screwed! improvised
well, this more or less the same story as my previous post only i'd figure it's better to be direct,straight-into-your-face kinda stuff. take your pick ppl!!
scene: in an isolated room in an asylum. a girl stared into the blank space in front of her, emotionless. there's a distant yet crystal-clear voice saying, "you've hurt me so deeply & it's funny that you still have your daughter & wife with you. you've used me so much i felt isolated, perhaps alienated from everyone else, including my family. worse of all, you despised my circle of friends for what they are but you are no better yourself. you are no womaniser but you are the Dajjal yourself, using your so-called piousness to deceit the whole world, even women. you are a destroyer & i hope that God'll forgive you for all the sins you've done & the damage you've made. i'll never forgive you for what you've done to me & i pity your child & wife for having such a destructive father-husband to bear with throughout their lives."
the voice later becomes repetitive in teasing tones, annoying tones, angry tones, laughing tones, etc. then all the tones become jumbled up & the girl starts laughing, gradually into a hysterical laughter. as the tones fade away, the girl's laughter tone/pace changes from hysterical to sober and later on angry.
behind her, using a wayang kulit-like screen, images/shadows of the girl arguing with her boyfriend. again, the voice creeping in becoming more & more destructive as she later hit her boyfriend dead numerous times with a china vase.
screwed!
scene: in an isolated room in an asylum. a girl stared into the blank space in front of her, emotionless. there's a distant yet crystal-clear voice saying, "you've hurt me so deeply & it's funny that you still have your daughter & wife with you. you've used me so much i felt isolated, perhaps alienated from everyone else, including my family. worse of all, you despised my circle of friends for what they are but you are no better yourself. you are no womaniser but you are the Dajjal yourself, using your so-called piousness to deceit the whole world, even women. you are a destroyer & i hope that God'll forgive you for all the sins you've done & the damage you've made. i'll never forgive you for what you've done to me & i pity your child & wife for having such a destructive father-husband to bear with throughout their lives."
the voice later becomes repetitive in teasing tones, annoying tones, angry tones, laughing tones, etc. then all the tones become jumbled up & the girl starts laughing, gradually into a hysterical laughter. as the tones fade away, the girl's laughter tone/pace changes from hysterical to sober and later on angry.
behind her, using a wayang kulit-like screen, images/shadows of the girl arguing with her boyfriend. again, the voice creeping in becoming more & more destructive as she later hit her boyfriend dead numerous times with a china vase.
5 Comments:
thank you for the directorial note there alia, but what we wantisnt how u would direct a story (treatment) but just u TELLING a story explaining what is the point of it, (wh- questions: answer them! why when where who how) pls look at a few examples of how the others have done it. and how they approach it: simple to the point, no frills. i think it's better you start catching up what u missed. red light alert!
thanx idora 4 the comment
Right. Woman, u have got to get off this theme of yours. Every time there's something involving original ideas, yours always revolves around this kind of plot. Maybe there's no particular reason for this but just as a suggestion, maybe you could make your next idea totally unrelated to this kind of thing... it's just a suggestion. I don't mean to be nasty o insensitive o such but I'm just reiterating what's on a lot of ppl's minds. I hope u take it as constructive criticism.
A personal story, but a little weak and too literal, especially the monologue.
Good stuff: Asylum? Interesting unexplored point. Issues of betrayal, insanity, revenge, passion.
Bad stuff: Shallow and too personal. Weak body, ending comes on too strong. Too emotional which weakens the story, in my opinion.
Suggestions: Explore the story of the female, but let's move away from a specific incident to the issue at hand. It might be abuse of women or the frailty of the female psyche.
I dont get Women either.
But read this:
NEWS STORY:
Singapore girl wins Commonwealth essay prize
A 15 YEAR OLD Singaporean, competing against 16-18 year olds, has won the
top prize in a writing contest that drew 5,300 entries from 52 countries.
In the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition, Amanda Chong of Raffles Girls'
School chose to compete in the older category and won with a piece on the
restlessness of modern life.
Her short story, titled What The Modern Woman Wants, focused on the conflict
in values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter.
'Through my story, I attempted to convey the unique East-versus-West
struggles and generation gaps that I felt were characteristic of young
people in my country,' said Amanda, who wants to become a lawyer and a
politician.
Chief examiner Charles Kemp called her piece a 'powerfully moving and
ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially cruel
consequences'. The writing is fluent and assured, with excellent use of
dialogue.
Amanda gets (S$1,590). A Singaporean last won the top prize in 2000, said
Britain's Royal Commonwealth Society, which has been organising the
competition since 1883. Other winners included students from Australia,
Canada and South Africa.
==================================================================
THE WINNING ESSSAY
What the Modern Woman Wants
By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened
down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it
may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling
hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the
patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her
not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'
Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile
phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance'
'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important
and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those
foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent.
The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed
agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured
fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.
'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut
and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old
woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly
picked it up and handed it to her daughter.
'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to
Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of
problems.' The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and
important.
Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she
was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same
cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful
digital tune, which broke the awkward silence.
'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I
didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an
English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily
forgotten. 'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the
ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.'
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her.
Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not
comprehend.
'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!'
The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag
in defence.
The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost
garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got
out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall. Her
daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and
reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.
'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said,
not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt
down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods. Thank
you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years.
Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young
woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming
pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love
life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man.
Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she
says.
She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness.
I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while
reaping the harvest of success. What you see is not true, she is a filial
daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for
me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman
does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.
The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with
her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an
urn of smouldering ashes.She bowed once more.
The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When
her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that
it was a son. Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb,
bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a
girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby
who could not work or carry the family name.
Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her
waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have
everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her
daughter would never have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her
daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated,
could never become.
A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A
woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth
to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen. She will not
be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift
away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood.
She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly
defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be
'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it. Now her daughter
was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like
that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth
and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now
she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by
only a string of origami banknotes.
Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so
ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion
boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness.
The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her
daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People
would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would
be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper
convertibles and mansions.
The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and
prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be
happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on
the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not
good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down.
The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of
beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping
porcelain Gods.How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of
ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of
wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day
of her life. Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she
worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had
would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell
at the altar.
The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey
stem that was on the danger of collapsing.
Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to
the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so
much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it.
Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder.
She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and
frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if
she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing
that would sow the seeds of happiness.
They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along
the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.
'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have
been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property
market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven
million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead.
We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we
plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves ...'
The old woman nodded knowingly.
Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework
and we can eat out - but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to
look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the
apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a
long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home.
There's one near Hougang - it's a Christian home, a very nice one.'
The old woman did not raise an eyebrow.
'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with
gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for
you, you'd be happier there.'
'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm
herself. This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to
cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would
protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into
the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers trace the white
seat.
'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is
everything okay?'
What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than
she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.
'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I
already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly,
mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda. 'I knew everything would
be fine.'
Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother
would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only
hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything
a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now,
Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down ...
Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the
message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!'
Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand
phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did
not see the tears.
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