Forty-Seven

Forty SevenForty Seven

1. Wide panel. A silver, dart-shaped SPACESHIP sits on high-tech landing gear amidst a clearing in a thick jungle.

SHELLEY: Doug, I am imploring you not to be an asshole about this.

DOUG: Harsh words, Shel. I’m wounded.

SHELLEY: This is not about who’s right and who’s wrong.

2. We CUT TO inside the spaceship. A small, but well-equipped, field laboratory. We’re focused on a strange mushroom-looking PLANT as it sits on a cold-steel tray atop a work bench.

SHELLEY (OFF): This is life or death. Tag it, bag it. But do not touch it.

3. Zoom out. Either side of the work bench stands a man and a woman - DOUG and SHELLEY. DOUG, on the left, is all puffed chest, possessing the kind of machismo that breaks at the slightest touch. SHELLEY, on the right, has wispey hair, has a mousey manner about her and slightly hunched over. She usually takes DOUGs shit. But not today. Both are wearing dark blue jumpsuits.

DOUG: Readings indicate it’s not toxic.

SHELLEY: Don’t care. Just follow the damn protocol.

DOUG: No.

4. Tight on DOUG, smirking. A know it all.

SHELLEY (OFF): This is about the movie, isn’t it? Jesus, Doug.

5. On SHELLEY. Sick of this. Pointing, spitting bile and barbed truth.

SHELLEY: It was a difference of opinion. We won’t have to agree on everything. SHELLEY: Grow up!

6. DOUG, a painted smile, hiding his hurt, as he reaches his hand towards the PLANT on the table.

DOUG: Ease up, Shel. Come on…

7. Inset panel in the bottom right of Panel 6. Nothing but black.

CAPTION/DOUG: …lets grab our suits and go for a stroll.”

February 19, 2017 · 1page1shots


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