Blogagaard Goes Hollywood

Todd Wardrope, independant filmmaker extrodinairre and Hamline MFA student, is interested in producing/directing/etc. one of my short stories, written about two years ago. So I've revisted the story and rewritten it as a short film screenplay. An excerpt:

HARDWORKING MAN FROM NEBRASKA

By David Oppegaard

FADE IN AS CAMPY, SPOOKY SCI-FI MUSIC PLAYS:

Slowly zoom in on HENRY, our hardworking man from Nebraska, as he walks through a cornfield, eyeing the crops for weeds and such. Wind sweeps dirt across the field. It’s hot out, deep into summer. Bugs chirping. The sun is setting and HENRY looks up at it. Up in the sky, a strange pink spot appears near the sun and grows larger as HENRY watches it. The spot seems to head straight for HENRY, but the only movement he makes is wiping his hands on his blue jeans. The air crackles as the glowing pink UFO hovers over HENRY and he looks up at it, still showing no surprise but instead a certain tough, Clint Eastwood weariness. HENRY suddenly disappears. The UFO hums loudly for a second, and then zips away. The crops sway in the wind. No one is around to notice this strange happening.


INT. SPACESHIP ANTEROOM

Henry is standing in a gray metal anteroom of sorts, still wondering what in the hell has just happened, when the alien appears. The camera is looking over the alien’s shoulder, so we still mostly see Henry and just a hint of the alien’s dark purple shape and its writhing mass of arm tentacles. Henry looks around for something to fight the alien off with, but there is nothing in the anteroom except the two of them.

ALIEN, SPEAKING IN A WARM, BOOMING VOICE

Fine afternoon, sir! Do not be afraid. There, let me dust you off with this magnificent vladel sprayer. (HENRY IS BUFFETED BY WIND) Good, good, you’re looking much better now. Still worried though, aren’t you? Is it my array of suctioned appendages? Ha, ha! Have no fear! I am not going to eat you, torture you, or probe you in any orifice whatsoever.

HENRY, EYEING THE ALIEN

That’s good. I’m going on sixty now, and sixty is getting too old for kicking ass.

ALIEN’S TENTACLES TREMBLE WITH LAUGHTER

Ha ha! That is so true! Let us instead become acquainted, good sir. My name is Tellon, and I come from the planet Lorg. If you are wondering about the logistics, Lorg is three point nine trillion light years away from Earth, give or take a few tricky magnetic fields.

Henry scratches his head and considers travel in general. He imagines going to places like Mexico, or Wisconsin. He has not traveled much, and the farm weighs on him.

HENRY

The planet Lorg, huh? (HENRY grunts) What’s the weather like there?

TELLON runs a tentacle across its slimy forehead.

TELLON

Pleasant, I suppose. Too pleasant, for my exploratory tastes. The technologically apt beings on my planet have conquered every scientific obstacle, even our once harsh climate. Now there is nothing left to do but fight amongst ourselves and cause a ruckus. I know it might sound funny to you, Hardworking Man from Nebraska, but my race’s greatest enemy is now free time.

The ship starts to hum around them, like a men’s choir warming up. Henry wonders if they are in outer space yet as the alien starts speaking again, its voice still warm and surprisingly wholesome.