Hollywood Said No!

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Hollywood Said No! Page 6

by David Cross


  NOODLESTOCK! - DOCUMENTARY SHOT ON HI-DEF VIDEO, HANDHELD

  EXT. FIELD

  Overhead HELICOPTER SHOT of people arriving for music festival from all directions. A stage is set up.

  OREN BURG (V.O.)

  … it’s gonna be huge. Big. Bigger than Woodstock. It’s gonna make Woodstock look like a backyard barbecue for midgets.

  EXT. FIELD

  VARIOUS MODERN HIPPY-FOLK arriving with their sleeping bags, coolers, hippy-sticks, and smiles.

  SINGERS (O.S.)

  Sugar in the haystack

  feelin’ so fine

  Got a bag full of feelin’s

  and some cockleberry wine

  Take a bowl of whiskey down to the

  water. Put your honey in an ol’ sally

  swing. Drop a bag of lemons in a

  cornball pea patch.

  Tell Old Man Hutch go and love

  everything…

  INT. PROMOTER’S OFFICE

  GRAPHIC, lower third: “Three Months Earlier”

  OREN BURG’S office, cluttered, rock posters cover the walls. Oren is a super-hyperactive Bill Graham–type promoter who alternates between smoking a cigarette, a cigar, a pipe, chews tobacco, takes bites of “cigarette pie,” and applies nicotine patches at random throughout his monologue.

  OREN BURG

  This is gonna be great, this is gonna be big, it’s gonna make Woodstock look like the US Festival. So big that no stadium can hold it. Maybe that’s an idea—get every stadium, join them together, make one big stadium.

  FRANK, Oren’s buttoned-down accountant…

  FRANK

  Oren… that’s going to be usurious, flying stadiums out to…

  OREN BURG

  Yeah, you’re right. I’m just blue-skyin’. How much would Canada cost us?

  FRANK

  Uhhh… I don’t have the numbers.

  OREN BURG

  Yeah, yeah… okay, yeah… how ’bout the Grand Canyon? Get me the Grand Canyon!

  (picks up phone)

  Grand Canyon?

  (improvises)

  Frank rolls his eyes…

  INT. OFFICE

  Frank holds up a rough poster, filled with band names, etc.

  OREN BURG

  What’s this? What the hell is this?

  FRANK

  Well, Oren, I got the crew to pull an all-nighter, and we came up with a, well, just look at it…

  The poster is written in Peter Max–style lettering. Oren reads it…

  OREN

  “Noodlestock”… One Farmer’s Field—three days of song… Thirty bands… “Reunited Phish,” “String Cheese Incident,” “Deep Banana Blackout,” “Flibberty Jibbets and Wood,” and headliners… “The Spaghetti Fish Accident” headlining…

  Oren grins…

  OREN BURG

  I like it… it’s big… it’s me… Let’s go find a field.

  EXT. RUNDOWN CRAFTSMAN HOUSE

  CLOSE ON SIGNS: “Bless This Mess” and “Trespassing Encouraged”

  INT. BAND HOUSE

  Living room filled with ratty couches, beat-up Victorian furniture, swatches of velvet hanging from walls, Persian rugs. Instruments—bongos, guitars, sitars—and five band members (though you can only see one of them; the others blend in to the couches, etc.—like the girl in Snatch); FLOOD, GYPSY, WHEAT, BARTHOLOMEW, and AMBER. FLOOD holds out the rough poster Oren was looking at in the last scene—

  GRAPHIC: Band member names appear as they speak.

  FLOOD

  I think Oren is on to something. What do you say, gentlemen? Everybody up for a fest?

  Rising out of a couch comes… GYPSY.

  GYPSY

  Yeah, man, I love to noodle…

  From inside a sleeping bag on an indoor hammock pops WHEAT.

  WHEAT

  Yeah… I’m there. All I need are my banana pills and my sleepin’ hat.

  From a beanbag chair BARTHOLOMEW emerges.

  BARTHOLOMEW

  Count me in.

  A bathroom door creaks open and AMBER, a super-hippy sitting on the toilet, announces—

  AMBER

  Hey, I made this thing into a bong.

  She holds out some strange appliance rigged with duct tape.

  WHEAT

  That already was a bong.

  AMBER

  I guess I re-bonged it, then.

  INT. THE FISH HOUSE - LATER

  Everybody jams a song… improvised, maybe a drum circle!

  EXT. FIELD

  An Amish farmer stands by, slightly annoyed, as Oren stomps around his farm, pointing…

  OREN BURG

  What do you want for this field? What do you want? Batteries? Beard wax? What’ll he take, Frank?

  FRANK

  Well, Mr. Odlin said his field is not for rent.

  OREN BURG

  That’s bullshit! Everybody’s got a price! I can’t do deals out here in the sun, it’s killin’ me. Gimme your hat…

  Oren grabs the farmer’s hat and puts it on, then storms off. Frank shrugs to the farmer…

  INT. STRIP CLUB

  Oren is hungrily watching strippers, masturbating offscreen, taking money from Frank to put in g-strings, and talking to the Amish farmer who doesn’t watch the girls or drink.

  OREN BURG

  This is more like it. This is where deals get made. I like you Gerd, you’re Amish. You got a real Amish-ey quality to you. And I respect your people. I was considerin’ being Amish. When I got out of college. When you’re a kid, you do crazy things. I ended up buyin’ fireworks. I see you, there but for the grace of God, y’know…

  Oren looks down at the girl giving him head…

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  Sweetheart, don’t ignore the philberts.

  He turns to the Amish Farmer.

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  So, we got a deal?

  EXT. FIELD

  OVERHEAD SHOT - Helicopter

  Trucks arriving, stage going up… fairly empty.

  GRAPHIC: “Odlin’s Field, 2 Days Til Fest”

  EXT. FIELD

  WORKERS loading in stages, etc. A TRAILER OFFICE.

  INT. TRAILER OFFICE

  Oren, Frank, 2 EMPLOYEES, working in this makeshift office.

  OREN BURG

  (loud, angry)

  Give me hard numbers here! I want hard numbers!

  FRANK

  Well, projections, including payback, out of pocket, merch, food/beverage… approximately five hundred grand.

  No reaction from Oren.

  FRANK (CONT’D)

  Profit.

  Still no reaction.

  FRANK (CONT’D)

  That’s net… after everything. All in—

  OREN BURG

  (breaks out in big laughs)

  Hahaha… That’s funny.

  Oren stands up and begins pacing around the conference table, very unnerving, intimidating.

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  See I started working to make money. I’m weird that way. Big money. Look, we’re gonna cut costs here. My mom’s sick, she doesn’t have long, and I promised her a space shuttle. Now, I’m getting her that space shuttle!

  FRANK

  Okay… so…

  OREN BURG

  Okay, so, let’s make some cuts.

  EXT. FIELD

  Oren and Frank walk through the backstage area, around ROADIES setting up the stage.

  OREN BURG

  Two hundred porto-lets?! Two hundred?

  FRANK

  Well, what else? People can’t just… poop anywhere—

  OREN BURG

  It’s a fuckin’ farm, numbnuts! You’re supposed to shit on it! That’s where food comes from!

  An ASSISTANT comes in with some papers for Oren.

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  Bottled water? You know how much those water companies charge for packaging? No! Dig a fucking hole down to the water, pump it up, get a ladle, hook it
to the side of the well, and charge five bucks a scoop! Next.

  TIME CUT TO:

  EXT. SAME, BACKSTAGE

  FRANK

  … the issue of power.

  OREN BURG

  The bands gets electricity, don’t worry about the audience—just give them a couple glowsticks. No! Fireflies! Fly in a bunch of fireflies!

  DISSOLVE TO:

  INT. TRAILER OFFICE

  Oren is checking out the finished poster. Silence as the assembled Employees await his next screaming fit.

  OREN BURG

  Do we really need thirty bands?

  No one knows how to respond to this…

  FRANK

  Oren… what? It’s a festival. It’s tomorrow, I mean…

  OREN BURG

  Right, right…

  FRANK

  You booked it, so…

  OREN BURG

  Yeah. Yeah, everything’s cool. Everybody go home now to your mommies, I gotta go hold up my end of some BJs.

  The Employees exit quickly, happy to be out of here. Frank alone is left with a sneaking suspicion…

  EXT. FARMERS FIELD - DAY

  HIPPY CONCERTGOERS playing hacky-sack, setting up merchandise tables, laying blankets on the ground.

  SUPER: First Day of Festival

  INTERVIEW MONTAGE

  We meet FIVE YOUNG COLLEGE-AGE GUYS (two wearing “Mt. Tisch University” shirts). They’re not full-on hippies, yet. But getting there. The leader, JAMES, speaks.

  JAMES

  This is our first fest! We drove twelve hours from Mt. Tisch.

  INTERVIEWER (O.S.)

  But that’s only three hours away.

  JAMES

  We stopped to pick dingleberries.

  OTHER GUY

  (holding out juice)

  To make juice!

  Next we see ORTHUR and JEAN APPLE, middle-aged hippies

  ORTHUR

  We were at the original Woodstock, met there, had kids, and stayed.

  JEAN

  We brought apples and cheese to make wine to use as a marinade for our apple/cheese surprise.

  Hold on Jean as she considers what she just said.

  ORTHUR

  Oh… wait…

  Then, there’s a woman named CHICKEN—

  CHICKEN

  (frenetic energy)

  I live in a chicken coop, there’s no running water or heat, and I stopped getting government checks three years ago because I broke my ankle doing yoga and I sued the United Nations and then Whoopi Goldberg sent me a letter. Here.

  She holds a tattered letter.

  Finally we find an older college-age couple, WAYNE and JANIE.

  WAYNE

  I’m a grad student, studying Middle Earth Poli-Sci. Just wrote a paper on Elves and Trolls, Who Rules the Forest, Spells vs. Incantations, etc. And I just need a break. I guess I kinda dragged her here.

  JANIE

  Oh it’s cool. I like this kind of music. It’s all about an experience, y’know.

  SUPER-WIDE ANGLE SHOT

  From high above, a CGI shot of the now-massive audience.

  EXT. BACKSTAGE

  Oren walks, passing ROADIES and HANGERS-ON. He grins, hits on every chick, grabs drinks and puffs of cigarettes from people’s hands and mouths, and takes his share. A nervous Frank follows.

  OREN BURG

  Look at this! All right! Give it to me, what are the numbers?

  FRANK

  We totally oversold.

  OREN BURG

  Good.

  FRANK

  We projected four hundred thousand, we’ve got one million, and they’re still showing up.

  OREN BURG

  Beautiful.

  An ASSISTANT whispers to Frank.

  FRANK

  Oren, one thing, none of the bands are here yet. I mean, the show is supposed to start in half an hour.

  OREN BURG

  Yeah, no, I took care of it. Look up… here’s my boys now.

  A helicopter lands, or has landed, and the BAND MEMBERS jump out and approach, shouting over the whipping blades.

  WHEAT

  (shouting)

  Our helicopter is made entirely of hemp!

  (beat)

  So’s the pilot!

  ANGLE ON: Pilot made of hemp.

  CUT TO:

  EXT. ONSTAGE

  Oren speaks into a feedbacking mic.

  OREN BURG

  Okay… people, thank you for coming to Noodlestock!

  SFX: Massive applause.

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  We’re going to do things a little out of order here. Kicking off the festivities will be our headliner, so please welcome “The Spaghetti Fish Accident”!

  SFX: Supermassive applause.

  Oren leaves the stage.

  WHEAT

  Let’s jam!

  The song starts. A meandering melody.

  WHEAT (CONT’D)

  Sugar in the haystack

  feelin’ so fine

  Got a bag full of feelin’s

  and some cockleberry wine

  Take a bowl of whiskey down to the

  water. Put your honey in an ol’ sally

  swing. Drop a bag of lemons in a

  cornball pea patch.

  Tell Old Man Hutch you’re gonna love

  everything…

  WIDE ANGLE: From the back of the crowd, we see hippy folk enjoying the first strains of this song… and for a moment, all is right with the world.

  EXT. BACKSTAGE - CONTINUOUS

  Frank and Oren are backstage. Oren is clapping for the band, who glance back at him and smile. Frank is not happy.

  FRANK

  They’re the headliners. What’s going on?—They don’t open the show…

  OREN BURG

  They are the show. If they don’t open it, who will?

  FRANK

  One of the other twenty-nine bands! I mean, you…

  (realizing)

  You didn’t book anyone else, did you?

  Oren smiles, looks back to the band.

  FRANK (CONT’D)

  Shit! Shit!

  OREN BURG

  Enjoy the show, buddy, just enjoy the show.

  Oren resumes watching the show, ignoring Frank’s rant…

  FRANK

  Dammit! Oren! You flake! I can’t… You flakey, greedy… you know you’re going to have to pay somebody sometime!

  OREN BURG

  (scoffing)

  Like who?

  FRANK

  Like the band! You gotta pay them!

  OREN BURG

  Yeah, but I’m charging them two hundred grand to use that carpet onstage, that’s twice what I’m paying them for the gig.

  FRANK

  Dammit. Well, what about publishing?

  OREN BURG

  Huh?

  FRANK

  Every time they play a song you have to pay publishing costs!

  OREN BURG

  Fuck! I didn’t think about that.

  FRANK

  Aha!

  OREN BURG

  Don’t you “aha!” me! Nobody “aha”s me!

  Frank scoffs.

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  You… all right, yeah… how ’bout this, then?

  (calling to the band onstage)

  Keep playin’!

  Wheat is confused. Oren does the “stretch” gesture.

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  Same song! Keep playin’ it! They love it!

  Wheat nods, first to Oren, then the band, who kick back into the opening chords of the same song.

  FRANK

  What the hell?

  OREN BURG

  It’s a jam band, that’s what people want, anyway.

  FRANK

  (chuckling)

  What? You’re gonna have them play one song… for three days?

  OREN BURG

  Sure. Just give ’em the ol’ stretch signal.

  Frank is dumbfo
unded.

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  People used to do it to Hitler all the time, why do you think he rambled so much?

  Oren shouts over the music to the whole band.

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  Same song! Keep playin’ the same song! They love it!

  Bartholemew, the band member closest to Oren, leans in to get the lowdown.

  OREN BURG (CONT’D)

  People are gonna leave if you switch songs on ’em! They’re lovin’ it!

  Bartholemew nods. Frank storms off. Oren laughs.

  MONTAGE

  Time Passage, as the band plays “Sugar in the Haystack” all afternoon and into the evening.

  We see The CROWD grooving on it, dancing, taping, smiling.

  CUT TO: Our older hippie couple, Orthur and Jean Apple, loving it.

  Time passes and The CROWD is less active, some dozing, facing away from stage, playing hacky-sack.

  Land on The five College Kids we met earlier.

  COLLEGE KID 2

  It’s just the same song, man.

  JAMES

  It’s all right. It’s all right.

  COLLEGE KID 3

  I like the song, but… I went to the bathroom and came out and it was like déjà vu. Like, how French people feel after they shit.

  We meet up with Janie and Wayne. Wayne is loving it, Janie is growing bored, her eyes closing…

 

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