So here's the deal:
Just before the strike, the Hollywood studios in their great wisdom foresaw a long, drawn-out process. So they grabbed up every script they could get their hands on, regardless of quality or originality. Nothing new, right?
Well now they're predicting an actor's strike is coming next, so every studio in town is rushing those same shitty scripts they grabbed up directly into production.
Where does that leave you, the paying audience? Up shit's creek, that's where.
So here now, courtesy of some contacts I'm not gonna name, is our second preview of awful awful cinema headed your way later this year. Below you'll find the first 5 pages of the The Grackle, which I actually suffered through this time. The script feels like one that started out wanting to be Bad Santa -- lovably rude and crude malcontent does dirty deeds -- but devolves even further (if that's possible) into a crime story of sex and deception, a la Wild Things sans Denise Richards. The whole thing honestly reeks. It literally smells when you read it. Stale beer, stuffy chain-smokers' apartments, and many instances of the lead taking a difficult shit. By the end, I had to shower. Pic is being billed as 'the next Wedding Crashers.' Good luck with all that, guys. Just keep livin'.
The plot: "Matthew McConaughey plays a barroom fighter in New Orleans who hires himself out for $250 to settle disputes for people who can't afford a lawyer. Harsh language and quick fists are his weapons of choice."
The Director: TBA
The Writer(s): Mike Arnold and Chris Poole (first-time screenwriters)
Production: j.k. livin' (McConaughey's vanity shingle which stands for 'just keep livin,' seriously) and New Line Pictures
Start Date: Picture in pre-production as of end of Dec.
INT. OF GRACKLE'S VAN - DAY
GRACKLE, a mid-sized man in his early thirties, is driving in his van. He has not shaved in days. He's wearing his typical stained and bloody Tennessee football jersey, a white head band, jeans and high-top football cleats.
He's crude, oblivious, outrageous, direct and doesn't understand the meaning of "politically correct."
As he drives, he's BEATING the steering wheel to the rhythm of Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." A lit cigarette is in his hand on the wheel and a bottle of Jack Daniels sits between his legs. Another lit cigarette is in his mouth.
Grackle finishes his cigarette and STABS it out on the dashboard. He begins to smoke the second cigarette, inhaling deeply. He TURNS UP the radio.
Yeah! Whoever doesn't like the Boss can get the fuck out of my van!
Shot pans around showing that no one else is inside the van. In the rear, piles of empty liquor bottles and beer cans litter the floor around a bench press and weights. A large orange "T" (for Tennessee football) is painted on the carpeted interior wall above a tattered leather sofa.
The Grackle stops at a traffic light. He pours some beer on a donut and takes a bite. A convertible pulls up next to the van, top down with two HOT GIRLS inside.
(through his open window)
How'd it going ladies?
HOT GIRL #1
Good. How about you?
Excellent. You wanna see my balls?
The girls CRINGE and speed away as the traffic light turns green. The Grackle lights a cigarette and pulls a flask from inside one of his high-top cleats. He unscrews the top, flicks the BIRD at a passing police car and takes a pull.
EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET - CONTINUOUS
Grackle SWERVES onto a quiet neighborhood street and comes to a SCREECHING halt near cars parked on the curb. Birthday balloons adorn a nearby mailbox. Grackle grins at himself in the rear view mirror, lips pursed around a cigarette.
Aces high, baby. Aces fucking high.
He opens the door and leans out, tightening the laces on high top cleats and then ROLLS UP his jersey sleeve and FLEXES in the side mirror.
(smiling wildly at bicep)
Fuck yeah baby! Fuck yeah! Rock-and-fucking-roll!
INT. - KITCHEN BATHROOM
The SOUNDS of children playing in the backyard are audible as we see THE AMAZING TOMMY THE MAGICIAN, in a magician's tuxedo outfit, and his sexy ASSISTANT in the bathroom. The assistant's blouse is unbuttoned, exposing huge breasts beneath her bra.
From her arm MOVEMENTS, it's clear that she is jacking off Tommy. Tommy's eyes are closed, face towards the ceiling.
That's it. Don't lose the pace. Don't lose it...hold it...hold it.
Oh shit. I swear to god you've gotta be a pro...
EXT. RESIDENTIAL NEIGHBORHOOD - CHILD'S BACKYARD BIRTHDAY PARTY
Establish a birthday party in a spacious backyard. PARENTS and KIDS mingle while a CLOWN creates balloon animals.
A GROUP of kids sit on a stone patio, craning their necks up as the Amazing Tommy EMERGES from the sliding glass doors with cocky grin, followed by his assistant. The kids CHEER.
Okay, kids. Are you guys ready for a good time? Ready for some magic?
SHOT PANS THROUGH THE CROWD, FREEZING ON THE GRACKLE, WHO IS SUDDENLY SITTING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CROWD OF CHILDREN.
The Grackle, having snuck into the party, sits indian-style in the middle of the group of children, smoking a cigarette.
Fuck yeah! Let's get it on!
Tommy glances nervously at the Grackle, who glares at Tommy.
A KID with thick glasses sitting next to the Grackle is staring at him with an absent smile.
(without looking away from Tommy, asks the child who is staring at him)
Is it a cash bar at this gig, or what?
My mommy says I'm special.
(glancing at the kid)
Fucking fantastic, big guy, but I'm drying up over here. I saw a chick with a lazy eye in the kitchen bogarting a flask. What's her story?
My daddy's taking me camping
Oh yeah? I went camping about a month ago with a couple of chicks I met at Taco Bell. One stole my watch after I passed out and the other gave me a rash that kept giving for a month.
The kid stares at Grackle, smiling vacantly as Tommy begins his show, pulling a RABBIT out of his jacket.
(lighting a cigarette)
Never trust a chick with a tattoo of a dragon on her ass. That's the moral of that story.
My pee pee hurts.
Whoa, there, dynamo. You gotta ace that shit. What are you trying to do, get me arrested?
Crowd ERUPTS with CHEERS at a trick.
Okay, I'm gonna need a volunteer for my next trick.
All the kids raise their hands simultaneously and SHOUT.
Grackle stands and walks toward Tommy, a lit cigarette in his mouth, a glare in his eye.
Right here, superguy.
Tommy looks momentarily confused.
Alright, thanks, I guess. Here we go. Pick a number between one and ten, but don't tell me what it is.
The Grackle reaches down and pulls an airplane bottle of Jack Daniels from his high-top cleat. He drinks it down. Tommy's rabbit sits on a table next to them, and the Grackle gives it a SCRATCH behind its ears.
You got it yet?
Tommy's rabbit HOPS on the table.
Three leaps to mind, magic boy.
You're not supposed to tell me the number because...
...because that's the number of times I'm gonna sport fuck your fiance who, I might add, is pretty sick of you fucking around with every girl in town.
Every girl in town? You told me...
(eyeing the assistant)
My van's on the street, hot pants...
The Grackle turns back to Tommy.
(talking to the assistant without shifting his stare from Tommy)
...I'm hung like a pack mule. You'll love it. There's some icy hot in the glove box.
With a grin and a wink, the Grackle continues:
You know. Just in case.
Tommy's had enough. He gives a disgusted CHUCKLE and brief glance at the ground before UNLEASHING a hard right hook that lands hard on the Grackle's jaw. The kids and parents GASP.
The Grackle rubs his jaw, amused by the punch.
This ain't flag football, nancy.
But it is go time.
Without warning, the Grackle FLICKS his cigarette into Tommy's eyes and comes hard with a punch that LANDS in Tommy's gut.
Boom! Yachtzee, bitch!
Tommy DOUBLES over. The kids all SCREAM and RUN in different directions. In the background, the Grackle has Tommy on his knees in a head lock, rubbing his face in the dirt.
You like that, shit neck? Yeah! Welcome to the revolution!
After a few more swings and punches, several FATHERS rush over and wrestle the Grackle to the ground and off Tommy.
(as the fathers pile on)
Hey! Get your finger out of my ass! Is this cheerleading camp!?...
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