGE—RAY 'N' TAMMY COULD WRITE US SOME MORE NEW STUFF...
Panel 4. Smallish horizontal: we're looking at the van straight on, and through the windshield we can see those up front (we just need to see them, not much of the van). Left to right: Nigel (driving), Ray (almost invisible, because he's got Judy on his lap), Tamara (mildly peeved at having work dumped on her—especially by Vic) either semi- turning round to reply or looking up into the mirror. It's a tight squeeze in the front as well.
TAMARA: WHY US?
Panel 5. Smallish two-shot: Vic grinning good-naturedly; Debbie looks sulky and jealous, hanging onto Vic fiercely and possessively.
VIC: BECAUSE THEY CLAPPED AFTER YOUR ONE, THAT'S WHY.
PAGE THIRTY TWO
Panel 1. Scene change, and a medium/large panel (big enough for captions): It's a day or so later, and we're in the kitchen at the squat, which is pretty bare and basic (and pretty grotty—pretty much what you'd expect from a bunch of single guys in their early twenties: more The Young Ones than This Life). Ray and Tamara are sitting round a formica-topped (but peeling) table, which is littered with biscuits, mugs, an ashtray. He's wearing a skimpy pullover with sleeves rolled up, cradling an extremely battered acoustic guitar. She's similarly scruffily dressed and scribbling with a biro on an A4 notepad (lined paper). She's probably left-handed (my apologies if I should have mentioned that eighty pages ago), and pushing her hair back with her other hand (concentrating, and mildly terrified by this ordeal she's accepted). Behind them Judy is making or drinking some tea. There's a poster up on the wall (torn and creased and several months old). It's a very primitive/basic poster advertising a gig by The Damned (their name in big letters) supported by The Bone Idols (their name in smaller letters) at the 100 Club, on October 31st, 1976.
CAPTION: SO WE GAVE IT A TRY...
RAY: VERSE, CHORUS, VERSE, CHORUS, MIDDLE BIT, CHORUS. GOT IT?
TAMARA: er...I THINK SO.
CAPTION: THERE WAS A SPARE ROOM IN THE SQUAT, SO I MOVED IN—IT WAS JUST EASIER. I FELT COMPLETELY SAFE WITH THOSE GUYS AND ANYWAY, IT WASN'T LIKE I WAS THE ONLY GIRL—JUDY SPENT MOST OF HER SPARE TIME THERE, AND OF COURSE VIC WAS WITH DEBBIE...
Panel 2. Medium panel: Tamara's bedroom. Yes, she's moved into the squat, and her room is extremely bare: just a mattress on the floor, a broken mirror and one sad-looking wooden chair. Her bag is visible somewhere, with clothes spilling out—all other possessions are all over the floor: make-up, hairbrush, box of Tampax, tissues. There's a book near her pillow—a Penguin Classic edition of Ovid's Metamorphoses. She's sitting up in bed wearing a lumpy old cardigan or sweater over a plain long white cotton nightdress, in the act of scribbling away on her notepad but looking up, obviously somewhat startled. Light comes from a candle (bare wire dangling overhead for the light that isn't there) and from a fire that's dying in the grate (a few flames still licking feebly).
CAPTION: ALL I HAD WAS LYRICS TO WRITE.
CAPTION: BUT THE SECOND NIGHT I WAS THERE, I HEARD SOMEONE OUTSIDE MY DOOR...
Panel 3. A medium/small close-up. She's standing in her doorway, sleepily examining another dead rabbit. Puzzled.
CAPTION: OF COURSE, THEY'D GONE BY THE TIME I GOT THERE. ALL I FOUND WAS ANOTHER PRESENT.
CAPTION: BUT WHY WAS VIC GIVING ME RABBITS WHEN HE HAD DEBBIE ASLEEP IN HIS BED? WAS THIS SOME KIND OF KINKY INVITATION?
Panel 4. Similar, but on the smaller side. She's now more puzzled—and somewhat worried/nervous. A second thought has just occurred, and she's drooping somewhat, lowering the rabbit.
CAPTION: OR ELSE...MAYBE IT WASN'T A PRESENT.
CAPTION: MAYBE IT WAS SOME KIND OF LIKE, WARNING. MAYBE HE WANTED ME TO LEAVE...
PAGE THIRTY THREE
Panel 1. Large panel. Tamara—in wolf-form—is coming towards us down the stairs (nearly at the bottom and entering the hall, which is as we saw it earlier, though you might have to go back and retro-build these stairs in). She's still wearing the nightie and cardigan (we wants echoes of Little Red Riding Hood here), but it's rucked up round her middle (i.e. falling forwards).
CAPTION: I HAD TO FIND OUT. SO I CHANGED, BUT EVEN THEN MY SENSE OF SMELL WAS SHOT. I WAS PICKING UP PRECISELY NOTHING...
CAPTION: TILL I SPOTTED THE TRAIL OF BLOOD DROPLETS. I FOLLOWED THEM DOWNSTAIRS, TO THE HALL, AND THEN...
Panel 2. A medium close-up headshot of the Tamara-wolf—startled, ears pricked up, tongue hanging out.
CAPTION: I HEARD KEYS JINGLING.
Panel 3. Another largish one, and angle it whichever way makes most impact. She's running full pelt up the stairs (either towards us, or in semi-profile and maybe seen through bannisters), still in wolf-form but less so, starting to change back to human. A halfway state. And as she runs (her arms still like wolfish forelegs) she's plunging out the top/neck of the nightdress, pulling herself free of it. But she's more furry than fleshy, definitely.
JUDY (off): GOD, IT SMELLS LIKE WET DOG AGAIN IN HERE...
JUDY (off): WHAT ARE YOU GUYS EATING?
PAGE THIRTY FOUR
Panel 1. Large panel. Rear view of Judy coming through the front door and into the hall. As she enters she's looking up, and catching the merest glimpse of Tamara's naked arse disappearing from view (and now fully human). The nightdress (and cardigan) is lying draped down the stairs like a shed skin. You might need to angle this from below for greater effect.
JUDY: Tammy?
Panel 2. Smallish two-shot of Ray and Judy. He's in the background, shutting the door. Judy's looking up, a little concerned.
RAY: WHASSUP?
JUDY: NOTHING. I JUST CAUGHT TAMMY STREAKING...
Panel 3. Similar, but larger, and they've moved on/up a few paces. Judy is holding the nightdress up, one eyebrow raised. Still concerned. Ray is below her, looking up and grinning, suddenly interested and completely transparent.
JUDY: THAT GIRL'S GOT A LOT TO LEARN.
RAY: REALLY?
JUDY: AND SO DO YOU.
Panel 4. Large panel, and a scene change: we're in the living room, where Nigel, Jimmy, Tamara and the Weasel are ranged round the TV (on chairs, sofa and floor). On telly is Chicken George from Roots, so you'll have to either (a) do some research or (b) angle this so we can't see the screen. But nobody seems to be actually watching it (though the whole scene is lit by the TV screen—and it may well be a black and white set): the Weasel's sitting on the floor tinkering with the back of an amp with a screwdriver; Nigel's reading through some sheets from Tamara's lyrics notepad and frowning; Tamara looking up at him expectantly (almost a wince); and Jimmy is reading an old comic—let's make it an old copy of House Of Mystery. ALISA: Over to you for research. What we want is an issue from late 1976 or earlier—but if older, it'll have to appear more dogeared. Ideally, what we want is one with a werewolf on the cover, and I'm guessing there must have been one at some point. According to Neil, there's one about this date with a Bernie Wrightson cover showing a man being cornered by a wolfpack in the snow. Sounds ideal!
CAPTION: I TRIED TO CORNER VIC ABOUT IT, BUT HE ALWAYS SEEMED TO BE OUT OR ASLEEP...
CAPTION: SO I JUST TRIED TO CONCENTRATE ON WRITING THOSE DAMN LYRICS.
TV: IT'S IMPORTANT TO KNOW WHERE YOU COME FROM, CHILD.
TV: YOUR GREAT-GRAND-DADDY WAS KUNTA KINTE...
NIGEL: NO. SORRY, BUT THEY'RE NO GOOD...TOO POETIC, TOO SOPPY.
NIGEL: TEENAGE ANGST IS FINE, BUT YOU NEED TO LOSE ALL THE LOVE AND RELATIONSHIPS STUFF...
PAGE THIRTY FIVE
Panel 1. Small close-up of Tamara. Her feelings are hurt, but she's trying not to show it, and to bounce back, show willing etc.
TAMARA: SO...WHAT SHOULD I WRITE ABOUT?
Panel 2. Smallish two-shot: Nigel in the background, somewhere between offhand and matter-of-fact; Tamara sprawled on the floor in the foreground.
NIGEL: LOOK AROUND YOU.
TAMARA: HOW'D YOU MEAN?
Panel 3. Small two-shot: Nigel, frowning, almost exploding (but not); Jimmy getting up and heading for the TV.
NIGEL: ARE YOU BLIND?
TV (crackly, off): AND NOW, THE NINE O'CLOCK NEWS, WITH ANGELA RIPPON...
JIMMY: I'LL TURN THE SOUND OFF.
Panel 4. Medium: a rear/side view of Nigel explaining his viewpoint (more calmly and politely) to the attentive/curious Tamara. Jimmy in the background, turning the volume dial on the TV (a good place to get reference on gizmos—and clothes—of the era is in old mail-order catalogues. Try the libraries of art schools—some of them have had the foresight to hang onto this stuff). Jimmy's looking back at them/us a bit nervously (he doesn't like arguments). Weasel also visible, one eyebrow raised skeptically. Meanwhile, the TV shows a picture of a grinning and optimistic Jimmy Carter.
NIGEL: LOOK, I DON'T WANNA BE RUDE...MAYBE WHERE YOU COME FROM EVERYTHING'S LOVELY...
NIGEL: BUT THIS COUNTRY'S FUCKED.
Panel 5. Largish close-up of Nigel, righteously indignant/angry.
NIGEL: THE ECONOMY'S COLLAPSED, THERE'S NO BLOODY JOBS AND NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE US EXCEPT PEOPLE LIKE US.
NIGEL: BUT THE LIKES OF QUEEN AND BLOODY GENESIS DON'T TALK ABOUT THIS STUFF, SO WE'VE GOT TO.
NIGEL: YOU DO, I MEAN...
PAGE THIRTY SIX
Panel 1. Smallish. Either a two-shot, or else a close-up of Tamara, wrinkling her face up in a sympathetic wince.
TAMARA: IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?
NIGEL (off): WORSE. PEOPLE WANT SOMEONE TO BLAME, SO...
Panel 2. Medium. Similar panel four on the previous page. This time the TV in the background shows an image of Thatcher. Make sure you get a photo from the right era for reference—she looked softer and less maniacal back then. Nigel and Tamara are just silhouettes—or absent entirely. We could have just the TV set, with a crumpled cigarette pack or beer can propping up a wonky aerial—but we should also see a slightly grumpy Weasel (almost squirming, about to erupt).
NIGEL: THERE ARE PACKS OF NAZIS OUT THERE RIGHT NOW, BEATING UP PAKISTANIS...
NIGEL: I TELL YOU, BRITAIN'S JUST RIPE FOR A SODDING DICTATORSHIP.
Panel 3. Medium close-up of The Weasel, exploding with annoyance (he should have been simmering in the background for quite a while).
THE WEASEL: WHAT DOES SHE BLOODY KNOW ABOUT IT? SHE'S AMERICAN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
THE WEASEL: AND A RICH AMERICAN, AT THAT.
Panel 4. Two-shot: Tamara on the defensive, Weasel confrontational and antagonistic.
TAMARA: I'M NOT RICH...
THE WEASEL: YOU AIN'T EXACTLY POOR THOUGH, ARE YOU? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN WRITE ABOUT BRITAIN?
Panel 5. Two-shot, but mainly Tamara—trying to be reasonable, almost tearful. Weasel grumpily walking off-panel.
TAMARA: I'M TRYING TO UNDERSTAND—BECAUSE YOU GUYS ASKED ME TO TRY.
TAMARA: MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE WRITING THE SONGS.
THE WEASEL: YEAH, MAYBE I SHOULD.
Panel 6. Tiny panel: just the door slamming.
SFX: SLAM.
Panel 7. Smallish: Tamara dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, and trying not to make it more of a production than absolutely necessary.
TAMARA: I THINK WEASEL HATES ME...
NIGEL: NO...HE'S JUST, WELL...A BIT PASSIONATE ABOUT THE MUSIC, THAT'S ALL.
NIGEL: DON'T LET HIM PUT YOU OFF.
PAGE THIRTY SEVEN
Panel 1. Mainly Nigel, handing back Tamara's notepad/lyrics, in a gently encouraging way. Not bullshitting, just being sensitive/kind.
NIGEL: SOME OF THIS WASN'T THAT BAD. HONESTLY.
NIGEL: WHY DON'T YOU HAVE ANOTHER GO AT IT?
Panel 2. Close-up of Tamara, attempting to be cheerful i.e. the second line here is her making a joke at her own expense.
TAMARA: WELL...OKAY, THEN.
TAMARA: NO LOVE SONGS, RIGHT?
Panel 3. Small/medium close-up of Jimmy. Earnestly adolescent and thoughtful, but also a little embarrassed at speaking up, and on this topic in particular (maybe he has a slight/hopeless crush on her). Not at all creepy though.
JIMMY: IT'S OKAY IF IT'S REAL. YOU COULD WRITE ABOUT, erm...
JIMMY: Y'KNOW...SEX.
JIMMY: AND JEALOUSY...STUFF LIKE THAT. BUT ROMANCE IS JUST TOO CORNY.
Panel 4. Medium: maybe a group shot. Jimmy's big moment, as he articulates a pet gripe.
JIMMY: I MEAN, SONGS—AND FILMS—ARE ALWAYS MAKING OUT THAT EVERYBODY FINDS SOMEONE TO LOVE, AND IT'S JUST NOT TRUE, IS IT?
JIMMY: I MEAN, NONE OF US HAS GOT ANYBODY.
Panel 5. Smallish group shot. Tamara wryly amused/cheered up, Nigel deadpan (raising a beer can or coffee mug in a mock-toast), Jimmy sheepishly grinning.
NIGEL: THANKS, JAMES. NOW YOU'VE REALLY CHEERED ME UP.
Panel 6. Medium/large panel. We're in Tamara's room a day or so later. Daylight (unless we forgot to put a window in) streaming in. And Tamara's had a drastic haircut. I'm tempted to say give her a Mohican (which—as any fool knows—should rightfully be called a Huron), but they weren't really around yet. But a few years later Anabella from Bow Wow Wow did prove they could look very sexy on girls (but completely stupid on most people), so maybe we should just go for it. Or you could go for something along the lines of Sue Catwoman—not copy her look, but do a variation on it (that was suitably wolflike). Or else she could just have it short and spiky/shaggy— the choice is yours.
Anyway, she's been out buying clothes (new and secondhand) of various kinds—and we want her to have a sizeable wardrobe: enough to get her through the next few gigs, anyway. You could check out the kind of stuff the Slits used to wear: a mixture of really girly and really tough. Anyway, there are clothes and carrier bags in abundance, and Tamara's lying on the bed on her stomach amongst all her new finery, fiddling with and admiring it. And smiling slyly to herself.
CAPTION: SO I PUSHED WEASEL'S INSULTS AND VIC'S SILLY GAMES TO THE BACK OF MY MIND, AND DID A LOT OF WRITING.
CAPTION: I ALSO DID A LOT OF SHOPPING, AND A LOT OF SPEED. SO WHAT IF MY NOSE HAD GONE BLIND? I DIDN'T NEED IT...
CAPTION: I HAD NEW HAIR AND NEW CLOTHES. I WAS SOMEONE ELSE NOW...
CAPTION: AND SHE WAS HAVING FUN.
PAGE THIRTY EIGHT
You can structure this however you like, but what we want to see here are three medium panels depicting Tamara and the band playing three separate gigs (and it needs to be blindingly obvious that they are different gigs). Feel free to ignore my suggestions—the important thing is that we should get the impression that punk is starting to snowball—at each gig there are more of them, and the longhaired contingent is more appreciative, beginning to see that there's a point to all this.
So, we could kick off at a small college somewhere in London. A smallish hall, with a smallish bar in it. Audience would include mystified students, virtually all of whom are very dull looking. Lots of longish hair, glasses, bad fashion decisions. Not that much audience reaction.
Second gig at a pub, small club, or even another college. Audience definitely more enthusiastic.
Finally, we want a pub gig. A barn of a place, with a long curving bar down one side of it. Stage still small, but bigger than any to date. And a much more enthusiastic audience than we've seen to date: lots of punks, a few sceptical skinheads, lots of pub-rocker types, everybody else with long hair. Everybody looking approvingly.
Obviously we want costume changes for the band at each gig as well (if only Tamara—though the guys would at least change shirts/T-shirts). But whether you do big panels or medium ones, profile shots, rear views, front shots etc I leave entirely up to you.
The other point to try to get across is that Tamara's confidence as a performer is growing, and she's obviously more relaxed about it and actually enjoying herself—and she'll be a bit more confident about herself generally from now on. She's blossoming, in fact.
Panel 1. CAPTION: SO WE PLAYED...
TAMARA (with musical notes): SCATTER CAKE, SCATTER CAKE, BAKER'S VAN—WE AIN'T GOT NO BREAD, WE EAT WHAT WE CAN...
TAMARA (with musical notes): 'CAUSE THERE'S NOTHIN' DOIN.'..
Panel 2. CAPTION: AND WE PLAYED...
TAMARA (with musical notes): NOTHIN' DOIN.'..
Panel 3. CAPTION: AND WE PLAYED...
TAMARA (with musical notes): NOTHIN' DOIN' IN MY LIFE...
CAPTION: AND WE WERE DEFINITELY GETTING BETTER.
Panel 4. Medium: another after-gig scenario: the band's leaving the pub. In the background, Vic's on the pavement, signing autographs for a small pack of young girls (Debbie nearby, looking sulky); Tamara's in the foreground— behind her a small group of geeky boys are shuffling about awkwardly. Tamara is being ineffectively accosted by one of them: a young guy (17/18) with really long hair and loon pants. Neil from The Young Ones. He's holding out a biro and a flyer for the gig (or some other bit of paper). Tamara surprised but flattered.
CAPTION: WE WERE EVEN STARTING TO GET FANS...
MALE FAN: erm, COULD I HAVE YOUR um AUTOGRAPH?
Panel 5. Similar, but smaller and closer in—basically a two-shot of Tamara and the fan, except now Weasel is barging between the two of them, carrying an amp and leaving havoc in his wake. Fan nervous, Tamara mildly irritated.
WEASEL: FUCK OFF, HIPPIE.
PAGE THIRTY NINE
Panel 1. And finally, we're outside the Marquee. This'd be some hours before the gig, so there's no punk presence yet on the street. We're looking up at the Marquee sign/porch above the door (and we want to see it clearly, so we need a close-up—either just the sign, or a rear view cluster of the group all looking up at it). A smallish horizontal.
CAPTION: AND THEN IT WAS TIME FOR THE BIG ONE...
RAY (off): WELL, WE MADE IT.
CAPTION: THE GUYS HAD BEEN TELLING ME ALL ABOUT THE PLACE FOR WEEKS...
Panel 2. Medium panel. Tamara and the band are standing outside the Marquee entrance. Ray is in the act of opening the door and entering the club. It's late afternoon, on a grey January afternoon. We want a side view here, and we're looking North up Wardour Street, and in the far background we might even be able to see The Ship pub in the distance. Band all wearing coats and/or jackets over...not stage gear, exactly—more like a punk version of Sunday best. Tamara's wearing a short red shiny vinyl raincoat over a miniskirt of some kind (short and tartan, possibly) with some fishnet stockings. She looks more vulnerable than sexy (but will be far more fiery onstage later). Once Weasel's removed the coat/jacket he's wearing, we'll see that he's wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Gary Gilmore's face (good luck with the research) and the words: Gary says...(above the picture) and "Let's do it!" (underneath it). Also wearing a studded black leather dog collar around his throat.
CAPTION: AND I WAS EXPECTING SOMETHING IMPRESSIVE...BUT IT WAS JUST THIS POKY DIVE IN WARDOUR STREET.
RAY: COME ON, YOU LOT...
RAY: LET'S GET THIS SOUNDCHECK DONE.
Panel 3. Medium: we're inside the club, in a long and dark, but quite broad passageway/lobby which leads (eventually) into the club. The walls here are lined with photos and posters of all the famous names who've played here. These could include large photos of Hendrix, Ziggy-era Bowie and...take your pick! Pretty much everybody in the '60s and '70s played here (if in doubt, ask). There's a famous black & white poster advertising The Who at the Marquee (with the legend "Maximun R&B") that you could use. (ALISA: Michael Zulli specifically mentioned he wanted to use that poster in Love Street, but maybe we can talk him out of it. Strictly speaking, it's the wrong era for it, anyway.)
Anyway, Tamara is lingering to examine all this memorabilia, obviously impressed/entranced. Behind her, the chaps are ploughing onwards into the club, oblivious to the décor (which they've doubtless all seen before). A rear view of them will suffice.
CAPTION: BUT STILL, YOU COULD FEEL THE HISTORY. I MEAN, EVERYBODY HAD PLAYED THERE...
VIC: WHAT'S THE BLOODY RUSH? WE'VE GOT HOURS YET...
RAY: YEAH, BUT YOU WANNA GET A FEW PINTS IN, DON'T YOU?
VIC: GOOD POINT.
CAPTION: AND NOW IT WAS OUR TURN.
Panel 4. Medium/large, and we're backstage at the Marquee in quite a large dressing room (which gets shared by both bands). Bare white walls (covered in graffiti and stickers—suggestions in a second) and no window. There's a sloping ceiling which cuts one wall short, a table/counter running along it which is loaded down with plastic bags and guitar cases and tins of beer. Along another wall runs a large bench/couch, covered in red vinyl which is pockmarked with cigarette burns and badly torn in several places—maybe mended with silver gaffer tape, but with foam lining spewing out nonetheless. A big mirror (just screwed to the wall), cracked in several places and smudged with various hideous stains.
Graffiti consists of (a) bragging and (b) rude messages directed at other groups scheduled to play the Marquee in days/weeks to come: we could include names like Eddie, Rat, Gene, Billy, etc., etc...
Outside this room there's a longish corridor leading to the stage (in one direction), a small and distinctly unsavoury toilet and the bar (in the other direction).
We're looking through the door at the Uninvited, who are all dressed up and getting ready or just hanging out (putting on lipstick, tuning up, changing shirts, swigging from bottles of beer. Weasel is adding his name to the graffiti on the wall). And all of them have turned to take notice of the person who's about to enter.
CAPTION: EVERYBODY THINKS BEING IN A BAND IS REALLY GLAMOROUS. THAT'S BECAUSE NOBODY EVER TALKS ABOUT HOW BORING IT REALLY IS. MOSTLY, WHAT YOU DO IS WAIT.
CAPTION: AFTER THE SOUNDCHECK WE SPENT HOURS HANGING OUT IN THIS REALLY CHEESY PUB, AND THEN WE HAD TO WAIT AGAIN BACKSTAGE...
CONSTANTINE (off): OI, OI...
CONSTANTINE (off): OO'VE WE GOT 'ERE THEN?
Panel 5. Medium panel: And enter Mucous Membrane, framed in the dressing room doorway. There are four of them, and I don't much care what the others (apart from Constantine) look like (punky, but in a 'I-want-to-be-a-rock- star' kind of way...though I suppose you'd better avoid making any of them look like any of the Police). Constantine's in the lead—very sarcastic and teasing. Smirking. Wearing some kind of tight leopardskin shirt or T-shirt, with leather trousers. The rest of the band are sniggering—they're J.C.'s little gang. At least one of them is leaning against the door. Constantine has some kind of small holdall or bag slung over one shoulder; the others might have carrier bags and guitar cases. And, of course, the Uninvited's coats, handbags, etc., would already be in the room, lying on floors and or counter surfaces (if possible, we want a shot of Mucous Membrane sweeping some of the Uninvited's stuff out of the way as soon as they've left the room—these guys are very territorial).
CONSTANTINE: MUST BE THE SUPPORT BAND.
CONSTANTINE: DIDN'T YOU LOT USED TO BE THE BLOODY MORONS?
PAGE FORTY
Panel 1. Smallish: mainly (or only) Ray and Constantine, confrontational and in profile. Ray's more than a little pissed off, Constantine's smug and dismissive.
RAY: WE WAS THE BONE IDOLS. WE SUPPORTED YOU IN AYLESBURY.
CONSTANTINE: WELL, I KNEW YOU WERE SOMEBODY...
RAY: AND YOU WERE A RIGHT CUNT THEN AS WELL.
Panel 2. Small two-shot: Tamara (slightly defensive and a bit nonplussed—not used to dealing with smooth geezers with dyed blonde hair. Of course it's bloody dyed) and Constantine (interested/intrigued).
CONSTANTINE: YOU'RE NEW.
CONSTANTINE: WELL, WELL, WELL...
Panel 3. Smallish close-up of Constantine, eyebrow raised, smirking smugly.
CONSTANTINE: I BET YOU GET A LOT OF WOLF-WHISTLES...
CAPTION: HE KNEW. I DON'T KNOW HOW, BUT HE DID.
Panel 4. Medium. Ray shoving/pushing Constantine (but not too hard—this is a warning shot). But this fight isn't going to develop because they're being interrupted by the appearance (at rear or side of panel) of a barman or stage manager poking his head round the door to summon the Uninvited to the stage. This guy's in his thirties, longish hair, not too shabby or too flash.
RAY: YOU'RE OUT OF ORDER, CONSTANTINE.
CONSTANTINE: OI. I WAS JUST BEIN' FRIENDLY...
RAY: LIKE FUCK YOU WAS...
BARMAN: UNINVITED? YOU'RE ON...
Panel 5. Medium panel. The Uninvited are starting to leave the room, Vic first out the door and pointing his guitar neck before him (not essential that we see him, but a glimpse would be nice. Tamara gently tugging Ray along by the hand or arm, trying to defuse the fact that he's still staring daggers at Constantine. Constantine's smirking, other Membranes mildly amused. Weasel making a rude gesture as he nears/exits the door.
TAMARA: LEAVE IT, RAY.
CONSTANTINE: BREAK A LEG, GIRLS.
WEASEL: WANKER.
Panel 6. Smallish: in the background, the band are some distance off down a corridor, with Tamara Somewhat peeved at Ray (a back view will do). Constantine watching them depart—again, a back view will do. He's talking to himself, so nobody else too close to him.
TAMARA: I CAN LOOK AFTER MYSELF, YOU KNOW...
CONSTANTINE: TWO IN ONE BAND...
CONSTANTINE: YOU WOULDN'T CREDIT THE ODDS, WOULDYA?
PAGE FORTY ONE
Panel 1. Medium. In foreground (or to one side of panel), Constantine turning away to rummage through his bag in search of cigarettes and responding to a query from a band member (let's call him Mucous A—he didn't really hear Constantine's comment and isn't even curious, just checking that he hasn't missed out on news of food, money, sex or something else equally basic). In the background (and/or the other side of the panel) we see can Les and Maurice, who've just entered the dressing room. They're dressed in similar (but not identical) style to last time. Les in the lead, Maurice a pace or two behind him (flashing a toothy smile). Les has his arms spread wide in come-and-give-me-a-hug fashion, grinning broadly.
MUCOUS A: DO WHAT, JOHN?
CONSTANTINE: NOTHIN.'
LES: JOHNNY!
Panel 2. Very small facial close-up of Constantine, his eyes narrowing—he looks like he might actually be a weensy bit dangerous. There's more than a hint of the hard bastard he'll become.
LES (off): LOVED YOUR SHOW LAST WEEK...
CONSTANTINE: IT'S JOHN.
Panel 3. Medium panel, and another confrontation two-shot in profile: Les is gushing, but in an I'm-doing-you-a-favour kind of way; Constantine is part-bored, part-smug (relishing a minor triumph), and resuming his search for cigarettes in his bag (we need the bag so's he can pull a book out of it in a few panels' time). He's way too cocky for his own good—and will eventually come a cropper, a couple of years further down the line.
LES: JOHN.
LES: LISTEN...I THINK I'M IN A POSITION TO OFFER YOU CHAPS A DEAL. 'COURSE, WE'D NEED PUBLISHING AS WELL, AND THERE WOULDN'T BE MUCH UPFRONT, BUT...
CONSTANTINE: WE'VE ALREADY SIGNED.
Panel 4. Also medium. Les is taken aback, Maurice is frowning/depressed, Constantine calmly smug, lighting a cigarette with a flaring match; another band member (Mucous B) moves into the conversation to gleefully add to the gloating (high on a hill lived a gleeful gloatherd).
LES: WHAT?
CONSTANTINE: YOU'RE TOO LATE. WE SIGNED WITH K.G.B. THREE DAYS AGO. A FIVE-FIGURE ADVANCE.
MUCOUS B: WE START RECORDING TOMORROW.
Panel 5. Smallish: Maurice and Les are already out of the door and receding into the background down the corridor, Mucous B yelling after them. Constantine fishing about in his bag for the book, ciggie dangling from lip, looking a little preoccupied. Mucous C (the third band member) is nearby, concerned that Constantine's down in the dumps.
MUCOUS B: SHOULDN'T 'AVE KEPT US WAITIN.'..
MUCOUS B: SHOULD YER?
MUCOUS C: S'MATTER, JOHN? THOSE TOSSERS UPSET YOU?
CONSTANTINE: NAH. 'COURSE NOT.
Panel 6. Smallish. Constantine's just sat down on the vinyl-covered bench, or is just about to (maybe sweeping the Uninvited's possessions to one side or onto the floor), and is taking a deep drag on that ciggie. A world-weary, tired smile. He's got that book in his other hand, and you'll find out what it is in just a moment. Mucous C maybe squatting down nearby, pulling a bottle of vodka out of a guitar case.
MUCOUS C: WHASSUP, THEN? YOU WORRIED ABOUT DOIN' THE ALBUM?
CONSTANTINE: I'M FINE. IT'S ONLY A FUCKIN' RECORD, STU...
CONSTANTINE: AND THIS MUSIC LARK AIN'T GONNA LAST FOREVER, Y'KNOW.
PAGE FORTY TWO
Panel 1. Smallish. Just Constantine, who's still sitting on the bench, legs crossed at ankles, reading and calmly exhaling smoke (a smoke ring is already drifting upwards). How much of him we see depends on how close up you need to get to show us the book he's reading. It's a copy of the novel of The Exorcist, and he's about three-quarters of the way through (it's very dogeared and battered—secondhand, probably). He has one eyebrow raised. Not so much a smirk as the hint of a mysterious smile.
MUCOUS C (off): YOU MAKIN' PLANS FOR YER OLD AGE, THEN?
CONSTANTINE: NAH, NOT REALLY...
CONSTANTINE: BUT I'VE GOT A COUPLE OF IDEAS.
Panel 2. Large panel: The Uninvited onstage at the Marquee. The Marquee logo (white on black) is painted—BIG—on the back wall of the stage i.e. it's the backdrop. Reference on the Marquee shouldn't be too hard to find—there's plenty of footage of people playing there, plus give me a shout to remind me and I might be able to track down some still photos.
We want to be able to see a fair chunk of the audience, who are crammed right up to the edge of the stage. I think the Marquee was supposed to hold about six hundred people—but whatever the official capacity, they crammed in twice that number. The result was that you couldn't move, and the whole place was a sauna. The audience here is about 70-80% hardcore punk, 90% male, and they're a heaving mass—it looks like hell, violent and scary and out of control...but some of them are obviously enjoying themselves.
Energy levels are high, people are chucking plastic pint glasses (spraying beer en route) onstage, and there's mass spitting at the band. The sheer scale of this—non-stop, and from every angle—is almost impossible to imagine if you've never seen it. One musician described it thus: "There was no way to dodge it, because it was like standing under a shower." There was so much of it that saliva literally hung off people (and instruments) in strands. Obviously, this onslaught destroyed one's appearance—it was impossible to look like anything other than a drenched rat. Band members would be spraying it back out when they shake their hair.
We want this to look like it's definitely not a fun place to be, for band and audience alike. The Uninvited are bravely trying to soldier through, but having a very hard time of it. Both Vic and Tamara are singing into mikes (on stands). Everybody looks worried/unhappy.
CAPTION: THE GIG WAS A NIGHTMARE. THEY'D CRAMMED AS MANY PEOPLE IN THERE AS THEY COULD, AND THE WHOLE PLACE WAS LIKE A SAUNA. I WAS DRIPPING WITH SWEAT, AND THE SOUND WAS TERRIBLE. I COULDN'T HEAR MYSELF AT ALL.
CAPTION: AND THEY THREW EVERYTHING THEY HAD AT US, INCLUDING AN OCEAN OF SPIT. WE PLAYED THE SET IN RECORD TIME...
Panel 3. Medium panel: Tamara's stomping towards us up the corridor in a filthy temper, arms straight down by her sides, fuming. She's followed by the band, who all look as bedraggled and wrecked as she does (despite attempts to tidy themselves up a bit in a second, they'll all look pretty dreadful till the end of this scene). Behind her/them, Mucous Membrane are about to go onstage. Let's have a cheerful taunt being yelled after her by Mucous B.
CAPTION: AND I'VE NEVER BEEN SO GLAD TO GET OUT OF SOMEWHERE IN MY LIFE.
MUCOUS B: STICK AROUND, LOSERS...
MUCOUS B: SEE HOW IT'S DONE.
TAMARA: FUCK OFF.
Panel 4. Smallish: Tamara's in the dressing room, looking at herself in the mirror. She's angry and sulky and genuinely perplexed/confused. Rest of band filing into the room behind her.
TAMARA: GOD, I LOOK LIKE A DOG.
TAMARA: WHY WERE THEY SPITTING AT US?
PAGE FORTY THREE
Panel 1. Small close-up of Vic, brushing/wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. Looks exhausted and pissed off.
VIC: IT'S A NEW THING.
VIC: JOHNNY ROTTEN SPAT ON STAGE AT SOME GIG, AND PEOPLE STARTED SPITTIN' BACK.
VIC: NOW EVERYONE'S DOIN' IT. .
Panel 2. Medium: Tamara's expression a mixture of distaste and puzzlement; Weasel alongside her, similar expression of distaste, forcefully agreeing with her. Vic hovering behind them—they're all jockeying to get a view in the mirror.
VIC: SOME GEEZER IN THE NME SAID IT WAS SYMBOLIC...
TAMARA: IT'S GROSS, IS WHAT IT IS.
THE WEASEL: FUCKIN' RIGHT IT IS...
Panel 3. Smallish. A side view, Tamara being pleasant/friendly towards Weasel, and wiping her hair with a piece of white material. Behind her, Ray is pointing and objecting to her actions, moderately outraged.
TAMARA: IT IS, ISN'T IT?
RAY: OI—THAT'S MY CLEAN SHIRT.
TAMARA: ARE THEY DOING THIS TO EVERYONE?
Panel 4. Medium. And we jump-cut to Mucous Membrane onstage, echoing the shot of the Uninvited on previous page (but smaller). They're already looking as if they're doused in spit, and Constantine's striding across the stage, ranting down at the front rows through a hand mike.
CONSTANTINE (with musical notes): VENUS OF THE HARDSELL, SHE'S THE...
CONSTANTINE: WHOA...
CONSTANTINE: CUT...KILL IT...
Panel 5. Smaller. Constantine turning on the band.
CONSTANTINE: I SAID, STOP FUCKIN' PLAYIN' A SECOND...
CONSTANTINE: I GOT AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE.
PAGE FORTY FOUR
Panel 1. Smallish facial close-up of Constantine, looking positively lethal/hard. He means business.
CONSTANTINE: RIGHT.
CONSTANTINE: THE NEXT CUNT THAT GOBS AT ME IS FUCKIN' DEAD.
Panel 2. Small, silent close-up of Constantine, on the verge of a smug/arrogant smile. He thinks he's won.
Panel 3. Similar. A spray or strand of spit streaks or splashes right across Constantine's face. His eyes are screwed shut, his whole face wincing with displeasure.
Panel 4. Medium. A full-length shot of a very angry John Constantine lurching towards front of stage, pointing at someone (that we can't see) in the audience. Mucous C is grabbing his other arm, trying to rein him in.
CONSTANTINE: RIGHT, YOU LITTLE WANKER...
MUCOUS C: DON'T, JOHN...
Panel 5. Two-shot: Mucous C is being really reasonable; Constantine's still tense, teeth clenched, but calming down a bit.
MUCOUS C: WE'RE TOP OF THE HEAP NOW. WE DON'T NEED THE GRIEF.
CONSTANTINE: I S'POSE...
Panel 6. Smallish close-up of Constantine, as another streak of gob gets him in the face.
PAGE FORTY FIVE
Panel 1. Medium/large: a view from the stage as Constantine plunges headfirst into the crowd, obviously bent on doing somebody serious harm—one fist is pulled back over his head, ready to thump. He's already dropped the hand mike, which is falling, about to hit the stage. Audience reactions vary from fear to delight. Mucous A yelling encouragement to the others to carry on regardless.
MUCOUS A: 'BURN THE SUBURBS' IN G...
MUCOUS A: PLAY!
Panel 2. Smallish, as we cut back to the dressing room. Vic is sticking his head out the door (puzzled) into the corridor, seeking information from the guy who summoned them on stage. The latter is frowning, looking worried and angry.
VIC: WHAT THE FUCK'S GOIN' ON?
BARMAN: SOUNDS LIKE THEY'RE TEARING THE PLACE APART...
Panel 3. Similar: the Weasel barging past Vic into the corridor, Vic also starting to sprint. Ray behind them, bringing up the rear (bare chested). All very worried/agitated.
THE WEASEL: FUCK. THE AMPS ARE STILL OUT THERE.
RAY: MY KIT!
Panel 4. Back into the now-empty dressing room, for a smallish close-up of Tamara. She's still wiping her hair, and looking really angry, and sulky, and upset, and close to tears.
TAMARA: I AM NOT DOING THIS AGAIN, EVER.
TAMARA: I QUIT.
Panel 5. And enter Les, in very-nearly the exact pose as his last entrance (with Maurice ditto). He's just as enthusiastic, just as phoney, and even more eager.
LES: SWEETIE! CAUGHT YOUR SET—YOU WERE TERRIFIC.
LES: YOU GUYS WANNA MAKE A RECORD?
CAPTION: AND OF COURSE I DID, AND SO DID EVERYONE ELSE. NIGEL SAID WE SHOULD GET A LAWYER, BUT NOBODY LISTENED...SO WE SIGNED THIS SLAVERY DEAL, AND A WEEK LATER WE WERE IN THE STUDIO.
PAGE FORTY SIX
Panel 1. Small/medium: we're in the control room of a smallish 8-track studio. It's dark, lit by the glow of meters and dials from the control panel. A rather smug producer with longish hair is sitting on a swivel chair/stool, arms folded, with a knowing and slightly superior smile (he's heard this tape before). The band are sitting/standing/slouching/squatting around, all listening to the tape and not really making eye contact with each other. Some look inspired and/or impressed, Weasel is trying to look bored (but failing); all of them are obviously nervous, on edge.
CAPTION: FIRST OFF, THE PRODUCER PLAYED US A TAPE OF THIS UNRELEASED SINGLE...
SPEAKER (crackly, with musical notes): WE'RE THE FUTURE, YOUR FUTURE...
CAPTION: AND IT WAS AWESOME, LIKE AN ANTHEM OR SOMETHING. IT MADE WHAT WE WERE TRYING TO DO LOOK LIKE A JOKE...
ALISA: I can't remember whether you said using this lyric was impossible or not, permissions-wise. We did get the Clash stuff for free, so...It'd be nice if we could have it, but I guess we can survive without it (and just have musical notes). If we bloody must.
Panel 2. Largish: into the studio itself. Pegboard or padded walls, sound screens separating Ray and drums from the others. Very bare, with wires trailing everywhere in a mess, a grubby floor (carpeted). Either a group shot, or else just Tamara singing; if the former, the others are all playing away (all wearing headphones) and looking a lot more serious/nervous than usual. Tamara's singing up into a large mike that's suspended on a boom from the ceiling. She's holding one hand to her ear/headphone, the other hand waving madly, her body twisting—she's practically dancing, really throwing herself into it.
CAPTION: BUT INSTEAD OF IT DEPRESSING US, WE WERE INSPIRED.
CAPTION: OF COURSE, THAT ONLY LASTED A COUPLE OF HOURS. TWO DAYS LATER WE WERE ALL FRIED FROM LACK OF SLEEP AND LIVING ON DOUGHNUTS AND SPEED AND CIGARETTES. I WAS UP AND DOWN SO OFTEN I FELT LIKE AN ELEVATOR...
Panel 3. Two-shot of Vic and Tamara standing in the doorway of the recording studio (you could possibly echo the cover shot of Lennon's 'Rock & Roll' album here). Nothing impressive about the door—just a wooden door with a sign saying: Goldsound. It's drizzling with rain, and Tamara is looking a lot more appealing here—it's a few days later, she's (almost) caught up on sleep and has a bit of make-up on. Wearing her red vinyl mac (with a very short skirt, black tights), turning her collar up and regarding the skies with displeasure (WHOEVER'S COLOURING THIS: Hope you spotted the mac's colour earlier on). Vic is to the right of her, turning towards her and smiling, starting to put up a large black umbrella.
CAPTION: BUT A COUPLE OF DAYS AFTER THAT, WE PRETTY MUCH HAD AN ALBUM IN THE CAN. WE FINISHED MIXING EARLY THAT EVENING, 'CAUSE RAY AND WEASEL WERE GOING OFF TO SEE SOME BAND...
VIC: ESCORT YOU 'OME, MAD-ARME?
Panel 4. Small two-shot of them starting off down the street (somewhere in Soho), she's turning towards him, inquisitive, he's holding the umbrella high above both of them (and something about Vic carrying an umbrella looks deeply incongruous and weird). He's mock-scowling.
TAMARA: AREN'T YOU MEETING DEBBIE TONIGHT?
VIC: NAH.
Panel 5. Smallish two-shot: he's smiling slightly, rueful and roguish. She's taking this news on board, trying not to show delight.
VIC: WE'VE BROKEN UP. APPARENTLY I WAS INTERFERIN' WITH HER HOMEWORK.
TAMARA: oh.
Panel 6. Small close-up of Vic, eyebrow raised, a roguish charmer, confident she'll accept.
VIC: 'COURSE, WE DON'T 'AVE TO GO HOME...
VIC: FANCY GOIN' TO THE PICTURES?
Panel 7. Small close-up of Tamara grinning, but still trying not to look too pleased. If we're too crowded here, you could do this as a small round inset into panel one on the next page.
TAMARA: WHY NOT?
PAGE FORTY SEVEN
Panel 1. Medium/large panel: Tamara and Vic are still sheltering beneath that shared umbrella, but a lot more closely now—strolling arm-in-arm through Leicester Square in a light drizzle of rain and neon—very romantic, in an almost Disneyesque way (The Lady & The Tramp). They're getting stares (and the occasional dirty look) from passers-by. There's a silver crescent of New Moon in the sky above (though that's not absolutely necessary). Movies that were playing then include: Rocky, Taxi Driver, King Kong, The Man Who Fell to Earth. So, we could glimpse a big poster on a cinema hoarding in the background (a variation on the film poster in question e.g. a giant cut-out of Rocky, with big red plastic letters alongside spelling out the movie's name). Maybe this is semi-obscured by the (bare) trees in the square. The other stuff you could show here (apart from crowds of people) is souvenir shops, laden down with Jubilee memorabilia—lots of Union Jacks and pictures of the Queen, mugs, teatowels...This stuff was on sale months before the event (maybe you could even have a jubilee tea/coffee mug turn up in one of the earlier scenes). You could sneak Mad Hettie (very small) into the background here, pushing a pram laden with rubbish.
CAPTION: SO WE DID, AND THEN WE HAD A BURGER...WE DIDN'T TALK MUCH, BUT...
Panel 2. Smallish close-up of them—they've paused for a kiss.
CAPTION: IT WAS WONDERFUL—SO ROMANTIC...
Panel 3. And pull back, to show two middle-aged (or older) passersby (sex immaterial, but I suppose a married couple makes most sense) being properly disgusted at the spectacle of Vic and Tamara.
CAPTION: OF COURSE, THERE HAD TO BE SOMEONE TO SPOIL IT.
PASSERBY: BLOODY DISGUSTING—JUST LIKE ANIMALS.
2ND PASSERBY: WHAT DO THEY LOOK LIKE?
Panel 4. Two-shot: Vic and Tamara looking after them. He's got his arm round her shoulder, and looks annoyed. She's trying not to let the mood get spoiled, but maybe looks a bit saddened (though she'd be long-used to humanity's failings).
VIC: OLD GHITS. WHY CAN'T THEY JUST LEAVE US ALONE?
TAMARA: IT'S THE WAY THEY ARE. THEY CAN'T CHANGE.
TAMARA: C'MON. LET'S GO HOME...
Panel 5. And scene change, to Tamara's bedroom, where the couple are now smooching on the bed; she's leaning backwards, supporting herself on one arm. He's got one hand on one of her tits. Lighting is intimate, there's an open bottle of wine and a couple of half-full glasses visible somewhere.
CAPTION: SO WE ENDED UP IN MY ROOM, AND...STARTED MAKING OUT AND STUFF—WHICH WAS REALLY NICE...
Panel 6. Closer in—we're looking at her. She's looking up at Vic, one hand on his chest. A shy smile.
TAMARA: JUST A SEC, OKAY?
TAMARA: I'VE GOT TO USE THE BATHROOM...
PAGE FORTY EIGHT
Panel 1. Medium/large: Tamara's just re-entering the room, having been to the bathroom—wearing a kimono-style dressing gown. Her hair's slightly damp, her make-up's been scrubbed off. Her posture indicates surprise (and it isn't a pleasant one). Vince is sitting on the bed with his shirt off and his back to her, and is shooting up with a syringe (a repeat viewing of Trainspotting should tell you all you need to know).
CAPTION: BUT WHEN I CAME BACK...
Panel 2. Two-shot: Tamara's kneeling on the bed behind him, looking over his shoulder. She looks concerned (and disappointed that this moment has been soured), he's smiling gently.
TAMARA: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
VIC: UNWINDING.
VIC: Ahhhh...
Panel 3. Close-up (smallish) of Vic, now grinning—somewhere between cocky and dozy. Holding up syringe.
VIC: YOU WANT SOME? IT'S GOOD STUFF...
VIC: ONLY THE BEST FOR MY GIRL, EH?
Panel 4. Smallish close-up of Tamara kneeling, looking sleepy/seductive.
TAMARA: NO, THANKS. NOT FOR ME.
TAMARA: NOW PUT THAT DOWN AND C'MON OVER HERE...
Panel 5. Medium: they're lying fully stretched out, her kimono's starting to come adrift and she has one knee raised. Smiling with pleasure as Vic chews on her neck.
TAMARA: mmmm
TAMARA: THAT'S BETTER...
Panel 6. Medium, and similar. Tamara has started to transform, is in a halfway state—still humanoid but covered in downy fur. Vic's stroking her leg, his head still largely buried in her neck or hair.
VIC: YEAH...
VIC: YOUR SKIN FEELS REALLY...
VIC: furry?
PAGE FORTY NINE
Panel 1. Medium. Similar to last panel, except that he's now standing, backing/staggering away from the bed—and her— in horror/disbelief. She's still in sleepy/sexy mode, but now puzzled as well. Kimono pretty much adrift in the middle—the effect is very sexy, if you like furry girls.
CAPTION: I HADN'T PLANNED TO CHANGE. IT JUST HAPPENED...
VIC (small): wha...
CAPTION: BUT I COULDN'T UNDERSTAND WHY HE WAS ACTING SO WEIRD ABOUT IT...
Panel 2. A two-shot: she's sitting up, reaching out towards him, and he's hysterical, freaking out. All we need of her is her hand/arm, stretching out and looking vaguely clawlike.
TAMARA: VIC?
VIC: NO. (TODD: Please make this big and doubly bold—it's practically a scream.)
Panel 3. Medium. And enter our other werewolf, in transitional form—humanoid but very furry (and unrecognisable), with a wolflike head. Wearing just a pair of jeans. He's just bashed in the door (which flies open, maybe with the entire lock taking a chunk out of the doorframe) with his left arm, and is framed in the doorway, impressive and menacing. His features can be in semi-darkness, but an impression of eyes and teeth would be good.
CAPTION: AND THEN I FOUND OUT WHY.
SFX: BAMM.
Panel 4. Large panel. Vic is now caught between two werewolves, and is pretty much frozen in his tracks. Tamara is regarding the other werewolf curiously, and he in turn is focussed on Vic, baring his fangs and growling. Have you seen Wolfen? If not, do—it's the one werewolf movie that you might find helpful here (plus, it's great). I enjoyed Wolf as well...
OTHER WEREWOLF: Grrrrrr
PAGE FIFTY
Panel 1. Small facial close-up of Vic, pale but sweating, in shock.
VIC (small): oh
VIC (small): fuck.
Panel 2. Large panel: Vic is making calming gestures, his arms outstretched. Both werewolves are now in front of him (the new arrival still growling, but looking a little less vicious), and he's walking backwards, trying to circle round to the doorway. He's nearly there...
VIC (small): it's all right...
VIC (small): See? I'm just gonna go now...
OTHER WEREWOLF: rrrrr
Panel 3. Smallish. A rear view of both werewolves watching Vic's departure through the open door—he's running full pelt, cornering into the corridor. Tamara is still sitting/kneeling on the bed, the other werewolf is approaching/nearing the door.
Panel 4. Smallish. Angling this could be quite difficult, but here's what we want. At right of panel is Tamara, still kneeling on bed but in human form once again. She's looking up at her furry friend and looking really surprised. To left of panel, the other werewolf (also now furless once more) is reaching out with his left hand, pushing the door shut. We don't—if possible—want to receive any clues as to identity, so maybe you could shoot this over his shoulder, thus avoiding his head/hair. Actually, that aspect doesn't really matter, because the truth will be revealed in the very next panel.
DOOR SFX: clik
TAMARA: YOU.
VOICE OFF (at left): TAMMY? YOU ALRIGHT?
But first, for the benefit of those of you reading this for the first time, and as a hommage to a truly crap horror film (The Beast Must Die), we're going to have...
A WEREWOLF BREAK
In which you have to guess who the werewolf is. If this was a film you'd see the hands of a clock ticking away for thirty seconds, superimposed over the faces of all the suspects...
Ah, but did you get it right? Let's find out...
Panel 5. It's the Weasel. Make this a medium panel. In the foreground is Ray, flinging the door open to reveal the scene beyond. Ray stunned and embarrassed by what he sees and the fact that his intrusion is evidently just that (and not a rescue mission after all). And what he sees is: Tamara, still sitting on the bed, her kimono still somewhat adrift. And facing Tamara but turning his head and torso in Ray's direction is Weasel. The duo could indeed be mistaken for lovers, on the grounds of undress alone.
RAY: WE HEARD SHOUTIN' AND...
RAY: oh.
RAY: ah. SORRY—MY MISTAKE.
PAGE FIFTY ONE
Panel 1. Close-up of the Weasel, a little embarrassed/sheepish. Door now closed behind him.
DOOR SFX: clik
WEASEL: er, SORRY 'BOUT BUSTIN' IN...
WEASEL: BUT IT, um, SOUNDED LIKE YOU WAS IN TROUBLE...
Panel 2. Smallish two-shot: in the background, Tamara's still kneeling on the bed, still stunned by the revelation. Pulling her kimono tight around her, a little self-conscious (and feeling somewhat foolish, no doubt). In the foreground, Weasel's rubbing his neck, a bit embarrassed.
TAMARA: THEN...IT WAS YOU THAT GAVE ME THE RABBITS?
WEASEL: er, YEAH...
TAMARA: BUT...THOSE SONGS...HOW DID VIC KNOW THE 'PEOPLE'S LAMENT'?
Panel 3. Smallish close-up of Weasel—self-conscious, avoiding her gaze.
WEASEL: I TAUGHT HIM. AN' I WROTE 'ON THE PROWL.'..
WEASEL: I'M NOT MUCH COP AT SINGIN', MESELF.
Panel 4. Close-up of Tamara: she's exasperated, and upset, and generally very vulnerable emotionally. Thumping a pillow?
TAMARA: WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST TELL ME IT WAS YOU?
TAMARA: MY NOSE IS ALL FUCKED UP. I DIDN'T KNOW.
Panel 5. Two-shot. Weasel's now sitting on the edge of the bed, sort of facing her. This is all difficult and painful for him. And she still looks upset, but also sympathetic.
WEASEL: I WAS...FUCKIT, I WAS SHY...
WEASEL: AND YOU DIDN'T SEEM TO BE INTERESTED...
PAGE FIFTY TWO
Panel 1. Small/medium close-up of Tamara. Smiling, but also nervous and embarrassed and shy. In a sexy kind of way.
TAMARA: NO...I MEAN, I WASN'T...
TAMARA: BUT...MAYBE I AM.
Panel 2. Medium/small panel. Ray re-entering his own room, where Judy is sitting up in bed. He's pushing the door shut behind him with an I-know-something-you-don't-know grin on his face. Judy's topless, and is reading something by Desmond Morris. Her hair's let down, and she also has bat-winged Dame Edna style reading glasses (maybe she's adjusting them, or lowering them slightly and peering at him over the frames).
RAY: YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT I'VE JUST SEEN.
Panel 3. Large, pin-up type shot: two wolves playfully romping on Hampstead Heath (or in one of the parks) at night. And we want this to be sexy—her tongue hanging out, him nibbling her ear. Time to bone up (arf, arf) on doggy courtship rituals.
CAPTION: SO, THAT WAS THE START OF ME AND WESLEY GETTING TO KNOW EACH OTHER. AS IT TURNED OUT, WE WERE BOTH VIRGINS...THOUGH THAT DIDN'T LAST FOR LONG.
CAPTION (at bottom of panel): AND WES TALKED ME INTO QUITTING SPEED. HE EXPLAINED WHAT DRUGS DID TO OUR KIND. GOING NOSEBLIND AND LOSING CONTROL OF SHAPESHIFT WAS JUST THE START. IT'D ONLY GET WORSE AS TIME WENT ON...
Panels 4 & 5. Two tiny panels—maybe even done as...not inserts, exactly, but sort of framed supports to the big panel above. Panel 4 is them in human form in her room—Weasel's holding/cradling her, looking serious but supportive; she's sweaty, and looks terrible. Panel 5 is a small rear view of two wolves looking up at the full moon (thus implying that a month has passed since our story began)—very romantic. .
PANEL 4 CAPTION: GETTING STRAIGHT AGAIN WAS PRETTY ROUGH, BUT WES HELPED ME THROUGH IT...AND GETTING MY SENSES BACK WAS WONDERFUL.
PANEL 5 CAPTION: BUT IT WAS JUST AS WELL I STOPPED, 'CAUSE I GOT PREGNANT LIKE, IMMEDIATELY.
PAGE FIFTY THREE
Panel 1. Take this panel back to previous page, if that makes more sense roomwise (and it might). We want a medium shot of the band (in Sunday Best attire) posing for a photographer (in extreme foreground) outside the gates of Buckingham Palace. They're just standing/slouching about—no smiling, these guys are trying to look moody and magnificent. Weasel and Tamara are sort of slouching against each other, or just standing closer to each other than to the others. The photographer should be a skinny woman in her late twenties, with long hair. Angle it however you want.
CAPTION: AS FOR VIC, HE NEVER SAID A WORD ABOUT THAT NIGHT. I GUESS HE JUST PUT IT ALL DOWN TO BAD SMACK...
CAPTION: AND SINCE WESLEY AND I WERE OBVIOUSLY AN ITEM, VIC KEPT HIS DISTANCE FROM BOTH OF US...BUT THE BAND CARRIED ON.
Panel 2. Small panel: their album cover (held in someone's hand)—or a flyposter advertising it, posted up on a wall. Suggest you make the cover the photo from the session in the last panel, with suitably lurid lettering. Album is titled CRASHING THE GATES WITH THE UNINVITED.
CAPTION: OUR ALBUM CAME OUT, AND THE FIRST SINGLE—'NOTHIN' DOIN'—WAS KIND OF A MINOR HIT...
Panel 3. Medium. Another live show. Band dressed better (or just more expensively), and the audience is now largely 14 and 15-year-old kids.
CAPTION: SO WE TOURED FOR A COUPLE OF MONTHS. THE AUDIENCES KEPT GETTING YOUNGER—ALL THESE KIDS FROM THE STICKS WHO LIKED DRESSING UP AS PUNKS AT THE WEEKEND...
CAPTION: IT WAS OKAY, BUT IT WASN'T THE SAME.
Panel 4. Medium: a scene in Les's office (plush, deep carpeting, nice chairs, flash desk, gold discs on the walls). He's explaining to the band that they've signed it all away, too bad. The news is not going down well—lots of frowns. Maybe Ray being restrained by Weasel and Vic.
CAPTION: BUT DESPITE THE SALES, WE NEVER SAW MUCH MONEY. LES EXPLAINED HOW IT ALL WORKED, AND THEN WE ALL WISHED WE'D TAKEN NIGEL'S ADVICE ABOUT GETTING THAT LAWYER...
CAPTION: SO WE THOUGHT, 'FUCK 'EM', AND BROKE UP THE BAND. RAY GOT SOME SESSION WORK, AND VIC WENT SOLO—HE HAD A NOVELTY HIT IN THE EIGHTIES—BUT THAT WAS THE END OF MUSIC FOR ME AND WES.
Panel 5. Large panel: a punk wedding, outside a registry office (definitely not a church). Tamara is the not so blushing bride, dressed in white lacy mini-skirt. She's about three or four months pregnant—so no bulge, but a bit of an inner glow. She and Weasel are dodging confetti thrown by the others—she's grinning broadly, Weasel smiling but looking vaguely uncomfortable in a suit. Jimmy, Ray, Judy and Nigel are all there (dressed smartish—which can still be pretty stylish and/or scruffy), and so are Vic and Debbie (she's hanging onto him tightly). Also there are a half dozen other punks (they'd have other friends, after all), Weasel's parents (a very tweedy couple in late middle age), and Vassily and Anya. The two fathers are chatting to each other casually, while both the excited mothers are lobbing confetti. It's Spring.
CAPTION: BUT A NEW START. MY PARENTS WEREN'T TOO HAPPY ABOUT THE WAY WE'D DONE THINGS, BUT THEY CAME ROUND IN THE END...
CAPTION: ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY FOUND OUT THAT WESLEY CAME FROM A VERY GOOD FAMILY. BUT DAD WANTED TO MAKE A FUSS, SO...
PAGE FIFTY FOUR
Panel 1. Large panel, and another wedding scene—this time, it's a gathering of the People. It'll be at night (naturally), but maybe there could be lighting from flaming torches, or from lanterns strung on tree branches. You could set this in a forest clearing, or by a group of standing stones (or combine the two—check out some books on standing stones and see if there are any like that. Don't even think about Stonehenge—it wouldn't be possible). Tamara and Wesley would be in wolf-form, as would many of the guests. But the People are a pretty diverse bunch, so we could have other kinds of were-animals (foxes, a bear, a tiger), plus others in human form who look like they might be vampires or wizards or other kinds of magical beings. Exotic clothes for all the humanoid ones (maybe one in robes covered in astrological symbols). Two of the humanoid ones are holding crowns above the heads of the happy couple, just like in a Russian Orthodox wedding (an example of which you'll find early on in 'The Deerhunter').
CAPTION: AFTER THE REGISTRY OFFICE, WE HAD AN ORTHODOX WEDDING AS WELL, JUST TO KEEP THE FAMILIES HAPPY...
CAPTION: GREAT-AUNT TASHA DRANK TOO MUCH PUNCH AND BIT WESLEY'S DAD, BUT OTHERWISE EVERYBODY HAD A GREAT TIME.
And we end with an update/postscript, just like in American Graffiti, Animal House, The Commitments, etc. The next couple of panels are a couple of months later, and then we're jumping twenty years to the present day; in those decades all our characters will have matured somewhat, and will display a lot more self-confidence than in their youth.
Panel 2. Smallish: Tamara in a hospital bed, a few hours after giving birth (so she looks happy but washed out). She's cradling the baby Celeste, Weasel's sitting on the bed by her side (looking proud and stunned). On the far side of the bed are Vassily and Anya, Vassily dangling his fingers over the baby's face. Anya very proud and emotional.
CAPTION: AND I'M GLAD I WAS PREGNANT THEN, 'CAUSE AT LEAST MY MOM GOT TO SEE CELESTE, AND ADORED HER.
CAPTION: MOM DIDN'T LIVE TOO LONG AFTER THAT...
VASSILY: kootchy
Panel 3. Medium: Weasel, as he is now (balding and bearded). He's in the office of a construction company, so there are a couple of desks, lots of paperwork, a drawing board with blueprints or plans on it, and several other people to be amused by Weasel pouring vitriol into a phone receiver. He's dressed casual but very clean and tidy (a check shirt and jeans would suffice).
CAPTION: WE MOVED BACK TO THE STATES JUST BEFORE CELESTE WAS BORN, 'CAUSE THINGS WERE JUST GETTING WORSE IN ENGLAND, AND WES COULDN'T GET A JOB.
CAPTION: OVER HERE HE WENT INTO CONSTRUCTION, AND EVENTUALLY SET UP HIS OWN COMPANY. HE'S MATURED A LOT...BUT SOMETIMES THE OLD WEASEL STILL POPS TO THE SURFACE.
WEASEL: WHADDAYA MEAN, "TOMORROW?"
WEASEL: TOMORROW'S NO FUCKIN' GOOD TO ME—I WANT 'EM YESTERDAY.
Panel 4. Smallish: two old men playing chess, seen in profile. On the right is Vassily, gloating in victory over his opponent (on the left)—a stiff-backed gentleman with white hair and a monocle, very Eastern European. If it wasn't daylight, we'd suspect him of being a vampire (and we'd be right). They're playing on a New York street corner, underneath some trees and just to one side of the New York Public Library (visible behind them, and as seen in the first Ghostbusters film). ALISA: Send someone out with a camera, quick!
CAPTION: DAD REFUSES TO MOVE UPSTATE NEAR US, BUT HE VISITS A LOT. THE REST OF THE TIME HE STAYS IN THE CITY, AND SEEMS TO KEEP REALLY BUSY DOING OLD PEOPLE STUFF.
VASSILY: CHECKMATE, NU?
PAGES FIFTY FIVE & FIFTY SIX
PETER: I leave it up to you how to divide this (though I'd go for four or five panels maximum on p.55).
Panel 1. Medium: Tamara as she is now—quite a glamorous woman of roughly 41. Lots of makeup and jewellery, but otherwise dressed for comfort and practicality—just a sloppy top and leggings. A white streak or two in her hair (which is probably quite short). We're in her photographer's studio, and looking at her in profile, as she looks down into her camera (which is on a tripod) at her subjects (who we also see in profile). I don't care who they are, but there should be at least three of them—a mythical pop group, or dance group, or supermodels—whatever you fancy. They're posing against some kind of backdrop (plain, probably).
CAPTION: AS FOR ME...I WENT BACK TO COLLEGE AS SOON AS I COULD, TO STUDY PHOTOGRAPHY...
TAMARA: OKAY, EVERYBODY SAY "POST-MODERNISM."
CAPTION: AND I'M PRETTY SUCCESSFUL THESE DAYS. I'D DONE A FEW FASHION COVERS, AND THEN SOMEONE REALIZED WHO I USED TO BE...SO THIS NEW STYLE MAGAZINE ASKED ME TO DO A FEATURE ABOUT THE BAND...
Panel 2. Medium. This is one of Tamara's photographs (as are most of the panels that follow), so maybe you could give it a border of some kind. This one's Nigel—who's put on a fair amount of weight, and is posing across the street from the Houses of Parliament (in the place where MPs always stand to pose—watch the news). He's grinning happily, left hand gripping the lapel of his expensive suit. It's a sunny day, but...DANIEL: maybe Tamara's photos should be in black and white? Or sepia?
CAPTION: SO WE CAME BACK TO LONDON FOR A VISIT. ENGLAND'S LIKE A DIFFERENT COUNTRY NOW. IT'S FUN, AND NIGEL'S AT THE CUTTING EDGE OF IT.
CAPTION: HE'S A BACK BENCH MP (WHATEVER THAT MEANS) IN TONY BLAIR'S LABOUR GOVERNMENT.
Panel 3. Small. Ray, exactly as we knew him then, in an old photo (a creased snapshot), raising a glass to the camera and looking young and happy and full of life. Maybe with Tamara by his side (looking happy, or making some mad face). DANIEL: If we're making the other photos black & white, maybe this one should be in colour.
CAPTION: OF COURSE, THE ONE PERSON I REALLY WANTED TO SEE THERE, I COULDN'T.
CAPTION: POOR RAY DIED IN A CAR CRASH IN 1984...
Panel 4. Medium, and another photo: Judy as she is now, in her late forties and very academic-looking—she wears glasses full-time now. She's posing with daughter (about nineteen, looks like she has a wild streak) and grand- daughter (a toddler). I leave the setting up to you (a picnic in the park), but everybody's laughing.
CAPTION: BUT JUDY'S A SURVIVOR—AND A GRANDMOTHER NOW. SHE AND RAY HAD SPLIT UP A YEAR OR SO BEFORE HE DIED...BUT NOT BEFORE THEY'D HAD A DAUGHTER. AND NOW SHE'S HAD A DAUGHTER, AND SO IT GOES ON...
CAPTION: JUDY TEACHES ANTHROPOLOGY AT LONDON UNIVERSITY, BUT NEXT YEAR SHE'S MOVING TO COLUMBIA, SO WE SHOULD GET TO HANG OUT AGAIN. AND WHO KNOWS WHAT WE'LL GET UP TO?
Panel 5. Smallish, and another photo: Vic, who's almost completely bald and hasn't aged that well. Sitting in a very boring looking office (computer, lots of phones, piles of paper). Other (younger) males making faces in the background.
CAPTION: VIC HAD THAT ONE HIT IN THE EIGHTIES, AND THEN BECAME A PERSONAL FRIEND OF BETTY FORD.
CAPTION: HE WORKS IN TELEMARKETING NOW, AND HE'S STILL SINGLE.
Panel 6. Small/medium: Jimmy's panel. He's a big movie star now, and so we want something like him arriving at a premiere in Leicester Square, getting out of a limo and waving to the crowds, a starlet on his arm, a hundred paparazzi flashbulbs going off in the background. He's tanned, grinning (great, and probably expensive, teeth) and wearing impenetrable sunglasses. He should look like he makes his living as a dashing leading man and gets incredibly well paid for it—think Daniel Day Lewis, Hugh Grant, Pierce Brosnan...
CAPTION: JIMMY'S THE REAL SURPRISE, OF COURSE. HE WENT TO DRAMA SCHOOL AND ENDED UP BECOMING OUR VERY OWN SEX SYMBOL!
CAPTION: TOO BAD I'M AN OLD MARRIED LADY...
Panel 7. Smallish: another photo, this time almost a surveillance shot, taken from across the street. John Constantine, as we know and love him, leaving an occult bookshop (PETER: nudge me, and I'll send a reference shot), a bag of books in one hand. He's already smoking.
CAPTION: THE MARQUEE SHUT DOWN YEARS AGO, AND EVEN THE BUILDING GOT TORN DOWN. I COULDN'T FIND LES, EITHER...BUT I DID FIND JOHN CONSTANTINE...
CAPTION: THOUGH I MADE SURE HE DIDN'T SEE ME. SOMEONE TOLD ME HE'D BEEN IN MENTAL HOSPITAL...
Panel 8. Large: the largish, modernish living-room of Wes and Tamara's house (and they're certainly comfortable, if not actually rich). Tamara (same style of clothing but different clothes) is blissfully dancing her socks off in the middle of the room; to the right of panel her daughter Celeste (aged about 21, and more geeky than stylish) has entered the room, clutching a book to her chest and looking (a) pissed off and (b) embarrassed.
CAPTION: ANYWAY, I STILL SAY WE WERE A BETTER BAND THAN MUCOUS MEMBRANE. WE WERE NEVER FAMOUS, NEVER EARNED MUCH, AND OUR ALBUM ISN'T EVEN OUT ON CD YET...BUT 'NOTHIN' DOIN' IS INCLUDED ON SEVERAL PUNK ANTHOLOGIES...
CAPTION: AND IF I SAY SO MYSELF, WE STILL SOUND GOOD.
STEREO (with musical notes, please): YOU CALL THIS WOOIN'? THIS RACK 'N' RUIN? THERE'S NOTHIN' DOIN' WITH YOU...
CELESTE: MOM, CAN YOU TURN THAT RACKET DOWN?
CELESTE: I'M TRYING TO STUDY HERE.
CAPTION: THOUGH OF COURSE, NOT EVERYBODY THINKS SO.
THE END