Voilà, ik ben voor ’t echt begonnen aan een filmscript. En ik ga het deze keer helemaal afmaken, en verfilmen, al was het maar met plastieken poppen.
Ron schrijft zijn films in het Frans, awel dan doe ik het in het Engels. Alhoewel, misschien verander ik het nog wel naar het Vlaams. Alhoewel, Vlaams is niet direkt een taal waarin een lovecraftiaanse horrorfilm tot zijn recht kan komen, vrees ik.
EXT. MORTUARY -- NIGHT Two men exit the mortuary. They are walking backwards, schlepping an IRON COFFIN behind them. We hear a series of loud clangs as the coffin thuds down the few steps down from the mortuary's front door. With the third or fourth thud, the coffin lid slips off and the coffin turns over, spilling its contents. We see a MUMMIFIED HAND; the rest of the coffin is hidden in shadows. JOHN Urgh! Christ! The men sit on the steps, on both sides of the overturned coffin. They look utterly dejected. JOHN Man... This sucks. I don't know why we agreed to go through with this. MICK Shut up. JOHN I mean, it's not like we're getting paid for this, is it? MICK Shut. Up. JOHN And anyways, why us? Why doesn't he get his bloody women to do this? MICK John-- Mick is gritting his teeth now and clenching his fists. JOHN I mean, he's got, what, like six of 'em now, right? MICK --shut. the fuck. up. Mick is doing his best to stay calm. He is clearly not in the mood for light banter. He may be beginning to realise this was not agood idea, but as he sees it there's a job to be done, heintends to do it and forget about the whole thing. The soonerthis is over, the better. MICK Fucking. Put. The fucking. Hand. Back. In the fucking coffin. Put the fucking lid back on the fucking coffin, close the fucking coffin-- JOHN Whoa, man-- Mick snaps. MICK And fucking shut the fuck up! If I hear one more bloody sound from you, so help me God I'll have your other foot amputated and pickled, and I'll have it force-fed to your children with next week's Sunday roast. Got that?