1. Establishing shot of litter-blown Northern cobbled street. A pensioner in a flat cap kisses his whippet on the nose and cups its balls tenderly. Several women in raincoats, house-slippers and hairnets criss-cross the street, arms folded, glaring at each other. A young girl flounces down the street, hair badly bleached and piled on top of her head, tight red mini-skirt, textile factory bib over a boob tube.
Music: Round Are Way by Oasis.
Titles: SAX AND THE CITY
2. Int. of mid-terraced house. Three plastic ducks on the wall. PETE POSTLETHWAITE is sitting on the sofa, tucking into dripping butties while watching the TV news. JULIE WALTERS is applying make-up using the back of a kettle as a mirror. Enter SAX, an unknown actor who is incredibly good looking and exudes far too much sex appeal for this hackneyed stereotypical Northern setting, yet has a sad glint in his eye. At only 5' 7", he has been unable to achieve the sex-god status he feels he so richly deserves.
Sax: 'ULLO MAM. 'ULLO DAD.
3. JULIE WALTERS kisses SAX on the cheek.
Mam: 'ULLO, SAX, LOVE. I'M JUST OFF TO THE BINGO, AND POSSIBLY A RIGHT GOOD SEEING TO BY YOUR DAD'S MATE ROUND THE BACK AFTERWARDS. I'VE LEFT YOU A PIE CRUST IN THE FRIDGE.
Sax: ACE.
Mam: GOOD DAY AT WORK, WAS IT? ALL THAT JOURNOWOTSIT? WROTE ANY GOOD STORIES OR OWT?
Sax: INTERVIEWED THAT TONY BLAIR TODAY. ASKED HIM ABOUT BRITAIN'S FAILURE TO MAKE ANY SIZEABLE IMPACT ON THE JOHANNESBURG EARTH SUMMIT.
Mam (absently): THAT'S NICE, LOVE. NOW, DO YOU THINK I SHOULD WEAR ANY KNICKERS, OR NOT?
3. Close up on PETE POSTLETHWAITE, lard dribbling down his chin.
Dad: FOOKIN JOURNALISM. FOOKIN PUFF'S GAME, THAT. WHEN YOU GOING TO GET DOWN'T COLLIERY AND MAKE A FOOKIN MAN OF YERSELF?
Sax: DAD! THEY CLOSED'T FOOKIN PIT TEN YEARS AGO! YOU'VE GOT TO STOP LIVING IN THE PAST!
4. Everyone looks expectantly to the door as a loud rapping sounds.
Dad: WHO COULD THAT BE AT THIS TIME?
Mum: I SUPPOSE I'LL HAVE TO GET IT. AGAIN.
5. JULIE WALTERS at the door. Turns round in surprise.
Mum: SAXY, SON, YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS. IT'S THAT GWYNETH PALTROW AT THE DOOR - AND SHE SAYS SHE'S CARRYING YOUR BABY!
Dad: OH, FOOKIN HELL.
Music.
End of part one. |
