zen.org Communal Weblog

May 4, 2005

Bedtime and a 3 year-old: a dialog

Filed under: — brendan @ 16:50 GMT

FADE IN.

EXT. HOUSE IN IRELAND – NIGHT.

INT. HOUSE UPSTAIRS BEDROOM – NIGHT.

We have a CLOSE LOOK at a clock just reaching 9 AT NIGHT. Some dim light comes in through the Venetian blinds visible through the BEDROOM DOORWAY, even though it’s so late. DAD has just finished reading a chapter of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to SON, and is now going to finish up some work from earlier in the day.

C.U. of DAD as he walks out of the bedroom and enters the HALL towards the SMALLER BEDROOM, its door wide open. SON, a three year-old boy, is lying on his bed in the BEDROOM we’ve just left. As shown in the previous scene, SON has been very active all day, and his recent eating habits suggest he must be at the beginning of another growth spurt. We’d expect him to be exhausted.

DAD
Good night, Patrick, I love you. It’s time to go to sleep.

SON (OS)
That’s why I don’t want to, because I don’t want to.

INT. HOUSE UPSTAIRS SMALLER BEDROOM – NIGHT.

We see DAD sit down in front of his computer in a room clearly converted into a home office. Some of SON’s toys are on the upper shelves, next to piles of book still waiting to be sorted. DAD turns on the computer MONITOR and starts to type an entry into his WEBLOG.

SON (OS)
Bad dad. Bad daddy. It’s not fair. It’s not fair da-da!

Pause.

SON (OS)
Dad! I don’t want to go to sleep.

C.U. on the MONITOR. The words “Bedtime and a 3 year-old” begin to APPEAR, one letter at a time.

SON (OS)
(Emphasis.)
I don’t want—to—go—to—sleep. It’s really not late.

DAD (OS)
Of course it is.

SON (OS)
It’s not. It isn’t late. It’s the morning. It’s the morning and I don’t want to go to sleep.

Pause.

INT. HOUSE UPSTAIRS BEDROOM – NIGHT.

A small red light BLINKS every 30 seconds from the SMOKE DETECTOR up on the ceiling. Packing tape over the bulb doesn’t fully block the small amount of light it’s EMITTING.

CAMERA PANS down to SON, who’s lying on his back looking up at the SMOKE DETECTOR. SON’s index finger is absent-mindedly MOVING over his lips.

SON
The light keeps going on me, and I need you. I need you da-da, I need you.

Pause.

SON clenches his jaw and squeezes his EYES shut.

SON
Right now right now right now.

We hear the SOUND of a chair moving, and then footsteps as DAD comes walking into SON’s bedroom, clearly exasperated. DAD helps roll SON onto his side and tucks the FAVORITE BLANKET back around SON.

SON
(Rolling over.)
Read me some more of the story, Dad. Or, how about—

DAD looks worried.

SON
(continuing, actively rubbing his eyes with his clenched hands)
—the Truck book?

DAD
No, we’ll read that together tomorrow.

SON
Okay, how about—More of Charlie and the Factory?

Helpless to this request, DAD reaches to the bookshelf and pulls down the BOOK. He sits on the floor next to SON’s bed and begins to read.

DAD
The newspaper told Grandpa Joe there was a winner of the second Golden Ticket …

Some music PLAYS as DAD continues to read the BOOK out loud and CAMERA PANS to the old clock on the wall.

DISSOLVE.

The clock’s hands have MOVED, showing us that it’s THREE MINUTES LATER.

CAMERA PANS from the clock back to the bed, where SON is clearly fast asleep with his hand just in front of his face. We HEAR a light snore and level breathing. In the background, the SOUND of the clock ticking.

DAD puts the BOOK back on the shelf. He makes sure the FAVORITE BLANKET is fully covering SON, and walks out.

MONTAGE/END TITLES.

FADE OUT.

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