Directed by Kelli Crump

Featuring Sean Garahan and Mark Vashro

CAST:
The Screenwriter – Shane Bernard Benjamin
The Producer – Mister Richardstein

1. A Hollywood office in 1977.
RICHARDSTEIN. Baby cakes. (Kisses him on the cheek.) Welcome to Hollywood.
Where dreams are spread on your breakfast toast.
SHANE. Richardstein. Thank you so much for having me –
RICHARDSTEIN. Cut that! Cut that! Just give us the pitch.
SHANE. I don’t have one prepared exactly…I’m still new at this. Dizzied from even
being asked to make the next Hollywood blockbuster. This piece is very… personal to
me.
Richardstein puts on porn music, he gets real close to Shane..
RICHARDSTEIN. So hard to conduct business while sitting, I think. (They start dancing
together) I know. I’ve seen you toiling over these past two years. Cannes already wants
to inteview you. Shane. I gotta know what you’ve got for me.
SHANE. It’s a look into the private life of a New York Pigeon. So here’s this pigeon
named Harriet and she’s dying you see. And she’s traveling away from her home, but
she’s lost in New York with no memory and a dream of finding love. It’s a re-envisioning
of existence not in greed or waning idealism but as a gentle gray dowdy tuft of loneliness
and hope.
Sound FX: “Hallelejuah!” Gospel style.
RICHARDSTEIN. Pigeons? No! That’s good… That’s crap. People want colour. Sex.
Life. Vapid materialism. Not pigeons at all. No. Not pigeons. (laughing) Not pigeons at
all! Not pigeons… PIGS.
Sound FX: “Hallejuah, gospel style, but this time with pigs squealing in ecstasy.
SHANE. I don’t understand.
RICHARDSTEIN. Pigs. Pigs. Pigs. Pigs. (Repeat.)
SHANE. How does a pig even –
RICHARDSTEIN. ShaneShaneShaneShane. Baby. WE hear you. What’s it going to take
here. A blowjob from Mister Richardstein?
(Richardstein gets on his knees. Shane contemplates it, then shoves him off.)
RICHARDSTEIN. Shane, it’s 1977. Get with the picture, boyo. The world doesn’t care
about pigeons. ONLY what’s hot. You don’t mind if I spread strawberry jam all over my
tits right now. I’m so fucking upset. I’m going to commit suicide if this movie doesn’t get
made. (Smoking a cigar.) Now. Let us show you the ferocious carnal dripping religious
experience of… (whisper) The Pig. (pause) Shane, come here. (He plants a long soft kisson Shane’s lips.) Take my hand, Shane. Just take it.
(They knock over the garbage can and start rolling in it.)
RICHARDSTEIN. Would a pigeon do this? Would a pigeon behave like this?
SHANE. It feels so good…
RICHARDSTEIN. Yes. Just surrender. Now son. Bring us the glory.

2. Shane’s house.
(Shane is at his typewriter, re-writing his script. Weeks pass. Months pass. As he’s
writing, he’s chanting a mantra):
SHANE.
Keep on truckin, Keep on truckin, Keep on truckin, Keep on truckin…
(Over and over.)

3. Hollywood office.
Shane returns. He hands over the script, panting for breath, shaking visibly exhausted
RICHARDSTEIN. (reading the script, skeptical. Long pause.) Beautiful. Brilliant. Okay.
Yeah. Wait a minute, wait a minute. Are you seeing what I’m seeing? I think so. Yes, this
is a work of perfection. Far better than anything we’ve envisioned. But. Where are the
pigeons?
SHANE. Pigeons.
RICHARDSTEIN. Yes. I noticed a considerable absence of pigeons.
SHANE. What do you mean, “Where are the pigeons?”
RICHARDSTEIN. Well, did they fly away? I’m asking you, dammit.
SHANE. I don’t have them anymore. I threw them out. I turned the pigeons into pigs.
RICHARDSTEIN. Yeah, but it was so good before. It had this heart. It was moving as
fuck. A certain je ne sais pas, ce quoi. Pigeons soar…pigs just stink.
SHANE. You’re talking about Pigs, about the movie I just wrote for you.
RICHARDSTEIN.. Yes. I was especially troubled by… all the pigs.
SHANE. I don’t understand. Are you being serious right now? Are you squeezing my
shoes? (He grabs him by the shirt.)
RICHARDSTEIN. What, no, we’re not squeezing your shoes buddy. Shane, you need to
take two deep breaths. Mel-low. It’s clear that in these past 47 days you’ve gone on a bit
of a bender. And frankly, you’re a wastoid. Drugs killed Elvis, Shane. Drugs.
SHANE. Wait. Elvis is dead?! (He’s crushed.) When did this happen?
RICHARDSTEIN. Come back when you’ve had some time to detox, and you’ve got
some more…pigeons. (flipping through the script) Wow. Great words. Really stirring.
Did you write this last page in blood?
SHANE. Pig’s blood.
RICHARDSTEIN. Oh. That’s really gross.
SHANE. Yeah.
RICHARDSTEIN. Sorry Shane. Maybe we jumped the gun. No one wants Pigs anymore.
That was February, this is March. Yesterday’s news. You’re obviously not hip to the jive.
And frankly we’re saddened. Now go out there. Get back into life. Fall in love. Get hurt.
Damn it. Break yourself on the music of the soul. Move to San Francisco, or…
something! And when you’ve had a stirring story of heart and struggle and the stuff of
life inseminated into you, let’s make a great movie together. (Claps him on the shoulder.)
SHANE. So you’re not giving me the Green Light.
(Richardstein gives Shane a long firm embrace and sincere grin.)
RICHARDSTEIN. No, Shane.
SHANE. You made me throw away a work of staggering brilliance. So I could immerse
myself in this shit!?
(He gives a kind smile and shrug, looking at each other.)
RICHARDSTEIN. Eh?
SHANE. I developed a crack addiction. My wife left me. I started balding! This wasn’t
just some sick joke, was it?
RICHARDSTEIN. I’m afraid so.
SHANE. (starts laughing) Genius! It’s, that’s, Machevalian. (He gets sad.)
RICHARDSTEIN. (lights a cigar, puts it in Shane’s mouth) That’s Hollywood.

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