Transcript
Inferno Pilot: "Lust" Loosely Based on C.S. Lewis’ "The Screwtape Letters"
INT. DARK ROOM- NIGHT A red haze permeates the air. A grotesque melange of human limbs withers about, flailing to a demented beat, to THUDS and SCREECHING. Flashes of CHAINS, WHIPS, PIERCINGS, BRANDINGS, SPIKES, andan iPhone... This isn’t Hell. It’s the dance floor at a debauched underground rave club. A blood-red inscription on the club’s wall reads "Chambre". We drift through the DANCERS and up towards the club balcony, where GUY LEDUC, 50, stands near the DJ booth, cell phone to his ear. Chubby, with pierced ears and a goatee, Guy possesses the energy of a man half his age. GUY (into phone, French) No way he’s getting in... Tell himtell that piece of shit he’ll get into my dead mom’s pants before he gets into my club! Guy snaps his cell phone shut and smiles at his remark. He peers over the shoulder of a YOUNG DJ and looks at the playlist. He gives the DJ a thumbs-up and walks away. PAUL, a baby-faced 16-year-old, approaches Guy. (Note: The Remainder of this section will be in French, with English subtitles) PAUL Excuse me sir. GUY Whatsup? PAUL Sebastian from Montreal is here to see you. Guy nods, his face turned serious. GUY My office? Paul nods. Guy and Paul walk through the balcony’s VIP section, passing SKETCHY PLAYBOYS and TRASHY WAITRESSES holding trays of cocaine. They walk past a BODY GUARD and into-
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INT. BACK ROOM- CONTINUOUS -Guy’s "office", a large lounge filled with minimalist furniture and modern art, some pieces yet to be hung up. GUY’S BODYGUARD follows him into the lounge and stands by the entrance. On a nearby couch sits SEBASTIAN, late 20’s, wearing tight designer clothing and Gucci sunglasses. Sebastian has two large bodyguards with him: BODY GUARD 1 sitting at Sebastian’s side, stares down Guy. BODY GUARD 2 sits on an oval bed in the background, receiving oral pleasure from a female ESCORT. GUY (off Paul) Why don’t you get some absinthe for me and my visitors. Paul nods his head and exits. GUY (off Sebastian) Absinthe work for you? I think I have some wine coolers downstairs. Guy sits at a chair opposite the dour Sebastian. He points to the bodyguard on his bed and smiles. Sebastian stares back in silence. Guy’s smile fades. GUY (CONT’D) Okay. How may I help you? SEBASTIAN From what I’m hear in Montreal, you’re the one who needs help. Guy rolls his eyes and motions about his lounge. GUY Does it look like I need help, man? SEBASTIAN The decor’s a bit desperate for my taste. GUY Yeah? It might look better if you took off those faggot sunglasses. Guy and Sebastian stare each other down in silence--
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TWO KNOCKS on the door. Paul enters with a bottle and glasses in his hands. He pours the drinks as Guy and Sebastian maintain each others’ gaze. GUY Thanks Paul. You can go. Paul exits. Sebastian watches Paul leave intently and returns his attention to Guy. SEBASTIAN You have any idea how much money you owe? How dogshit of a businessman you are? Guy stares at Sebastian with meek contempt. SEBASTIAN (CONT’D) But you do know people, which, I suppose, is invaluable in this business. Sebastian nudges his body guard, who takes a large briefcase from his feet, places it onto the table, and opens it. The case brims with thousands of Ecstasy tablets. SEBASTIAN (CONT’D) You move a case of these a month, selling at our rate, for the next year. We split the returns. GUY But I don’t have time to deal with this shit, man! Guy pulls out his wallet and starts taking out hundred dollar bills. GUY (CONT’D) I mean, here’s... here’s 35 hundred. My profit alone from last night. Sebastian starts to laugh. SEBASTIAN This is a lifeline we’re throwing you. You want to find out what happens to people who don’t pay Bergeron his debts? We could take over this cess pool you call a club right now if we wanted to.
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Gus stares at Sebastian, defeated. He reaches for the case. Sebastian RIPS the case away. SEBASTIAN (CONT’D) Wo there Guy! What about me? Do I not first get some hospitality on this visit? GUY Sure, I mean, what you want? I’ve got blow, girlsSEBASTIAN -I want the boy. GUY What boy? SEBASTIAN Your plush-faced messenger boy. GUY (stuttering) Paul? SEBASTIAN Paul. Guy stares him down, testing whether he means it. SEBASTIAN (CONT’D) I don’t need him long. 30 minutes. An hour tops. GUY I can’t help you with that. SEBASTIAN Well that’s a shame. Theo, come on. Sebastian stands up. His bodyguard follows, grabbing the brief case. Guy perks up, his eyes filled with fear, desperation. His mind is racing, and we can feel it, practically hear it- a quiet, otherworldly WHISPER... Guy looks at his WALLET. Sebastian motions to his other body guard, still getting blown by the escort.
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SEBASTIAN Hey, we’re leaving. Wrap it up! The WHISPERING grows louder. Sebastian reaches for the door knobGUY Hold on. Sebastian stops. Guy pulls out his cell phone. Dials. RING... GUY (into phone) Hey Paul. (he listens) Yeah, would you mind coming back up? There’s one more thing I need from you tonight. He looks up at Sebastian, who returns a sinister grin. INT. CLUB BALCONY- HOURS LATER The club near empty, Guy sits at a table with the briefcase of Ecstasy and talks into his cellphone. GUY (into phone) Christian, what’s going on my man? (he listens and laughs) Yeah? So hey man, you still moving E? In the background, Guy’s body guard emerges from Guy’s office, holding a BLOOD-STAINED set of sheets. Guy gives him a guilt-strained glance. GUY (into phone) Yeah, it’s umm, fifty dollars a pill... As Guy talks, he watches his body guard stuff the bloody sheets deep into a trash bin.
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INT. GUY’S CAR, MOVING- MORNING Guy speeds his suped-up Hyundai through the Quebec City suburbs. Guy appears tired, mind elsewhere. We hear nothing but the HUM of the engine. A TECHNO RINGTONE- Avici’s "Levels"- interrupts Guy’s thoughts. Wo-ooo, Sometimes, I get a good feeling. Yeah. He reaches for his phone in the middle console and drops it underneath his seat. He glances at the road and pushes his arm through the seat gap, rummaging around. I get a feeling that I never, never, never, never had before.... Guy wiggles his hand deeper, unable to reach the phone. He glances up. A STOPLIGHT: Green. He returns his eyes downward. Finally grasps his phone. STOPLIGHT: Yellow. But Guy is busy looking at his phone: "Incoming Call: Restricted". He flips it open. STOPLIGHT: Red. EXT. STREET INTERSECTION- CONTINUOUS Guy’s Hyundai cruises through the red light and SMASHES into a large lumber truck. The wood SPLINTERS, and Guy SMASHES through his window and onto the frosty ground. We move in on Guy, his neck contorted, his wounds staining the snow red. His belongings lay next to him: the briefcase, his cell phone, and his WALLET, from which falls a picture of him and his 18-year-old DAUGHTER. TELEMARKETER (over cell phone, filtered) Hi there! Have you checked your credit-score lately? At Quebec Credit Report, we can ensure... As the telemarketer drones on, we move in on Guy’s open, deadened eyes. In on his left eye. Closer and closer, past the green iris and into the pupil- into blackness- silence.
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DARKNESS Endless darkness. A distant BUZZING. Abstract waves of color, spiraling together at an accelerating pace. The BUZZING grows louder. INT. MIRROR ROOM Guy appears in a small room enclosed by reflective glassfour glass walls, a glass floor, a glass ceiling. He looks at his surroundings, shocked. GUY’S REFLECTION: his hair begins to gray before his eyes. GUY (in French) What the Hell is this? Hair now fully gray, Guy’s skin begins to wither, his posture begins to slump. He is aging at a rapid rate. His skin tightening to his bones, Guy tries to turn away, but every where he looks a mirror reflects the decrepit old man that he has become. A hideous WHISPER speaks to Guy in an unworldly tongue. GUY (in French, anguished) Stop this! The aging continues. He no longer even resembles an old manmore a pale, bony ghoul. He tries to yell but can only let out a meek GASP. The WHISPER grows to a fever pitch. GUY (in "English") Yes! Yes, I will serve! Black.
8. INT. WAITING ROOM DING! The blackness splits open like an elevator doorIn fact, it is an elevator door. Guy, his health restored, steps out to a massive, fluorescent-lit waiting room. The elevator door shuts behind him. He looks around the room, flustered. It looks like it could be the waiting room for the doctor, the dentist, the DMV. His clothes have been transformed: he now wears a drab shirt and tie. An eclectic array of PEOPLE sit in chairs across the lounge, each wearing the same office worker apparel. Some seem sad, some seem angry, and all seem confused. A message on the far side of the room reads "Sit Down and Wait for Your Name". Beneath the message sits a row of dour SECRETARIES. Guy hesitates, then approaches the desk of a surly old secretary whose nameplate reads "GRACE". He walks up and waits for her to notice him. She fixates on her paperwork. GUY Hello there Ms. Grace. I was wondering if you could-Grace glares at him, then slowly raises her finger to point at the written message. GUY (CONT’D) Yeah, I know. I saw that. But if-GRACE Sit. Down. And wait. For your name. YOUNG MAN (O.S.) Those are literally the only seven words she says. Guy turns around to see TOSHI AKARI, an Asian 22-year-old with spiked hair and a nose ring. TOSHI (CONT’D) So you might as well take a seat. Guy ambles to a chair two spots away from Toshi and sits. He looks at the table in front of them, where lies a random assortment of random old magazines: "Highlights". "National Geographic". "Good Housekeeping".
9. A MALE SECRETARY takes a call and listens. He stands. MALE SECRETARY Suarez, Ted Wilson, Jacobs, Ling, Pichelli, Nair Muhammed, Chow. Up to the front. These seven men and women walk up to the front, where another elevator opens up. A BUTCH WOMAN awaits. She lets them in and closes the elevator. Guy watches with curiosity. Toshi stares down at a dated issue of "Wired" magazine. GUY How long have you been here? TOSHI An hour. A day. I don’t know. GUY You don’t know? Toshi shrugs his shoulders. Continues to read. GUY (CONT’D) I mean, what the fuck are we waiting for man? TOSHI I’m waiting to hear "Akari". You, I don’t know. GUY Akari- that Chinese? TOSHI Japanese. GUY But you know French? TOSHI So far as you know Chinese. Guy sits back, frustrated. GUY Leduc, by the way. My name is Guy Leduc. Toshi could give a shit. DING!
10. Another arrival in the elevator in back. Guy perks up with an idea. GUY (CONT’D) What if we go in that elevator as soon as it opens? See what happens? Toshi sets down his Magazine and finally looks up. TOSHI I know this is like, a totally surreal and unprecedented situation, but just look around. How do you think a Japanese guy, a French guido, a Wall Street broker and an Al Queda have arrived at the same lounge? A BUSINESS MAN and a TOURBON WEARING MAN scowl at Toshi. TOSHI (CONT’D) What’s the last thing you remember before you got here? GUY A car accident... You? FLASH CUT: Toshi, dressed in expensive nightclub clothes, sprints down a street. GUNSHOTS rip through his back and knock him to the ground. BACK TO PRESENT: TOSHI I remember hitting pavement. And then that elevator door opened. Grace- the old secretary- answers a phone and hangs up. GRACE Johnson. Akari. Martinez. Quin... Toshi stands up as Grace continues to call out a long list of names. GUY So we’re- this place- it’s like-TOSHI Heaven. Hell. Purgatory. Hades. Whatever, it’s not a place you can sneak out by the back elevator. Grab something to read, get comfortable. It might be a while.
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Toshi walks away. Guy looks ahead, glum, as a 400 pound SIMOAN MAN takes Toshi’s seat, his fat pressing against Guy’s arm rest. Toshi and the rest of the called out names walk to the front of the room. Waiting for them at the front elevator is TRICIA JAKES. A black-haired fox in her mid-forties, she’s a woman who knows how to wear a pantsuit. She looks down at a sheet of names and pictures. She welcomes the NEW WORKERS into the large front elevator with her Jersey accent. TRICIA Hey honey, just step right in. Step right to the back, make some room. Toshi is the last of about twenty people to enter. TRICIA (CONT’D) (off Toshi) Young blood. I love it. The elevator has buttons for 9 different floors. Tricia presses the button for floor "1" and the door closes. INT. ELEVATOR- CONTINUOUS Tricia puts on a fake smile and turns to greet the workers. TRICIA Hi Billy. Hi Nasir. Samantha. Love your eye shadow by the way. That Lorac? SAMANTHA nods her head. TRICIA (CONT’D) Thought so. INT. HALLWAY- CONTINUOUS The door opens and Tricia leads the group down a bland white hallway, with framed motivational posters on the wall, their messages somewhat askew: "Only You Can Help Yourself"; "Love and Loyalty: Words for Losers". Tricia leads the group through a revolving door and into-
12. INT. CONFERENCE ROOM- CONTINUOUS -a standard business conference room, which includes a large oval table, a projection screen in the corner, and a large mirror on the wall. At the head of the table stands HEINRICH SLUBGOB, fifties, a plump and bald Austrian with a smug grin. His YOUNG ASSISTANT stands to his side. TRICIA (to the new workers) Sit where you like, and prepare for the fine instruction of HeinrichSLUBGOB (dismissive) Thanks Tricia. I got it from here. TRICIA Heinrich Slubgob, the finest- as well as the only- head trainer of the first floor. Toshi and the others sit down as Tricia rolls here eyes at Slubgob and walks away, Slubgob eyeing her backside all the way out the door. Slubgob stares at the new arrivals and begins to pace the floor, his arms held pretentiously behind his back. SLUBGOB You are, like most, a quiet group. Full of shock, denial maybe. So let me be clear. You have died. That heart attack, that knife in your back- that was no nightmare. And you’ve realized by now that these are no pearly gates. He scans the solemn faces of the audience. SLUBGOB (CONT’D) And so you sit in this room because of the choices you made. Choices that, according to human morality, were "selfish". He stares into the eyes of an OLD MAN. SLUBGOB (CONT’D) "Cowardly". He stares into the eyes of a SCRAWNY WOMAN.
13. SLUBGOB (CONT’D) "Sinful". He stares into Toshi’s eyes. SLUBGOB (CONT’D) Choices, choices, choices... You sit there, I reckon, lamenting these choices, wondering how you would choose given another chance. But let me comfort you... Let me comfort you in the knowledge that you’ve made at least one wise choice, the whole litter of you: you have chosen to serve our boss, and for that, for now, you have avoided unspeakable torment. Slubgob motions towards his ASSISTANT, who WHEELS over the projection screen. Slugbob points a hand-held remote at a projector and lights up to a blank white screen. He continues to pace the floor. SLUBGOB (CONT’D) As for the choices made before, I advise you to forget them, but first, know that they were not formed by "sin" or "corruption" or any other human construct. You made a choice to listen to that other voice in your head because ultimately you understood this voice to be valid. Now is your chance to spread that voice to others. Welcome, my new associates, to-SLUBGOB clicks his remote. A delay. He fidgets with the remote, slightly embarassed. It finally works, the white screen opening onto a standard PowerPoint presentation. SLUBGOB (CONT’D) Welcome, associates, to the Bureau. The first slide reads: "The Bureau, Floor 1: A Tutorial", and is accompanied by an outside picture of the irregularly shaped Bureau office building, made up of nine floors. Toshi studies the slide intently. The rectangular floors of the building decrease in size, starting with the large first floor (labeled "The Recruiters"), past the seven middle floors (i.e. floor five: "The Violent"), stacking up to a small top floor (labeled "The Boss").
14. Slubgob clicks to the next slide: "The Art of Temptation". SLUBGOB (CONT’D) Let’s begin with why you’re here. Each of you proved, in life, to possess a certain skill set. As Slubgob continues to talk, we move toward the mirror on the room’s wall and through it- it’s a two-way mirror. INT. BREAK ROOM- CONTINUOUS On the other side of the mirror is what looks like a typical office break room. A MAN, 40’s, stands at the mirror, watching Slubgob with disdain. He holds a coffee mug and wears a handsome button-down shirt, but besides that, he’s all grungepiercing eyes, rough facial hair, rolled up sleeves revealing tattooed arms. This man is TRAVIS WOOD, boss of the 1st floor. He turns to the Keurig Coffee Maker and places down his mug. SLUBGOB (O.S.) You are the lawyers, the politicians, the connectors. You know what people want, and you know how easily this can be changed. Wood grabs a Decaf packet, puts it into machine, presses a button. The coffee pours out like black sludge. INT. HALLWAY- MINUTES LATER Wood, mug in hand, walks down the white hallway, through a revolving door and into-INT. FIRST FLOOR CUBICLES- CONTINUOUS -the Bureau’s first floor, a seemingly endless array of cubicles. Hundreds of WORKERS stare into static computer screens and whispering into headsets. The vast white room could pass for an insurance agency, decorated with ugly potted plants and bland paintings. Copy machines. Oscillating fans. Twenty-four clocks line the wall- one for each of earth’s standard time zones. Wood surveys the floor as he broods through. Each worker he passes gives him nervous glances.
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ACROSS THE ROOM A GEEKY WORKER turns to a CO-WORKER and nudges him on the shoulder. GEEK Dude, check out the rolls on this hooker my guy’s about to pick up. The co-worker grabs the geek’s headset and looks at his monitor. He laughs and shakes his head. GEEK (CONT’D) I convinced the kid to clear his debit card to pay for this war pig. Wood approaches from behind. The Geek sees him and his smile turns to panic. He RIPS his headset from his co-worker and the two return to their respective monitors, trying to look busy. Wood scowls at these men as he passes their desks. Wood stops at the desk of a YOUNG WORKER and stares at his monitor. The young worker tenses up but continues to whisper into his headset. YOUNG WORKER (whispering at monitor) But you don’t really want to be friends with her, do you? What about her bacne? What type of girl has bacne? Wood nods and pats the young worker on the shoulder. He walks towards his office, grabs the door knob, and hears the YELPS of a FEMALE WORKER. FEMALE WORKER (yelling at monitor) Just kill yourself already! What are you waiting for? Why would anyone miss you? Wood shoots the female worker a glare and makes a "simmer down" motion with his arm. She lowers her voice. FEMALE WORKER (CONT’D) But really, June 1st deadline. If you’re still a virgin by June 1st, you should really just end it. Wood nods and enters his office.
16. INT. WOOD’S OFFICE- CONTINUOUS Wood sits at the desk of his large office, only a clock on the wall. His desk has five monitors, two directly in front. The name tag reads "Travis Wood: Floor Supervisor". He opens an Excel spreadsheet on the rightward computer, studies it, looks at the time and pulls out a drawer from his desk. The drawer holds hundreds of USB drives, labeled alphabetically with people’s names. Wood removes a drive labeled "Lynn, Roger", and puts it into his front monitor. Static fills the screen. Wood gazes into it. INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT- CONTINUOUS We enter the living world, from an UNKNOWN PERSON’S POV: MARIE LYNN, a waspish woman in her 50’s, sits across the restaurant table and stares at a menu. She has faded good looks and wears an ugly, outdated SWEATER. NEUTRAL PERSPECTIVE: Wood’s subject ROGER, 50’s, sits across the table. The aging couple stare down at their menus in silence. WOOD’S OFFICE Wood sits up in his chair, sans headset. He thinks for a moment. Leans into the monitor. WOOD At what point did the decay take over? At what point do the two of you stop even pretending? RESTAURANT A WAITER walks up to the table holding a bottle of wine. WAITER A bottle of Shiraz on the house? ROGER Yes please. Thank you. The waiter pours the wine into Marie’s glass. Marie smiles at Roger. He gives a lukewarm smile in return.
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CLOSE ON: Marie’s smile. ROGER (V.O.) I mean, look at the strain in those lips. The disingenuity. It’s almost like she’s mocking us, this facade of a marriage. WOOD’S OFFICE WOOD Or worse- the smile is genuine. She’s making an earnest effort to enjoy this dinnerRESTAURANT ROGER (V.O.) -trying to make me out as the bad guy, the cause of our downfall. The waiter finishes pouring into Roger’s glass. WAITER Enjoy. Marie grabs her glass and holds it up to the middle of the table. MARIE Happy anniversary honey. ROGER Happy anniversary. They CLINK their glasses, take a sip and return to their menus. A brief silence. MARIE What you thinking? ROGER The glazed salmon looks good. What about you? MARIE The gnocci looks tempting, but you know, I think I’m just gonna go with my fettucini alfredo.
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ROGER (V.O.) Yeah. I know. You’re getting the fucking fettucini. They take another sip of wine. At a nearby table, AN ACCORDION PLAYER serenades a YOUNG WOMAN with a Happy Birthday song. Marie watches and starts to laugh. MARIE Remember- remember at that restaurant in Florence, when you choked on that chicken bone, and the only guy to save you was that 400 pound violinist? On Roger’s face forms the slightest of smiles. ROGER You mean my savior? Fat Tony? Yeah, I remember. MARIE (laughing) That awful sound you made! She mimics a gross choking noise. MARIE (CONT’D) I felt so bad! ROGER You felt bad? I’m lucky someone there cared enough to save me. They LAUGH. WOOD’S OFFICE Wood, cool as ever, leans into the monitor. WOOD How many times has that story been told? And you two, the same exchange. As if from a script. RESTAURANT Wood’s smile begins to wane.
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ROGER (V.O.) Dependent on echos of past joy. WOOD’S OFFICE He surveys the monitor, looking for the kill. WOOD And that SWEATER! RESTAURANT ROGER’S POV, CLOSE ON: Marie’s Ugly Sweater. ROGER (V.O.) Oh that sweater, that goddamn thing. How often has she worn that in the last 32 years? It’s a symbol of her surrender, her giving in to some notion that past a certain age you no longer can have desires, have fun, fuck, be in love... Marie stops talking and looks at Roger. MARIE Roger. ROGER. (beat) You okay? WOOD’S OFFICE Wood stares into the computer, waiting... RESTAURANT ROGER It’s just... Come on, Marie. At what point do we stop pretending? Marie stares at Roger and her eyes begin to tear up. Roger holds strong, taking a proud gulp of his wine. WOOD’S OFFICE CLICK. Wood removes the USB drive, takes out a pen and scribbles onto the label "Send To: floor 3 (ALC)". He places the drive into a bin labeled "Transfers".
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He takes a breath, then gazes into the leftward monitor. We can’t see what’s on the static screen, but whatever it is has Wood’s full attention. END OF ACT ONE ACT TWO INT. WAITING ROOM Guy awaits in his chair, tapping his feet and scanning the room. GRACE (O.S.) Sit. Down. And wait. For your name. Guy turns to the pile of magazines besides him and picks one up: "Highlights". He turns past some crosswords and picture games and comes across the classic "Goofus and Gallant". He reads one: "Gallant makes sure that everyone is included. Goofus only plays with the kids he thinks are popular. " Guy rolls his eyes and reads the next one: "Gallant shares his toys with everyone. Guy allows his young assistant get ass-raped by a playboy criminal." Guy looks around the room, stunned. He turns back to the magazine and this message is gone, replaced by a more typical Goofus comic. He places down the magazine and sits back. ACROSS THE ROOM: An OLD FRENCH WOMAN SECRETARY gets in the face of a MAN asking her a question: FRENCH Listen here, you are to wait here called. Anything understand about SECRETARY little shit. You until you are you don’t that.
GUY (under breath) What a bitch... Guy looks over at the secretary.
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FRENCH SECRETARY (O.S.) Why is it that only the men ever question why they are here? Guy walks over to the desk of the French Secretary, or as her name tag indicates, MRS. LEDUC. As she looks down, Guy TAPS on her desk nervously. MRS. LEDUC (staring down) Read the sign. She glances up, gives a double take and removes her glasses. MRS. LEDUC (CONT’D) Jesus Guy. You really let yourself go, didn’t you? GUY Mother- I can’t believe- howMRS. LEDUC I thought I might see you here someday but already? What are you, fifty? GUY Fifty-two. MRS. LEDUC Christ. Where did I go wrong with you?