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The Last Reel
The Last Reel
The Last Reel
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The Last Reel

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1. Confidential

The following logline has been classified "reliable" from an inside source:

Two former covert operatives are forced to recover the mysterious film that turned them into fugitives... and enemies.

Decryption (Level I):

Once the top field team planted deep in the former Soviet Union, two U.S. agents have been living off the grid for decades, on the lam after a mission gone bad...

...until the C.I.A. rounds them up to recover what they lost...

...reopening personal wounds...

...and national secrets.

*************************

2. Secret:

Decryption (Level II):

This document was originally written to be the final movie in the Newman/Redford “trilogy”, which began with "Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid" and continued with "The Sting". Many references, both overt and covert, are hidden within.

*************************

3. Top Secret:

Decryption (Level III):

The NCS (National Clandestine Service) suspects this entire story to be a stealth metaphor for the current state of the Hollywood movie industry, code name "The Biz".

Reference: "Goddamn metaphors..."

[Note: I'm a screenwriter ("THE WONDER YEARS", "TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES") and this story is presented in its original screenplay format.]

LanguageEnglish
PublisherWill Todd
Release dateJan 13, 2012
ISBN9781465912497
The Last Reel
Author

Will Todd

ALL ABOUT TODD1960: Born.1961-1982: Grew up. Did non-writing stuff.1983-1985: Worked with NASA as Aerospace Engineer. Started writing scripts part-time for no money.1986-1987: Started writing scripts full-time for no money.1988-1990: Wrote for first two seasons of "THE WONDER YEARS". Nominated for Emmy, Humanitas, and Writers Guild Awards. Won Humanitas and Writers Guild. Lost Emmy to pilot of "Murphy Brown" but I'm not bitter anymore especially since show never lived up to its potential.Wrote the first two "TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES" movies. Became rich, but with occasional pangs of guilt.1991-1992: Tried to elevate the quality of films coming out of Holywood by rejecting all script assignments and writing only on spec. I.E., Obscurity and Unemployment.1993-1995: Ran away to Europe for a few months, returned, wrote first play. Ran away to Asia for a few months, returned, directed first short film.1996: Stopped running long enough to get in line to write a feature film version of "I Dream of Jeannie". BLINK! Next.1997-1999: Completed Quest for Seven Continents with travels to Africa, Australia, South America, and Antarctica (whiter even than The Blank Page).2000-2002: Solidified reputation as International Man of Leisure. Blew it by writing a book in here somewhere.2003-2005: Nap.2006-2007: Wrote, produced, and directed a 90-minute compilation of comedy shorts called "42 STORY HOUSE". Sold very nearly that many DVD'S.2008-2009: Pangs of guilt concerning sudden wealth now a distant memory, sought status as "Too Big To Fail". Failed.2010: Attempted to finance an indie movie called "WHY THE SQUIRREL WON'T FRY". Fried.2011:Published first eBook "THE TELLING OF MY MARCHING BAND STORY". Fell.2012: Published some eScreenplays to see if anybody was interested in reading eScreenplays. Seriously, anybody. Hel-loooooooooo...?2013-2014: Started YouTube Channel "Todd Trumpet Videos". Reached "Blockbuster" (LLC) status.2015-2016: Wrote "A CHRISTMAS CODA". Received lavish praise from Dickens Experts. Who - "Bah! Humbug!" - apparently don't impress the General Public.2017: Adapted "A CHRISTMAS CODA" into a stage play. Learned Broadway and Hollywood, despite being on opposite sides of the country, actually share the same Welcome Mat.2018-2019: Achieved Complete World Domination. (Pending)

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    Book preview

    The Last Reel - Will Todd

    INTRODUCTION

    1. Confidential

    The following logline has been classified reliable from an inside source:

    Two former covert operatives

    are forced to recover the mysterious film

    that turned them into fugitives... and enemies.

    Decryption (Level I):

    Once the top field team planted deep in the former Soviet Union, two U.S. agents have been living off the grid for decades, on the lam after a mission gone bad...

    ...until the C.I.A. rounds them up to recover what they lost...

    ...reopening personal wounds...

    ...and national secrets.

    -------------------------

    2. Secret:

    Decryption (Level II):

    This document was originally written to be the final movie in the Newman/Redford trilogy, which began with Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid and continued with The Sting. Many references, both overt and covert, are hidden within.

    -------------------------

    3. Top Secret:

    Decryption (Level III):

    The NCS (National Clandestine Service) suspects this entire story to be a stealth metaphor for the current state of the Hollywood movie industry, code name The Biz.

    Reference: Goddamn metaphors...

    ******************************

    FADE IN:

    ON IMPERFECT REFLECTION

    A FACE wavering on water, shadow-strobed, like film struggling through an obsolete projector.

    Specks penetrate the surface, and the face OBLITERATES TO

    EXT. THE FLORIDA KEYS - DAY

    where the owner of the face wipes sweat from his brow before continuing to SCRAPE paint from the hull of a boat.

    GEORGE WILLIAMS might want to reconsider the scraper as a personal grooming device. Driftwood decades have deposited layers of character, edging him close to that high water mark labeled Life Expectancy.

    But his eyes, like the deepest part of the ocean, remain Paul Newman blue.

    Unfortunately for George, the two blues may soon meet if he doesn't find a more stable platform. He stands in a rowboat while SCRAPING the port side of the Merry Christmas, the only fishing boat in Florida that could make George look healthy by comparison.

    It's perhaps then fortunate that a bath is in George's future, as two JET SKIS ROAR BY creating a sudden wake that

    GEORGE: Hey...!

    REUNITES The Old Man and The Sea.

    George SPUTTERS to the surface, fighting the pull of a BREAKER that returns him to shore. Face first.

    He lies there a moment, not uncomfortable, but eventually peals his cheek from the sand. He looks to where he was scraping by. Then to where he's been washed up. And finally to a rusty old sign pronouncing it all Rockbottom Bay.

    Whereupon George Williams utters his first two words of prophesy:

    GEORGE: Goddamn metaphors...

    Take your pick. Or stick around for The Big One.

    As for George, he drags over to a concrete beach shower and pulls the chain.

    Adding a few RIVULETS OF RUST to his seawater-soaked hair.

    He just stands there a second contemplating Rockbottom, when his face inexplicably brightens. It's as if a well-worn switch has been thrown. A switch labeled Charm:

    GEORGE: Hey! You kids wanna rent a boat?

    He approaches a lump of TEENAGERS gathered around the stern of the Merry Christmas, who turn their dubious looks from the ancient rental inventory to even more dubious looks at the ancient mariner.

    TEEN #1: Uh, actually... we were looking for Jet Skis.

    GEORGE: Jet Skis! Nooo, no-no-no-no. Terrible way to see the bay. Just a lot of speed and noise.

    TEEN #2: Do you have any Jet Skis?

    GEORGE: Sure don't. But a rowboat'll take you around a lot cheaper. And a lot slower. This bay's got a tale to tell if ya--

    TEEN #3: Well, thanks anyway, but...

    GEORGE: That's the key to the Keys. You gotta slow down, take some time to actually absorb the story.

    TEEN #4: (definitively) Look, Mister, we came for the ride, not the story.

    Not much George can say to that. Except under his breath as the teens pass by:

    GEORGE: You get what you pay for.

    He makes his way to a mini-keg near the pilothouse, taking a hit of beer directly through the surgical tubing. But his quaff is cut off by an unexpected

    VOICE (O.S.): Excuse me, is this boat for rent?

    George nearly chokes on his good fortune, lowering the still gushing tube to see

    TWO MEN

    who, though costumed in tourist trunks and sunblocked noses, now appear less good fortune than Soldier of Fortune.

    Maybe it's the short-cropped hair, the cowboy tans, or the spa-worthy musculature. Or maybe the Ray Bans. Identical.

    George observes it all under a MEDITATIVE BELCH, then cranks up the Charm to belie a new setting - Caution:

    GEORGE: You guys goin' fishin'?

    MAN #1: Yeah. We wanted to try sort of a... classic excursion.

    MAN #2: That's right.

    GEORGE: Well, boy did you come to the right place. Here, let me help you aboard.

    MAN #2: That's okay, we can--

    But George has already taken the hand - and gear bag - of Man #2, who steps over the bulwark as the bag drops to the deck with a loud CLANK. METALLIC.

    GEORGE: You guys must be after some big fish.

    Man #1 follows but declines a similar offer of help, so George recovers the deckbound bag with a good-natured GRUNT:

    GEORGE: Course, I can't guarantee you'll reel in The Big One, but I can promise you one thing.

    MAN #2: What's that?

    GEORGE: A good chase.

    And with that, George HEAVES the bag high over their heads--

    MAN #2: Hey! What're you...?

    --and toward the open sea. It draws just enough of their attention for George to take a RUNNING DIVE over the opposite rail, yanking the keg's tubing and beating the discarded gear bag - SPLASH, SPLASH - to the water by a nose.

    Man #2 barely gets off his Ray Bans before creating a third SPLASH. But he doesn't dive for his gear bag.

    He goes straight for George.

    On deck, Man #1 watches as his partner resurfaces, frustrated, then dives again. Opening his own bag, Man #1 vindicates George's paranoia with a HIGH-TECH WALKIE-TALKIE:

    MAN #1: He jumped ship.

    Meanwhile

    UNDER DA SEA

    George swims with the aid of his beer tube snorkel, eventually passing under a shallow keel and POPPING UP

    NEXT TO A ROWBOAT

    between himself and his pursuers. He thanks the beer tube with a SHARP BELCH, then bellies into the boat, keeping a low profile.

    In fact, he rows practically lying down, but soon puts some distance between himself and the beach. There, the two men search hopelessly for a means to follow. George peeks:

    GEORGE: Try a half mile down. They rent Jet Skis.

    He continues his low row, but slows at the sound of a DISTANT RUMBLE. Actually, it's more like an ANGRY BUZZ. Or BUZZES. And they're getting LOUDER.

    MUCH LOUDER. In

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