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Commercial by Steven Carter EXT.
A BUCOLIC LAKE SCENE—DAY A
bright, but not brilliant sun shines from its noonday perch. A thick forest surrounds the lake except
for a rim of grass at the water’s edge.
A dirt road cuts through the forest.
A MAN and WOMAN are sitting on a blanket on the grass as if having a
picnic, although they have no food, no hamper. Their station wagon is parked a few yards away, and their
children, a BOY seven and a GIRL six, play near the water’s edge. The children’s tentativeness makes it
obvious they cannot swim. ANGLE ON the MAN, mildly handsome,
casually dressed, in his early thirties, and the WOMAN, pretty, six months
pregnant. WOMAN You know, the wagon just isn’t big
enough anymore. MAN The wagon’s fine. WOMAN It won’t be when this one comes
along. She
smiles, touches his arm, leaves her hand there. MAN Honey... WOMAN We need a van. CUT
TO: The
MAN running through an unfamiliar desert landscape. The sun is incessant, brutal.
CLOSE ON his face, strained and sweating profusely. He looks over his shoulder, speeds up his
pace. CUT
TO: The
MAN and WOMAN. She is still touching
his arm, her smile beatific. WOMAN We need a van. For the children’s sake. MAN What about a truck? I’ve been thinking about getting a truck. CLOSE
ON the WOMAN’s face. She is still
smiling, but now it seems frozen, ceramic. CUT
TO: A
horrifically neat neighborhood. A van
is parked in the white concrete drive of each house. The WOMAN shuffles through this
neighborhood, distraught, swollen beyond belief with pregnancy. Then she comes to her house, the one with
the truck. CUT
TO: The
MAN and WOMAN. WOMAN Trucks are nice. MAN They’re really versatile. WOMAN But where would we put the
children? MAN We could get one of those with the
big cab. CUT
TO: The
BOY and GIRL, standing in dirty knee-high water in the lake. From their expressions it is obvious they
are frightened. CUT
TO: The
MAN and WOMAN staring at each other.
Then, we hear the loud ROAR of an unseen vehicle coming up the dirt
road. The ROAR echoes. A FOUR WHEEL DRIVE JEEP RANCHERO, red with
gold trim, bursts out of the woods and comes to a screeching halt beside the
station wagon. Upbeat music floats
from the JEEP RANCHERO’S open windows.
The engine dies, but the music keeps playing, and an absolutely
beautiful SECOND WOMAN steps out. The
SECOND WOMAN smiles, waves to the MAN and WOMAN. She is wearing a conservative two-piece bathing suit. She makes for the lake and jumps in. She swims well. CUT
TO: The
BOY and GIRL, staring forlornly at the SECOND WOMAN swimming. CUT
TO: The
MAN and WOMAN. She is staring at the
JEEP RANCHERO. The MAN, like his
children, is staring at the swimming SECOND WOMAN. WOMAN A Jeep Ranchero. It might just do the trick. MAN (smiling) I think you’re right. DISSOLVE
TO: A
white screen. Centered in the middle
of the screen, in small black letters: Jeep Ranchero. The perfect compromise. FADE OUT *
* * INT.
AN UPPER MIDDLE CLASS LIVING ROOM It
is late afternoon. Long shadows
darken the room and through a picture window we see snow spitting, a large
backyard rimmed by woods. The room is
lit only by the blaze in the fireplace.
The fire CRACKLES. A MAN,
early forties, sits on a couch in front of the fireplace. He is obviously depressed. His shoulders slump, he stares at the fire
as if in a trance. He wears a thick
white fisherman’s sweater. His short
neat hair, graying at the temples, is a touch ruffled. The whole look of the man tells us he is a
mid-level executive on the rise; he has carved out a comfortable place in the
world. But now something is deeply
wrong. A WOMAN enters the room and stands
near the fireplace, rubbing her gloved hands together. The MAN notes her briefly, returns his
gaze to the fire. The WOMAN is
flushed, her breath short and quick.
She wears a fashionable running suit, black Lycra tights, a brightly
colored top, a pink ear band. The
CRACKLE of the fire fills the silence in the room. WOMAN It’s getting cold out there. ANGLE
ON the MAN’s face. He nods. WOMAN It’s all right though. I like running when it’s cold. ANGLE
ON the MAN’s face. He nods again. WOMAN (perturbed) Look, you may not believe it, but
this hurts me too. CUT
TO: A
wooded scene. Strong, bass-heavy rock
music is playing. A trail cuts
through the woods and we see the WOMAN running. Her expression is determined.
She is dressed as she was in the living room. She starts up a short hill, and we get an
ANGLE ON her TRAILRUNNER X2 running shoes, the insignia clearly visible. Then DISSOLVE to a swirl of images. The WOMAN in a business suit striding
through the cavernous lobby of an office building, the WOMAN lifting weights
in a dark, grungy, high-ceilinged room, the WOMAN walking on a beach at
evening. CUT
TO: WIDER
ANGLE on the living room. Now we see
the MAN and WOMAN, the fireplace, and also in the far corner of the room a
Christmas tree. Lights blink on the
tree, and underneath it lay a pile of opened gifts, boxes and paper strewn
everywhere. MAN (staring at the floor) I can’t believe you waited until
now to tell me. Who does such a thing
on the day after Christmas? WOMAN It had to be done. MAN (suddenly looking up at her) But after all these years...and
the children. God, Alisa. Why?
WOMAN I don’t know. Because that’s just the way it is, I
guess. MAN (distraught) That’s no kind of answer. That’s no answer at all. WOMAN (pulling off her ear band, tossing her
hair free) It’s the only answer I’ve got,
Roger, so just pull yourself together.
Just snap out of it. DISSOLVE
TO: A
black screen. Centered in the middle
of the screen, in small white letters: Trailrunner X2. Just snap out of it. FADE OUT *
* * INT.
A BUSY RESTAURANT A
FATHER and SON sit at a table. Gauzy
sunlight falls through a curtained window at their backs. We hear the indistinguishable CHATTER of
the lunch crowd. A WAITER and then
PATRONS walk behind the FATHER and SON’s table, creating a sense of bustle. FATHER and SON are both dressed in
conservative tie and blazer. The
FATHER has the air of a successful man a only a few years from retirement,
while the SON has the air of a young lion on the rise. However, the searching expression on the
SON’s face lets us know he is here, at this lunch, for wisdom. FATHER You could buy life insurance. But it’s not the greatest investment in
the world. SON Didn’t you have it? FATHER When your mother and I were
married, yes. When you were little,
yes. SON So I’m married. And Judy’s expecting. Why shouldn’t I buy the policy? Neither
FATHER nor SON speaks for a moment.
The CHATTER of the lunch crowd intensifies. The SON watches the FATHER for an answer, while the FATHER
gazes thoughtfully into the distance.
FATHER You’ll get a better return on a
stock fund. Over the long haul. SON I know. But my family won’t be protected. FATHER Yes, they will. The money will be there. And if things ever change— SON (interrupting) What’d you mean? If things change? FATHER I mean sometimes things
change. And if they do, a life
insurance policy won’t leave you with much equity. It’ll be harder to start over again. SON But I don’t— FATHER (interrupting) Look. You asked me what I thought.
I told you. The FATHER reaches for his water glass,
takes a sip, sets it down again. Both
FATHER and SON stare at the table thoughtfully. The SON gives the slightest of nods. Then the WAITER passes behind their table again, and the
CHATTER of the lunch crowd intensifies. DISSOLVE TO: A
white screen. Centered in the middle
of the screen, in small black letters: Ecco Mutual Funds. Because sometimes things change. FADE OUT ** Steven
Carter's novel, I Was Howard Hughes, was recently
published under the Tin House Books imprint of Bloomsbury USA. His short fiction has appeared in over
twenty magazines.
Archived
at http://lit.konundrum.com/prose/carters_comm.htm |
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