R I V E R C I T Y 1975
1
R I V E R
C I T Y
1975
Written By Deborah Dalton
One-Hour Pilot “Can’t Get It Out Of My Head”
(continued)
2
1975
(continued)
3
EXT: RIVER CITY SUBURB AND CITYSCAPE – EARLY MORNING SUN RISES over a river dividing north side of town from the south side. Suburbs slowly light up as families rise to face another day of work and school. In the distance, a large HIGH-TECH MANUFACTURING PLANT, not unlike IBM, Motorola, or 3M of the day, is seen, as cars stream from the suburbs, down the main highway, to eventually enter the gates, and pull into welllined parking spaces, one car after another. It is early fall and a FLOCK OF WHOOPING CRANES flies over the suburbs. Their HONKS in the distance as they fly over old farmlands where the suburbs, strip malls, highways, and the large manufacturing plant now sits; migratory routes deeply instilled in the massive birds. A 1970 Pontiac backs out of a suburban driveway and abruptly squeals to a stop as an oncoming trash truck nearly clips the tail end. The car pulls back into the drive for the trash truck to pass by… And continues to wait as two other cars pass. Finally, the Pontiac backs into the street. INT: 1970 SAME PONTIAC – MOMENTS LATER A man’s hand turns a radio dial. It stops and a BROADCASTER reports on the unemployment rate of 9.2%, the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa, and the arrest of Patty Heart on bank robbery charges. The news shifts to local commercials and the hand reaches down and turns the dial until it lands on a pop AM station. The hand on the dial belongs to GEORGE LARSON, early 40s, not unhandsome, clearly middlemanagement, dressed in white shirt complete with pocket protector and pens, smoking, both hands back on the wheel; PLANT BADGE pinned to his chest. There is an edge to George that he has worked hard at filing over the years. He is, ask anyone, a typical suburban, lower-middle-class company Joe. He just happens to be a company Joe in an industry that will, in less than two decades, revolutionize the world. FADE TO BLACK. FADE IN: INT: MBI MANUFACTURING – 30 MINUTE COMMUTE LATER The ball of an IBM Selectric typewriter bounces across a white sheet of paper as a FEMALE SECRETARY, quite stunning, early 30s, types. George Larson passes the secretary, gives her a slight wave, before hanging his jacket on the garment tree. The outer office brightly lit, the office furniture is metal gray and beige, to match the paint colors on the walls. There is a break room, desks, water coolers, and a LARGE COMPUTER running data, that data folds into metal baskets on either end of the massive machine. There is one, 50 lb “PERSONAL COMPUTER” on a desk, manned by a TESTER, early 20s, a grad student.
(continued)
4
George walks over to a large glass window and looks down at the MANUFACTURING FLOOR below where MAGNETIC CARDS, high technology of the day, are being manufactured. A COUPLE OF LINE WORKERS glance up at George, but quickly get back to their task at hand. After a moment, George raps loudly on the glass, catching the attention of the workers. He twirls his finger in the air, indicating “SPEED IT UP.” The line workers give every indication of doing just that – but their glances at one another tell another story. George watches for a moment and turns when he hears the friendly voice of FRANK MARKS, George’s boss, late 40s, handsome, good hair, offering morning greetings to the secretaries and other white-shirt-sleeved MANAGERS going about the early morning routine. Frank is dressed upper management in a nice sports jacket; white shirt and broad tie. FRANK (sidling up to George) Morning, George. GEORGE Hi, Frank. They both stare down at the line. Frank shakes a cigarette out of a pack and offers it to George. GEORGE (CONT’D) (ref: cigarette) No, thanks. FRANK (puts cigarette in his mouth, lights it) Did you walk the floor yet? GEORGE I was just heading down. FRANK (nods his head) Good. (after a long pause to blow out smoke) Why don’t you stop by my office first? GEORGE Okay. Sure. (looks at Frank) Bring anything? FRANK (gives George a friendly slap on his shoulder) Maybe next week’s line schedule. (continued)
5
GEORGE Will do. Both men look back at the line workers for a quick moment before Frank walks off, whistling. George watches Frank’s reflection in the glass as he leaves the area. INT. FRANK’S OFFICE – LATER Frank is behind his desk, George in a chair in front of him. Frank is looking at the Line Schedule that George handed him a moment earlier. FRANK (sets down the paper, lights a cigarette) Thanks, George. That looks pretty good. Clearly wasting time, Frank sorts through other papers on his desk. FRANK (CONT’D) (looks at George) We’re thinking that maybe management wasn’t the right place for you. No surprise, right? We talked about it during your review last month. GEORGE Could have been better. I know that, Frank. FRANK There’s no easy way, George. This is just so damned... GEORGE What’s going on? FRANK (sincerely) Management is a bitch, it’s not for everyone. And the manufacturing department – it’s a challenge for anyone. Frank sighs and leans back in his chair. This is hard for him – the two men are friends. FRANK (CONT’D) Productivity has been off, George. You knew there were problems. GEORGE I’ve been working that out.
(continued)
6
FRANK I know, George. Hell, you started on that line – you know the issues. GEORGE I set it up. Got the machines… FRANK (interrupting him) I’m sorry, George. Godamit, I’m sorry. Frank runs his free hand down the length of his face. Both men are silent. It is not completely uncomfortable. They have always gotten along. FRANK (CONT’D) You know HR, all the crap they make us say. All the things we can’t. (more heated) I mean even me. Shit. Relevance. I mean what the hell? George sets his jaw. GEORGE I know this plant better than pretty much anyone, Frank.
FRANK (calmer) It’s just all fucked up, George. I’m sorry for the mess. I’m just so goddamned sorry, George. GEORGE Just say it, Frank. FRANK I have to take you out of management, George. George sets his jaw. FRANK (quickly adding) But I do have something that I can offer. An “in the meantime” sort of thing.
(continued)
R I V E R
C I T Y
1975
Written By Deborah Dalton
One-Hour Pilot “Can’t Get It Out Of My Head”
(continued)
2
1975
(continued)
3
EXT: RIVER CITY SUBURB AND CITYSCAPE – EARLY MORNING SUN RISES over a river dividing north side of town from the south side. Suburbs slowly light up as families rise to face another day of work and school. In the distance, a large HIGH-TECH MANUFACTURING PLANT, not unlike IBM, Motorola, or 3M of the day, is seen, as cars stream from the suburbs, down the main highway, to eventually enter the gates, and pull into welllined parking spaces, one car after another. It is early fall and a FLOCK OF WHOOPING CRANES flies over the suburbs. Their HONKS in the distance as they fly over old farmlands where the suburbs, strip malls, highways, and the large manufacturing plant now sits; migratory routes deeply instilled in the massive birds. A 1970 Pontiac backs out of a suburban driveway and abruptly squeals to a stop as an oncoming trash truck nearly clips the tail end. The car pulls back into the drive for the trash truck to pass by… And continues to wait as two other cars pass. Finally, the Pontiac backs into the street. INT: 1970 SAME PONTIAC – MOMENTS LATER A man’s hand turns a radio dial. It stops and a BROADCASTER reports on the unemployment rate of 9.2%, the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa, and the arrest of Patty Heart on bank robbery charges. The news shifts to local commercials and the hand reaches down and turns the dial until it lands on a pop AM station. The hand on the dial belongs to GEORGE LARSON, early 40s, not unhandsome, clearly middlemanagement, dressed in white shirt complete with pocket protector and pens, smoking, both hands back on the wheel; PLANT BADGE pinned to his chest. There is an edge to George that he has worked hard at filing over the years. He is, ask anyone, a typical suburban, lower-middle-class company Joe. He just happens to be a company Joe in an industry that will, in less than two decades, revolutionize the world. FADE TO BLACK. FADE IN: INT: MBI MANUFACTURING – 30 MINUTE COMMUTE LATER The ball of an IBM Selectric typewriter bounces across a white sheet of paper as a FEMALE SECRETARY, quite stunning, early 30s, types. George Larson passes the secretary, gives her a slight wave, before hanging his jacket on the garment tree. The outer office brightly lit, the office furniture is metal gray and beige, to match the paint colors on the walls. There is a break room, desks, water coolers, and a LARGE COMPUTER running data, that data folds into metal baskets on either end of the massive machine. There is one, 50 lb “PERSONAL COMPUTER” on a desk, manned by a TESTER, early 20s, a grad student.
(continued)
4
George walks over to a large glass window and looks down at the MANUFACTURING FLOOR below where MAGNETIC CARDS, high technology of the day, are being manufactured. A COUPLE OF LINE WORKERS glance up at George, but quickly get back to their task at hand. After a moment, George raps loudly on the glass, catching the attention of the workers. He twirls his finger in the air, indicating “SPEED IT UP.” The line workers give every indication of doing just that – but their glances at one another tell another story. George watches for a moment and turns when he hears the friendly voice of FRANK MARKS, George’s boss, late 40s, handsome, good hair, offering morning greetings to the secretaries and other white-shirt-sleeved MANAGERS going about the early morning routine. Frank is dressed upper management in a nice sports jacket; white shirt and broad tie. FRANK (sidling up to George) Morning, George. GEORGE Hi, Frank. They both stare down at the line. Frank shakes a cigarette out of a pack and offers it to George. GEORGE (CONT’D) (ref: cigarette) No, thanks. FRANK (puts cigarette in his mouth, lights it) Did you walk the floor yet? GEORGE I was just heading down. FRANK (nods his head) Good. (after a long pause to blow out smoke) Why don’t you stop by my office first? GEORGE Okay. Sure. (looks at Frank) Bring anything? FRANK (gives George a friendly slap on his shoulder) Maybe next week’s line schedule. (continued)
5
GEORGE Will do. Both men look back at the line workers for a quick moment before Frank walks off, whistling. George watches Frank’s reflection in the glass as he leaves the area. INT. FRANK’S OFFICE – LATER Frank is behind his desk, George in a chair in front of him. Frank is looking at the Line Schedule that George handed him a moment earlier. FRANK (sets down the paper, lights a cigarette) Thanks, George. That looks pretty good. Clearly wasting time, Frank sorts through other papers on his desk. FRANK (CONT’D) (looks at George) We’re thinking that maybe management wasn’t the right place for you. No surprise, right? We talked about it during your review last month. GEORGE Could have been better. I know that, Frank. FRANK There’s no easy way, George. This is just so damned... GEORGE What’s going on? FRANK (sincerely) Management is a bitch, it’s not for everyone. And the manufacturing department – it’s a challenge for anyone. Frank sighs and leans back in his chair. This is hard for him – the two men are friends. FRANK (CONT’D) Productivity has been off, George. You knew there were problems. GEORGE I’ve been working that out.
(continued)
6
FRANK I know, George. Hell, you started on that line – you know the issues. GEORGE I set it up. Got the machines… FRANK (interrupting him) I’m sorry, George. Godamit, I’m sorry. Frank runs his free hand down the length of his face. Both men are silent. It is not completely uncomfortable. They have always gotten along. FRANK (CONT’D) You know HR, all the crap they make us say. All the things we can’t. (more heated) I mean even me. Shit. Relevance. I mean what the hell? George sets his jaw. GEORGE I know this plant better than pretty much anyone, Frank.
FRANK (calmer) It’s just all fucked up, George. I’m sorry for the mess. I’m just so goddamned sorry, George. GEORGE Just say it, Frank. FRANK I have to take you out of management, George. George sets his jaw. FRANK (quickly adding) But I do have something that I can offer. An “in the meantime” sort of thing.
(continued)
