Tuesday, August 5, 2014


This is a script.  It's not in script form per se, but it's an impressionist take on filmmaking.  No dialogue, just voice over, many images of the city at night.  Lens flares in the day.  Oh, lord.  Its called, "Missed".


Night:  The traffic lights blink, move, pulse.  The city moves faster at night.  People, cars, life rushes by.

It is morning.  The golden sun shines down on him as he stands outside the school building.  People scatter to classes.  The building looms large in front of him.  He hesitates, feeling his future will not be his own should he continue inside.

Night.  Downtown.  He walks.  He walks awhile from where he had to park.    People everywhere, he doesn’t acknowledge them, interact with them. He has a focus on his mission.  To get the corner where he saw her.  To watch for her, to hope he will see her again.

Past.  Days ago.  Weeks.  We see her.  She struggles to read a dog-eared book in the low light of the night.  We see him, watching from afar.

Dream.  He sits up in bed looking at her as she sleeps, naked.  He is overwhelmed by a pure joy.  With it comes a melancholia knowing that the joy he feels will never be better than it is right now.  He thinks of his mortality that one day, he will die.  He will cease to exist.  The pure joy he feels now will never be experienced again, forever.  He will be gone.  She will be gone.  Then what?

Night again. The city.  The traffic lights blink, move, pulse.  Lives move forward toward the eventual abyss.  He finds the same spot where he saw her.  He waits, bracing himself against a post.  “Am I crazy?  Am I obsessed? To be chasing a joy that only existed in my imagination?”  Is it time to quit, to give up?

He sits alone in his car.  Perhaps it is time to submit to living life.  To give up hoping, waiting for the impossible.  The Possible awaits.

She rushes towards the camera at the spot where she was first seem by him.  She is looking for something, trauma in her eyes, with an overwhelming feeling that she’s late once again.   Missed out.  The traffic lights blink, move, pulse.  The end.  Reelin and Rockin” by Chuck Berry plays.  Credits.

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