TRUTH MARATHON - 7
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EXT. PAUL'S HOUSE. A FEW DAYS LATER. EARLY MORNING.
Paul exits. He's dressed in his work clothes. He starts walking down the porch steps quickly and energetically. But then he turns and looks at his bike. It's repaired now and locked to the porch's railing.
Paul hesitates. After a moment of thought, he quickly goes back into his house. He emerges a second later with a bicycle helmet. He puts it on and unlocks his bike.
INT. THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL. THE TEACHERS’ ROOM. THE SAME DAY. MID-DAY.
Several people are milling around, making photocopies, chatting. Paul is at the phone.
CLOSE-UP: PAUL HOLDING THE HANDSET
SFX: soft ringing. ELECTRONIC VOICE: You have … one … message.
SFX: Beep!
PAUL’S MOTHER: [tape] Hi honey. It’s me. Could you call me when you have time?
Paul hangs up and redials. PAUL'S MOTHER [O.S.]: Hello? PAUL: Oh, hey mom.
INTERCUT. PAUL AND HIS MOTHER. PAUL’S MOTHER: Oh, hi dear! Thanks for calling back.
PAUL: Yeah. No sweat. What's up?
PAUL’S MOTHER: I have wonderful news! I talked to the social housing people yesterday, and they told me that your father can get a real apartment!
PAUL: Great.
PAUL'S MOTHER: Yes, isn't it? It's geared-to-income, so his cheques will be sufficient.
PAUL: Sounds good. Where is it?
PAUL'S MOTHER: Just off Church Street. A little south of Bloor.
PAUL: Oh, that's sort of a scuzzy area, isn't it?
PAUL'S MOTHER: Is it?
PAUL: Well, yeah. Don't they shoot crackheads down there? Or maybe it's the crackheads doing the shooting.
PAUL'S MOTHER: Well, in any case, it's ... central.
PAUL: Yeah, I guess it is. What's it like?
PAUL'S MOTHER: You mean, inside?
PAUL: Yeah.
PAUL'S MOTHER: I'm not sure. [beat] They tell me it's clean.
PAUL: "Clean."
PAUL'S MOTHER: [with more animation] Maybe you could whip over and take a look at it!
PAUL: [regretting he ever brought it up] What? Me?
PAUL'S MOTHER: Who else? You're closer. And you're a better judge of what Dad likes anyway.
PAUL: Ohh, jeez, ma, I'm --. You know, I'm busy.
PAUL'S MOTHER: We're all busy, Paul. That's modern life.
PAUL: [looking at watch] Today is rough... I ....
PAUL'S MOTHER: Have you got something planned?
PAUL: Yeah. A lot to do. I'm really swamped.
PAUL'S MOTHER: Well, not today then. How about tomorrow?
PAUL: [mumbling] Shi.... Okay. Gimme the address.
EXT. A DOWNTOWN STREET. THAT EVENING.
Paul is walking along the street. It's central to the city and cars stream up and down it steadily. There are pedestrians on the sidewalk, and they stream up and down, too. Paul is clearly more interested in the latter, especially the young women who occasionally pass him with a quick glance.
He stops outside a second hand bookstore. He glances at the various titles propped in front of the dusty window -- battered, discarded objects that have been spruced up to look attractive, like paupers in their Sunday best.
INT. THE BOOKSTORE. A FEW MINUTES LATER.
Apart from Paul and a clerk, the bookstore seems empty.
Paul is looking at an illustrated history book about Italy during the Renaissance. He pores over its pictures and reads captions and passages of text as if he's consumed by them. But then, a moment later, he puts the book back on its shelf and wanders to the back of the store.
There are more people here -- men, all of them. And there are more publications -- most of them magazines. And all of them about sex.
Paul dawdles here. He's clearly interested and he glances at the covers of the magazines with the sort of look that a person uses when they're sneaking a peek. But he seems to be going through an internal struggle, and as he puts his weight on one leg as he mindlessly steps closer to the magazines, just as quickly he steps back: monk avoiding temptation.
EXT. A SIDESTREET. NOT FAR FROM THE MAIN STREET. THIRTY MINUTES LATER.
Medium shot of Paul in a parkette. He has a Big Gulp in his hands and is eating a small hamburger. He looks toward the big street -- the people, its life.
Long shot. Paul is still sitting. Still looking. Still alone.
INT. THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL. PAUL'S CLASSROOM. THE NEXT DAY. CLOSE TO THE END OF THE TEACHING DAY.
SFX: Delighted screaming.
The camera pulls back. Paul's students are all gathered in a chaotic group in front of his whiteboard. They're divided (loosely) into two groups and playing a word game; while one student writes words that start with a specified letter -- for example, snow, smile, sun -- others on his team screech out suggestions.
Paul stands to one side, smiling and looking at the second hand on his watch.
STUDENTS ON TEAM "A": Soft! Sugar! Smile!
STUDENT WHO IS WRITING FOR TEAM "A": [a Mexican male] Already "smile".
STUDENTS ON TEAM "A": Smiling!
STUDENTS ON TEAM "B": Moon! Make! Marble!
STUDENT WHO IS WRITING FOR TEAM "A": [a Polish female] How spell "marble"?
PAUL: Okay ... stop! Everybody, stop!
STUDENTS ON TEAM "A": Sad! Sick! Sex!
PAUL: [raising his voice to be heard across the din] Okay! I said stop!
The students, all elated, step back from the whiteboard.
PAUL: [stepping forward and counting the words the students have spelled correctly] Okay. "A" Team.... One, two, three, four.......
SFX: Knocking on the classroom's open door.
Paul turns and sees Lucille.
LUCILLE: What's all the noise?
PAUL: [suddenly nervous] Oh, sorry, I didn't realize we were being so loud.
LUCILLE: [smiling] No, it's great. Just make sure the door stays shut when you're doing games though, okay?
PAUL: [chastised] Yeah. Sure.
beat.
LUCILLE: You're doing a good job, Paul. I've been noticing.
Paul is clearly pleasantly surprised by the compliment. However, he is speechless. And then, still smiling with obvious approval, Lucille retreats to the hall.
INT. THE TEACHERS' ROOM. THE SAME DAY, JUST AFTER THE TEACHING DAY HAS ENDED.
Paul is on the phone. We just hear his side of the conversation.
PAUL: Mom? Yeah, I'm going as soon as I can. Where is it again?... What? Did I talk to Dad? Yeah, I spoke to him last night. He's like, whatever.... What? Next week? Oh, next month. That's when the housing people say Dad can move in? Okay, good. Yup, yup.... No, it'll be good. I'll just check it out.... Yeah, I'll call you tonight.
EXT. THE SIDEWALK OUTSIDE A MASSIVE COMPLEX OF APARTMENT BUILDINGS. AN HOUR LATER.
Paul is on his bike. He gets off it and locks it to a parking meter.
He looks up at the buildings.They are a chalky white, and, although they've clearly seen better days, they seem to be in reasonable repair.
Around him are lots of people -- some single but also many families. The single people are a wide range of ages, racial types, and, given the hostile body language of some of them, degrees of criminal intent. The families, however, are mainly young and have a trustworthy, law-abiding look to them. Almost all of them are, as we say nowadays, of colour. They are from Sri Lanka, India, China, Taiwan, and many other countries far across the globe. Many of them seem happy together.
INT. THE SUPERINTENDANT'S OFFICE. A FEW MINUTES LATER.
Paul enters.
PAUL: I'm looking for Frank Doucette.
A portly man in an open-necked white shirt: Yeah, you got him.
INT. AN EMPTY APARTMENT. A FEW MINUTES LATER.
The apartment is small but clean. It has a nice bright view of a courtyard 20 stories below.
PAUL: [peering into kitchen and bathroom] Yeah. Looks good.... How's the water pressure?
FRANK DOUCETTE: Try it.
Paul walks into the bathroom. The camera doesn't follow him. INstead, we hear the tap get turned on.
SFX: LOUD TAP WATER.
PAUL: [over the sound] Yeah. It's good.
INT. THE HALL JUST OUTSIDE THE EMPTY APARTMENT. A FEW MINUTES LATER.
Paul and Frank Doucette are talking.
PAUL: So how does it work? My dad can move in next month?
FRANK: Yeah. But he's gotta come here first. Sign some papers.
PAUL: Okay. Sure. No sweat.
EXT. OUTSIDE THE APARTMENT BUILDING. TEN MINUTES LATER.
Paul is getting on his bike. He's whistling, he's so happy.
EXT. PAUL'S HOUSE. A FEW DAYS LATER. EARLY MORNING.
Paul exits. He's dressed in his work clothes. He starts walking down the porch steps quickly and energetically. But then he turns and looks at his bike. It's repaired now and locked to the porch's railing.
Paul hesitates. After a moment of thought, he quickly goes back into his house. He emerges a second later with a bicycle helmet. He puts it on and unlocks his bike.
INT. THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL. THE TEACHERS’ ROOM. THE SAME DAY. MID-DAY.
Several people are milling around, making photocopies, chatting. Paul is at the phone.
CLOSE-UP: PAUL HOLDING THE HANDSET
SFX: soft ringing. ELECTRONIC VOICE: You have … one … message.
SFX: Beep!
PAUL’S MOTHER: [tape] Hi honey. It’s me. Could you call me when you have time?
Paul hangs up and redials. PAUL'S MOTHER [O.S.]: Hello? PAUL: Oh, hey mom.
INTERCUT. PAUL AND HIS MOTHER. PAUL’S MOTHER: Oh, hi dear! Thanks for calling back.
PAUL: Yeah. No sweat. What's up?
PAUL’S MOTHER: I have wonderful news! I talked to the social housing people yesterday, and they told me that your father can get a real apartment!
PAUL: Great.
PAUL'S MOTHER: Yes, isn't it? It's geared-to-income, so his cheques will be sufficient.
PAUL: Sounds good. Where is it?
PAUL'S MOTHER: Just off Church Street. A little south of Bloor.
PAUL: Oh, that's sort of a scuzzy area, isn't it?
PAUL'S MOTHER: Is it?
PAUL: Well, yeah. Don't they shoot crackheads down there? Or maybe it's the crackheads doing the shooting.
PAUL'S MOTHER: Well, in any case, it's ... central.
PAUL: Yeah, I guess it is. What's it like?
PAUL'S MOTHER: You mean, inside?
PAUL: Yeah.
PAUL'S MOTHER: I'm not sure. [beat] They tell me it's clean.
PAUL: "Clean."
PAUL'S MOTHER: [with more animation] Maybe you could whip over and take a look at it!
PAUL: [regretting he ever brought it up] What? Me?
PAUL'S MOTHER: Who else? You're closer. And you're a better judge of what Dad likes anyway.
PAUL: Ohh, jeez, ma, I'm --. You know, I'm busy.
PAUL'S MOTHER: We're all busy, Paul. That's modern life.
PAUL: [looking at watch] Today is rough... I ....
PAUL'S MOTHER: Have you got something planned?
PAUL: Yeah. A lot to do. I'm really swamped.
PAUL'S MOTHER: Well, not today then. How about tomorrow?
PAUL: [mumbling] Shi.... Okay. Gimme the address.
EXT. A DOWNTOWN STREET. THAT EVENING.
Paul is walking along the street. It's central to the city and cars stream up and down it steadily. There are pedestrians on the sidewalk, and they stream up and down, too. Paul is clearly more interested in the latter, especially the young women who occasionally pass him with a quick glance.
He stops outside a second hand bookstore. He glances at the various titles propped in front of the dusty window -- battered, discarded objects that have been spruced up to look attractive, like paupers in their Sunday best.
INT. THE BOOKSTORE. A FEW MINUTES LATER.
Apart from Paul and a clerk, the bookstore seems empty.
Paul is looking at an illustrated history book about Italy during the Renaissance. He pores over its pictures and reads captions and passages of text as if he's consumed by them. But then, a moment later, he puts the book back on its shelf and wanders to the back of the store.
There are more people here -- men, all of them. And there are more publications -- most of them magazines. And all of them about sex.
Paul dawdles here. He's clearly interested and he glances at the covers of the magazines with the sort of look that a person uses when they're sneaking a peek. But he seems to be going through an internal struggle, and as he puts his weight on one leg as he mindlessly steps closer to the magazines, just as quickly he steps back: monk avoiding temptation.
EXT. A SIDESTREET. NOT FAR FROM THE MAIN STREET. THIRTY MINUTES LATER.
Medium shot of Paul in a parkette. He has a Big Gulp in his hands and is eating a small hamburger. He looks toward the big street -- the people, its life.
Long shot. Paul is still sitting. Still looking. Still alone.
INT. THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL. PAUL'S CLASSROOM. THE NEXT DAY. CLOSE TO THE END OF THE TEACHING DAY.
SFX: Delighted screaming.
The camera pulls back. Paul's students are all gathered in a chaotic group in front of his whiteboard. They're divided (loosely) into two groups and playing a word game; while one student writes words that start with a specified letter -- for example, snow, smile, sun -- others on his team screech out suggestions.
Paul stands to one side, smiling and looking at the second hand on his watch.
STUDENTS ON TEAM "A": Soft! Sugar! Smile!
STUDENT WHO IS WRITING FOR TEAM "A": [a Mexican male] Already "smile".
STUDENTS ON TEAM "A": Smiling!
STUDENTS ON TEAM "B": Moon! Make! Marble!
STUDENT WHO IS WRITING FOR TEAM "A": [a Polish female] How spell "marble"?
PAUL: Okay ... stop! Everybody, stop!
STUDENTS ON TEAM "A": Sad! Sick! Sex!
PAUL: [raising his voice to be heard across the din] Okay! I said stop!
The students, all elated, step back from the whiteboard.
PAUL: [stepping forward and counting the words the students have spelled correctly] Okay. "A" Team.... One, two, three, four.......
SFX: Knocking on the classroom's open door.
Paul turns and sees Lucille.
LUCILLE: What's all the noise?
PAUL: [suddenly nervous] Oh, sorry, I didn't realize we were being so loud.
LUCILLE: [smiling] No, it's great. Just make sure the door stays shut when you're doing games though, okay?
PAUL: [chastised] Yeah. Sure.
beat.
LUCILLE: You're doing a good job, Paul. I've been noticing.
Paul is clearly pleasantly surprised by the compliment. However, he is speechless. And then, still smiling with obvious approval, Lucille retreats to the hall.
INT. THE TEACHERS' ROOM. THE SAME DAY, JUST AFTER THE TEACHING DAY HAS ENDED.
Paul is on the phone. We just hear his side of the conversation.
PAUL: Mom? Yeah, I'm going as soon as I can. Where is it again?... What? Did I talk to Dad? Yeah, I spoke to him last night. He's like, whatever.... What? Next week? Oh, next month. That's when the housing people say Dad can move in? Okay, good. Yup, yup.... No, it'll be good. I'll just check it out.... Yeah, I'll call you tonight.
EXT. THE SIDEWALK OUTSIDE A MASSIVE COMPLEX OF APARTMENT BUILDINGS. AN HOUR LATER.
Paul is on his bike. He gets off it and locks it to a parking meter.
He looks up at the buildings.They are a chalky white, and, although they've clearly seen better days, they seem to be in reasonable repair.
Around him are lots of people -- some single but also many families. The single people are a wide range of ages, racial types, and, given the hostile body language of some of them, degrees of criminal intent. The families, however, are mainly young and have a trustworthy, law-abiding look to them. Almost all of them are, as we say nowadays, of colour. They are from Sri Lanka, India, China, Taiwan, and many other countries far across the globe. Many of them seem happy together.
INT. THE SUPERINTENDANT'S OFFICE. A FEW MINUTES LATER.
Paul enters.
PAUL: I'm looking for Frank Doucette.
A portly man in an open-necked white shirt: Yeah, you got him.
INT. AN EMPTY APARTMENT. A FEW MINUTES LATER.
The apartment is small but clean. It has a nice bright view of a courtyard 20 stories below.
PAUL: [peering into kitchen and bathroom] Yeah. Looks good.... How's the water pressure?
FRANK DOUCETTE: Try it.
Paul walks into the bathroom. The camera doesn't follow him. INstead, we hear the tap get turned on.
SFX: LOUD TAP WATER.
PAUL: [over the sound] Yeah. It's good.
INT. THE HALL JUST OUTSIDE THE EMPTY APARTMENT. A FEW MINUTES LATER.
Paul and Frank Doucette are talking.
PAUL: So how does it work? My dad can move in next month?
FRANK: Yeah. But he's gotta come here first. Sign some papers.
PAUL: Okay. Sure. No sweat.
EXT. OUTSIDE THE APARTMENT BUILDING. TEN MINUTES LATER.
Paul is getting on his bike. He's whistling, he's so happy.
posted by Finn Harvor at 1:39 PM
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