Truth Marathon: Character Sketches -- Paul....

Drawing: Finn Harvor

[Note: the above is how I conceive of Paul, one of the main characters in my screenplay-novel, TRUTH MARATHON.]

[excerpt: Paul is going to visit his father.]

EXT. A RUN-DOWN ROOMING HOUSE, EVEN MORE DILAPIDATED THAN THE ONE PAUL LIVES IN. THE SAME DAY. CLOSE TO SIX IN THE EVENING.

Paul walks up the front steps.

CLOSE-UP. THE DOORBELL.

A sign, clumsily written, states: DOOR-BELL HAS CEASED FUNCTIONING

MEDIUM-SHOT. PAUL.

Paul knocks on the front door. No response. He knocks again – hard.

SFX: Flow of traffic in the background.

Paul knocks again, now pounding with the side of his fist.

Then he bends over and opens the letter slot.

PAUL: [into slot] Da-aaaaad!

SFX: Some footsteps inside the house.

PAUL’S FATHER: [O.S. -- voice very muffled] Coming, coming. Hold your horses.

Slowly, the front door opens.

Paul looks at his father. He is in his mid-sixties. He has long grey hair and the craggy features of someone who has imbibed some form of addictive substance excessively. Whether this substance is liquid, powder, or simply of the mind – addictive thought patterns, the narcotic thoughts of the obsessive – is uncertain. Nevertheless, he looks like a recovered drunk. But he also has a strangely youthful energy.

PAUL’S FATHER: Hi, son.

PAUL: Pops.

PAUL’S FATHER: It’s good of you to come.

Paul doesn’t respond.

The two of them walk into the dim main hall of Paul’s father’s house. It is dark and thoroughly depressing: narrow with a pastel colored paint that is so covered with grime it is difficult to tell whether it was once yellow or green; a bag of garbage that should have been taken out of the house days ago; a non-functioning cuckoo clock.

PAUL’S FATHER: Are you thirsty? Do you want some tea?

PAUL: Sure, why not?

They enter the kitchen. It, too, is old and depressing. But it’s kept in relatively clean order. His father fetches a kettle out of the cupboard.

PAUL’S FATHER: [cheerfully] I’ve got this great root tea. Wanna try it? It’s good for your spleen.

PAUL: What the fuck is a spleen?

PAUL’S FATHER: You know – your spleen. Your gut.

PAUL: Oh. That.

PAUL’S FATHER: Don’t “oh, that” me. It’s a good question. Nothing to be ashamed of. Very few people really understand the functioning of the spleen.

PAUL: I guess they don’t.

PAUL’S FATHER: It’s what cleanses you. Healthy spleen, healthy body. Unhealthy spleen – well, you get the picture.

PAUL: [Looking at a kettle that needs washing] Is this healthy?

PAUL’S FATHER: It’s fine.

PAUL: [peering into its snout] It’s filthy, Dad. Look at all this weird shit inside it.

PAUL’S FATHER: They all get like that. It’s not filth. It’s minerals from tap-water. That’s why you should always distill water.

PAUL: What happened to your distiller, anyway?

PAUL’S FATHER: I told you. Ian stole it. Fucker.

PAUL: Oh. Ian. That was the psych patient who lived here?

PAUL’S FATHER: Fucker.

Paul just smiles.

PAUL’S FATHER: [suddenly impatient and putting the kettle down on the counter-top forcefully] Oh, to hell with this! I need to show you something important!

PAUL: Oh yeah. How could we forget that?

PAUL’S FATHER: Don’t be smart with me! You don’t know what’s going on, do you? You don’t know the forces that are changing your life!

PAUL: The forces that are changing my life are lack of money.

PAUL'S FATHER: Yes! Well! That's part of it!