TO THE MOON F.C: A TV COMEDY PILOT SCREENPLAY
Work in progress, feedback from script competition + my future plans
This email is pretty long as it contains a 60-page screenplay. So it will be clipped by your email client. Click “View the entire message” to read!
Dear reader, I’ve thought long and hard about how to go about sharing my actual work/writing, bearing in mind the screenplays or ideas are works in progress and I am currently revising them.
I don’t feel comfortable sharing my work-in-progress without a paywall, because that would make it available to the whole internet. As much as I trust my subscribers, you never know, and some of the competitions or applications I make require the script to not be online/released in any way. Besides, this is rather intimate as I will share the processes of my journey, the feedback I receive from professionals, the rejections, the successes. (+ this is literally hundreds of hours of work).
I will also be interested in feedback and ideas from readers, so in a sense, it will turn more into a private club focused on filmmaking & writing in general.
For all these reasons, I will put a paywall on this post and the future posts related to actual career stuff BUT I really do not want to stop anyone who doesn’t have enough money to subscribe to participate. I’ve been broke before; I know what it feels like, so if you feel like you are in this situation, you would really like to be able to see this stuff, but lack the means to become a paid subscriber, please drop me an email here and I’ll give you a free comp sub for as long as you want: remy.bazerque@gmail.com DO NOT HESITATE!
So to start with, here is a full work in progress pilot screenplay for a TV show. It’s a comedy set in the world of football (real football) with the following pitch:
A tech billionaire's takeover of an English second division football club sparks a riot of misadventures among an ensemble cast of clueless characters.
This script is not currently in development with any prod, I wrote it in order to apply to competition/opportunities, so it’s early days & early draft. I however have just received the first feedback from a script competition called Blue Cat Screenplay competition
The feedback is quite positive and constructive, so I’m planning to experiment with the screenplay based on it. (You will find the feedback email at the end of the essay)
In the next few months, I will post more of my screenplay drafts, ideas and will share the ups and downs of my submitting processes.
I’m of course interested in your two pence so feel free to chime in.
So now and without further ado let me share the pilot. Bear in mind that the substack editor doesn’t let me keep a ‘normal’ screenplay mise en page, and since I do not want to share a PDF I had to reformat it to this weird everything on the left style. It sucks but I can’t do much about it.
NOTE: A paywall is coming at about a third of the script. Once again if you want a free paid subscription email me at: remy.bazerque@gmail.com and I’ll sort you out.
Hope you enjoy it!
TO THE MOON F.C
A TV pilot screenplay by Remy Bazerque
WGA reg no: 2240601
INT. CLAYFORD CITY FC - OPEN OFFICE - DAY CLAIRE A what?! ELLA A hunting falcon... CLAIRE KERR, 27, cuts through the busy open space with a no-nonsense sharpness, her business chic slightly softened by signs of fatigue. CLAIRE What the fuck? ELLA No instruction, nothing, it's in a cage, howling in the entrance... ELLA, 23, tries to keep up. She stands out with her pale skin and dark attire, her wide, apprehensive eyes betraying a deer-in-headlights unease. CLAIRE Move it away, anywhere! Ella starts texting instructions with a trembling hand. Claire calls on her phone while trying to print a bunch of stuff. CLAIRE Thomas? Can you hear me? Hello?? THOMAS (OFF) I'm sorry Claire, we're [indistinct]-- CLAIRE What? Thomas? I can't hear you? Come again? THOMAS (OFF) Late! We're late! CLAIRE (rolling her eyes) Yes, I’ve noticed! Thomas, we have a falcon here. THOMAS (OFF) Ah, yes yes! Did I not mention? [Indistinct] CLAIRE NO! Everyone is arriving! What do I do with it? THOMAS (OFF) It's the owner's! Wait... Here’s the translator [Indistinct] TRANSLATOR (OFF) (thick accent) Big gloves! Take falcon out of cage! Now! [Indistinct] CLAIRE Take it out? TRANSLATOR (OFF) YES! On perch. Food. [Indistinct] Food. Quick. CLAIRE Food? What food? TRANSLATOR (OFF) No silence! Important-- Never silence! Otherwise [Indistinct] The line cuts, Claire spins towards Ella. CLAIRE Otherwise what? Ella, I hope you heard all this... ELLA Claire... No, I can't-- CLAIRE Yes, you can. ELLA I'm a flutist. CLAIRE Ella, I have 300 journalists outside, I have zero Thomas, zero Gufinho, zero Donatelli--zero--can you please take care of one thing for me. One falcon? Ella scampers off, shaking her head. A nearby door slams open on Matias 'El Mago' Donatelli, a grizzled and charismatic, unshaved man in his mid-fifties. He stands in the room like he owns it, contemplating Claire like a poet who has weathered many a storm. CLAIRE Mr. Donatelli! I'm so sorry for not receiving you myself, I've just had the most crazy morning. DONATELLI (Spanish accent) Hi, yes. Is there coffee somewhere in this building? Donatelli glances around the décor with a critical eye. CLAIRE Yes... Coffee! I'd like one too! Right this way please. They start walking down the corridor. CLAIRE Did you have a good flight? DONATELLI (Spanish accent) Horrendous. CLAIRE Oh no! I'm sorry to hear that. Such a long trek from Argentina as well! Well, the café is just around the corner here... As they turn a corner and enter the wide cafe, Donatelli stops and stares at it, in disarray. Claire observes him, sheepish. CLAIRE Is everything OK, coach? He turns to her, his eyes burning with intensity. DONATELLI (Spanish accent) No not OK. Not OK at all. Look... The color, the carpet... The plants... What do you think a player feels when he walks in here? Does he feel victory? Claire fumbles, laughing nervously as she glances around. CLAIRE Well... I mean... Perhaps it's more like... a draw? DONATELLI NO! Defeat! Decay! CANCER OF THE EYE! NATALIE BROOKS, the stern cafe manager, looks up from her work station, her expression heated. NATALIE (Scottish accent) What's this about an eye cancer? CLAIRE Coach, why don't you wait in the conference room, I'll order you a nice coffee... She gently steers Donatelli away from Natalie. DONATELLI Necrosis... A festering wound... NATALIE (Scottish accent) Your chat's gonna land you with more than a festering wound, I'm warning ye. DONATELLI Is that English? Where’s she from? CLAIRE This way please-- ELLA [OFF] --AAAAAAGH! Claire rushes around the corner. Through the glass wall of a conference room, she sees Ella, frantically chasing the escaped falcon with a kitchen mitten on one hand and a bag of crisps in the other. ELLA It won’t eat! INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY Claire and Donatelli burst into the room just as the falcon flies past, screeching. CLAIRE It's the silence! He said no silence. Talk, sing! Anything! La la la la la. DONATELLI Do you have an ashtray? CLAIRE An ash--? NO! Ella, give me that! La la la! Ella hands over the mitten. Claire starts her own pursuit, out of breath. ELLA I'm talking! Just talking! Here, talking... talking... CLAIRE It's not working... LOUDER! LOUDER! Ella, in her dark flowing dress, spins and dashes to her rucksack. She pulls out her piccolo flute, and plays a brisk sonata. DONATELLI Ah! Mozart... Bravo. Donatelli casually lights up a cigarillo, sitting back to enjoy the show. Claire tries to corner the agitated falcon. The conference room door opens, revealing aging football superstar GUFINHO, flanked by two companions. He's in a baggy outfit and wears a big gold chain, slightly overweight for an athlete. GUFINHO El Misterrrr!! El Magoooooo! Hermanooooo! DONATELLI Ah! Genio! Hermanito!! ¿Cómo estás, bien? ¿Bien? Donatelli opens his arms wide, and the two share a hearty, emotional hug. Ella continues her flute performance. Claire, glancing over her shoulder, is momentarily relieved to see things seemingly under control. She then refocuses on the falcon. CLAIRE (clenched teeth) Come. Back. HERE. SIGRID [OFF] (German accent) May I help you? Claire sins and discovers SIGRID HARTMANN, a woman in her late fifties with pale skin and deep grey eyes. Calm and slightly aristocratic, she has just entered the room. CLAIRE (giving the mitten) By all means... Please... Sigrid, with the confidence of a hypnotist, approaches the falcon. SIGRID (German accent) Who are you today, majestic creature? Shhhhhhhh... Claire lifts an eyebrow. SIGRID (whisper) Above the chaos, you rise. Peaceful. Powerful. Shhhhhhhhh... Miraculously, the falcon hops onto her mitten. Sigrid, now resembling a Greek statue, stands composed. Claire is astonished. CLAIRE Wow. Who are you? SIGRID (German accent) Your new Head of Neuro-Cognitive Development and Mindset Optimisation. CLAIRE Miss Hartmann! Of course! I didn't recognise you! SIGRID New haircut. Do you like it? Claire nods politely. SIGRID Claire... You must learn to stay into your adult ego state. The trick is to recognise when you start sliding into your child. CLAIRE Yes, I see. SIGRID Sometimes, all you need is to take a slight step sideways to see things differently and calm down-- The door swings open, revealing NATALIE BROOKS with a cup of coffee. NATALIE (above the hubbub) --COFFEE?! Startled, the falcon screeches, flapping away through the open door. Sigrid spins around, furious. SIGRID YOU IDIOT! NATALIE Ye what?! Sigrid quickly regains her composure SIGRID I'm so sorry... NATALIE Well it's my bloody day today! Natalie slams the coffee on the table next to Donatelli, who looks at her, bewildered. CLAIRE Ella! Falcon! Ella abruptly stops playing and rushes after the falcon, almost forgetting the mitten. Donatelli tastes his coffee, retches, and drops his cigarillo into it. Natalie, noticing, exits the room with a sly smile. DONATELLI When can I see my players? Claire looks through him for a moment, then nods. EXT. CLAYFORD CITY FC'S RECEPTION DESKS - DAY Ben Moss, 24, small and rounded in a cheap suit, approaches a group heading to the reception desk, his eyes darting nervously but with a determined air. BEN I'm terribly sorry, may I just ask a quick question? The group attempts to ignore him as he tags along. BEN It seems like my invitation got mixed up... Could you perhaps share the contact of the organizer...? The group fully ignores him and reaches one of the desks. Ben turns and sees another person entering through the revolving doors: LEO AKAMBI, 28, a charismatic man with short dreads, smoothly swept back. Ben, going 'all in,' literally stands right in front of Leo, blocking his path. BEN Excuse me sir--I'm terribly sorry, but I need a bit of help-- LEO What the-- Leo, taken aback, tries to sidestep Ben. BEN --I'm so sorry for having to do this but-- LEO (hushed tones) Jesus Christ, mate, can you not? Move! Leo slips past and looks around anxiously, resembling a spy in a movie. Ben cocks an eyebrow but Leo is already at a reception desk, talking to the receptionist in hushed tones and checking on Ben suspiciously. The receptionist shakes his head, eliciting a look of shock from Leo. Meanwhile, Ben inches closer, keen to overhear their conversation. LEO (fake French accent) Euh... You realize that... I'm here from Qatar for the signature? Leo attempts to block the view between Ben and the receptionist. RECEPTIONIST I'm sorry sir, but your name isn't on the list... LEO (fake French accent) Four hours till my flight! This deal will collapse without me! RECEPTIONIST I-- Err... LEO (fake French accent) This is a disaster. Real Madrid are on the player as well, you know? RECEPTIONIST Umm. Wait a second sir... Sweat beads on the receptionist forehead as Leo, maintaining his act, pretends to make a call. LEO Thomas will hear about this! The receptionist, now pale, tries to call his superiors one more time. As Ben grasps Leo's stratagem, Leo flashes threatening eyes towards him, but too late: Ben is already in action. BEN (fake French accent) Ah, mon cher collègue! Catastrophe strikes! The Spaniards just made an offer! I have the contract here – voilà – ready for a miracle! Let's go quick! Leo, incredulous, stares at Ben, then quickly gathers himself, embracing the unexpected intervention. LEO (fake French accent) Yes but... 'Le Transfert' is doomed mon ami... BEN (fake French accent) What?! Why? How? Oh la la!! Mon dieu! The receptionist clacks the phone down and looks around. No one is watching. RECEPTIONIST (whisper) Listen... I'll issue temporary badges, but you must find Claire Kerr immediately. Names, please... INT. CLAYFORD CITY FC CAFE - DAY LEO, with a mix of confidence and pretense, enters the cafe, followed by BEN. The cafe buzzes with badged individuals mingling. LEO Jean-Pierre Baguette? Jean-Pierre Baguette? Well, We made it through, didn't we? LEO We?
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