The Forgotten Man

THE FORGOTTEN MAN

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY BY

JORDAN DAVID LENNON

© 2017-2018 Jordan D. Lennon All Rights Reserved.

EXT. NEW YORK CITY, DUMPYARD - FROSTY NIGHT.

"JANUARY 12, 1929 - NEW YORK CITY"

...Our legend begins in the rancid scrapyard of New York City, not long before the great depression. Shabby constructed huts lay scattered around, crafted by wood scraps, rusty bolts and beaten bricks. It’s a remote community of forgotten men, all wearing ramshackled trench coats, tatty woollen gloves and peeled leather boots left over from the Great War, in need to protect themselves from the sharp winter conditions. If a regular person were suddenly to find themselves in this mess, they would be literally sick - sick with the smells, sick with the putrid food, sick with the overly oppressing atmosphere.

More dumping trucks arrive, they’re overloading the scrapyard to near extinction. These fragile huts can’t stand the intense pressure before collapsing - Others are forced down stream.

MEDIUM SHOT; Forgotten men toss metallic cans at the truck windows, causing them to flee away in a cowardly retreatment.

JACK:

That’ll teach em’! If they come back for round two then I’m throwin’ bloody bricks!

Jack is an elderly fellow, perhaps mid fifties. A grim face scarred to hell, his clothes filthy in damp sweat patches and his beard wildy untamed. He stands at 5’2 - Having a rare napoleon complex causes his spontaneous outburst.

CAMERA PANS DOWN to a tall static body, sleeping shrilled up on a hammock made from twisted washing line wires and clawed bedsheets. Jack dashes over, shaking the man chaotically.

JACK:

Clark!...Clark! Wake up kid!

Clark slowly rolls over. He’s a handsome man compared to the rest, perhaps late twenties. A chiseled face dominated by choppy stubble and a gritty sun-cooked tan. He possess that kinda’ roguish look you see in action hero’s -- He’s using his only existing jacket as a frost resistant blanket.

CLARK:

What do ya’ want? -- Can’t a man sleep!

JACK:

No! The trucks are finally pushing us to our limit, our home is gonna’ be gone by tomorrow mornin’!

CLARK:

Ahh alright! You say that every night! Now if you don’t mind -

JACK:

(Interrupts)

-Clark! Listen!...Just take a look over there and tell me what ya’ see, huh?

Clark evokes this situation more seriously. Arching up, clearing his eye vision - Now he sees it, a neighbours brittle home has been completely pulverized by heavy debris.

CLARK:

Oh god.

Clark’s face appears mortified from this tragic mess.

CLARK (Cont’d)

C’mon! -- Let's go over there and help em’ out!

Instantly staggering out of bed, they scurry over. All that’s left from the wreckage is crumbled ash and shattered bricks. OFF SCREEN -- Two crushed dead bodies impaled by the burden.

JACK:

There goes the Colton brothers, dammit!...Ya’ know Clark, they never did bad to this world.

CLARK:

None of us did...

Clark takes off his tattered cap in respect, looks at Jack who copies also. They take a peaceful moment of silence. Judging from their reaction this is their norm, witnessing innocent people inhumanly buried to death. Clark sends them off -

CLARK (Cont’d)

The Colton’s we’re wonderful brothers...they were troublesome yet very helpful in times of need -- May they rest in peace.

JACK:

Well, thatta’ be us tomorrow. Our lives are up ya’ know?

CLARK:

(Low)

That’s not true.

JACK:

You see, most people are climbers -- All us here at this dump, we’re just rocks.

CLARK:

...Rocks?

JACK:

The facts are facts. I’m almost dead -- You got no future, notta’ good one -- Ya’ know rocks don’t move up in life.

There’s a sturdy pause of acknowledgment.

JACK (Cont’d)

Tell me, how old are ya?

CLARK:

...Huh?

JACK:

How old ya’?

CLARK:

Twenty-seven.

JACK:

Right -- That’s my point.

CLARK:

How’s that make any different?

JACK:

You want the truth? -- Ya’ a really great guy, ya’ still tough minded -- But that's all what’s left of ya’ -- In this day an’ age no one gives a heck about any of us!...not even in hell!

Another man eagerly approaches, requesting Jack’s assistance.

JACK (Cont’d)

(Running off)

Sorry Clark -- I got somethin’ important...Catch ya’ later!

Clark takes a brief reflection to accept - Jack’s right.

SUDDENLY an extortionately polished 1929 Cord L-29 Roadster swings round the bend, taking a harsh break down the ash pile.

Exiting this lavish car are two slim women, one is COURTNEY a balmy brunette looking gal, probably late thirties and a sharp face too. Trekking behind is LUCY, an angel of woman, blonde fluffy hair and eccentric personality - perhaps mid twenties.

COURTNEY:

This place is perfect to find one!

LUCY:

Oh no you don’t!

These two ladies bolt over to Clark. There’s a tremendous contrast, they’re wearing exorbitantly tailor made gold and lush rose dresses whilst he's barely wearing...valgured rags.

COURTNEY:

How would you like to stay in a hotel for a night!

CLARK:

(Confused)

...Come again?

COURTNEY:

How would you like to stay in a five star hotel for one night, followed by free food of course?

CLARK:

You have me confused for another man. -- Now beat it lady!

COURTNEY:

No, I don’t. You see, we’re running a contest -

LUCY:

(Interrupting)

Why do you always win!

CLARK:

(To Courtney)

‘We?’...Who must you be addressing?

COURTNEY:

Well...us more civilised people -

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