Evening chaps. This is my first post and so I may as well cut to the chase and do what I am here for. Please have a little lookie at the first part of one of my scripts and let me know what you think.
Thanks,
Andy
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SCENE 1. ARCHIVE FOOTAGE CLIPS
CLIPS FROM THE FALKLANDS WAR ARE SHOWN
NARRATOR: (VO)
Friday the second of April, nineteen-eighty two. Argentina begins the invasion and occupation of the Falkland Islands. Seventy-four days and nearly one thousand deaths later, the Argentine soldiers surrender and retreat. An uneasy peace falls across the islands. The British Sovereignty decides a military presence is required permanently to maintain that peace and to protect those that live there. Eight years later, and although the presence has dwindled, a small group of the very best of Her Royal Majesty's troops remain.
SCENE 2. INT. MESS HALL – DAY 1 [08.00]
CAPTAIN CUNNINGTON IS SAT DOWN READING A NEWSPAPER. PRIVATE FLATTERY BRINGS IN TWO PLATES WITH A CONGEALED MESS ON THEM AND PLACES ONE IN FRONT OF CUNNINGTON. FLATTERY SITS DOWN AND TUCKS INTO HIS OWN BREAKFAST.
CUNNINGTON CONTINUES TO READ HIS PAPER
CUNNINGTON:
Dare I ask what it is you've just put down in front of me?
FLATTERY:
It's breakfast sir.
CUNNINGTON:
No it's not Flattery. Breakfast, traditionally, is edible. I would wager that after eating this, Satan himself would turn pale and need a good sit down.
CUNNINGTON FOLDS THE TOP HALF OF HIS PAPER OVER AND HAS A LOOK AT HIS PLATE
CUNNINGTON:
Really Flattery, what is this?
FLATTERY:
Scrambled egg sir. You said it was your favourite sir?
CUNNINGTON:
It is Flattery - when it is made with eggs and a whisk, not a dog and a stomach pump.
FLATTERY:
How can you tell sir?
CUNNINGTON:
The faint whiff of Pedigree Chum certainly points me in the right direction.
FLATTERY:
I'll go and feed it to the birds then sir.
CUNNINGTON:
No, I don't think so Flattery. There have been quite enough innocent casualties of war, and I for one don't want to be responsible for any more of them. Stick it in an envelope and mail it to the Argies.
CUNNINGTON GOES BACK TO READING HIS NEWSPAPER. FLATTERY PICKS UP CUNNINGTON'S PLATE AND SCRAPES THE GREY LUMPY GOO ONTO HIS PLATE. HE SITS DOWN AGAIN AND CONTINUES EATING
CUNNINGTON:
Pah, these modern wars. Too easy. Gone are the days when you would have to kill with nothing more than your standard issue torch and a shoelace because all the rifles had been eaten by rats. And nothing brought out the pride and passion of being a soldier more than seeing the fear in your enemy's eyes from close enough to jab him in them. Ah yes, war isn't what it used to be Flattery.
FLATTERY:
I didn't know you saw active service sir?
CUNNINGTON:
Of course I did Flattery, I was there, on the front line, fighting for Queen and Country! Well, one of the Queen's countries…
FLATTERY:
All I can remember of the war is you hiding under your bed with your fingers in your ears singing, 'I'm a little teapot,' sir.
CUNNINGTON:
Yes thank you, that's quite enough of that Flattery.
FLATTERY:
If I recall correctly you spent two weeks dressed as a laundry maid and another week pretending to be a coat rack sir.
CUNNINGTON THROWS HIS NEWSPAPER ONTO THE TABLE
CUNNINGTON:
Unless you want to spend the rest of your life struggling with stairs and steep inclines I would strongly suggest you change the subject. Might I remind you that I am second in command on this base?
FLATTERY:
Yes sir, sorry sir. I won't mention your blatant cowardice ever again sir.
CUNNINGTON:
(SUSPICIOUSLY) Good.
CUNNINGTON RETRIEVES HIS PAPER
FLATTERY:
If you're second in command sir, does that make me third in command?
CUNNINGTON:
What are you dribbling on about Flattery?
FLATTERY:
Well sir; you follow the Major's orders and I follow your orders; so does that make me third in command sir?
CUNNINGTON:
No, Flattery, no, I don't think it does. The chain of command follows a ruthless hierarchy based mainly on intelligence, dignity and general hygiene. I would therefore surmise that you are ranked somewhere in between that old kitchen mop and the disgusting dead turtle that has been rotting in the boathouse for the past month.
FLATTERY THROWS THE KITCHEN MOP A DIRTY LOOK
CUNNINTON:
Flattery, I think your chance of any kind of command is as likely as the Queen herself coming to this God-forsaken island to perform an extended rendition of, 'My Old Man's a Dustman,' whilst wearing a silly hat. Only a true intellect like me can ever become a ranking officer.
MAJOR FARNABY-WORTH, A WHITE HAIRED, HEAVILY MOUSTACHED GENTLEMAN ENTERS LOOKING CHEERY
FARNABY-WORTH:
Good morning men! Splendid day for a damn good bit of war, what?
CUNNINGTON:
With a disappointing yet not entirely unexpected sense of irony, I stand corrected.
FLATTERY SPRINGS TO ATTENTION, STILL HOLDING HIS KNIFE AND FORK. HE SALUTES, PROMPTLY STABBING HIMSELF IN THE HEAD WITH HIS OWN KNIFE. HE WINCES. CUNNINGTON LOOKS EXASPERATED
FARNABY-WORTH:
Sit down man, sit down, we're all chums here! No need for any of the formalities, what!
FLATTERY SITS DOWN WITH THE KNIFE STILL POKING OUT OF HIS HEAD. HE CONTINUES EATING WITH JUST HIS FORK
FARNABY-WORTH:
I say, Cunnington, how are the troops getting along? Moral pip-pip and tip-top?
CUNNINGTON GLANCES AT FLATTERY
CUNNINGTON:
He's fine sir. Nothing that a few laps of the island won't sort out.
FARNABY-WORTH:
Splendid, splendid! Well now, what do have for breakfast this morning? Something scrumptious to tickle the old taste buds on the way in and tickle the old arse on the way out I hope?
CUNNINGTON:
We have something that will do just that sir. Although probably more of the latter than the former. Flattery, fetch the Major some of your delightful scrambled eggs.
FLATTERY:
Certainly sir. I'll just go and see if the chef is in his kennel.
FLATTERY LEAVES
CUNNINGTON:
What news this morning sir?
FARNABY-WORTH:
Oh, the usual Cunnington, the usual. Bloody Argies still won't stick their noses out, damn their well-tanned hides. Never spoiling for a good fight like they used to. All this nonsense about peace and well-being is enough to make one's legs go wobbly, ey Cunnington?
CUNNINGTON:
Yes sir. Like very wobbly things on top of a jelly in a car driving over cobbles, sir.
FARNABY-WORTH:
All this quiet is making me a bit edgy, Cunnington. I may have spent most of the days that I can still remember on this island, but I'll be hung upside-down and tickled with a kipper if I'm going to sit here and rot whilst there are enemies of the crown that need a complete and utter kicking in their traitorous posteriors!
CUNNINGTON LOOKS WORRIED
CUNNINGTON:
Sir – what are you saying?
FARNABY-WORTH:
We need to girdle our loins and go get ourselves some war! We shouldn't waste any more of our time on this dull, dreary, peace-ridden island; we must go to where the action is! This very instant! I shall radio headquarters and request that we be transferred right into the thick of it at once! What do say to that man?
CUNNINGTON:
(NERVOUSLY) Yay?
FLATTERY ENTERS HOLDING A PLATE
FLATTERY:
I'm sorry sir, but the chef was a little tired from making the first lot of breakfast so I had to make this one myself.
FARNABY-WORTH:
Splendid, boy, splendid! As my dear Mother used to say, all good talent comes from within, what!
FLATTERY PLACES THE DISH IN FRONT OF FARNABY-WORTH AND SITS DOWN
CUNNINGTON:
And, like all good talent , those who truly appreciate it will find it coming from within them also. And quickly.
FARNABY-WORTH TAKES A BITE. HE PAUSES LOOKING SHOCKED
FARNABY-WORTH:
By jove, these are by far the best scrambled eggs I've ever tasted! The flavour is exquisite! What did you put in these to make them taste so bowel-clenchingly yummy?
FLATTERY:
Well we had chilli last night if that's what you mean?
CUNNINGTON:
You see sir, how will you be able to enjoy such fine cuisine if you are stationed elsewhere?
FARNABY-WORTH:
As sure as a cow has breasts I would be willing to forego such luxuries just to taste the sweet taste of war once more, smell the smell of victory, bathe in the sweat of triumph and sniff the armpit of revenge!
FARNABY-WORTH FINISHES HIS MEAL
CUNNINGTON:
But sir, only a madman would go looking for such a stupid and pointless fight!
FARNABY-WORTH:
Precisely Cunnington! And that is exactly why we must leave immediately!
FARNABY-WORTH JUMPS UP FROM HIS SEAT TRIUMPHANTLY, FOLLOWED ALMOST INSTANTLY AFTER BY CUNNINGTON WHO THEN LAUGHS NERVOUSLY
FARNABY-WORTH:
By the way, you haven't seen my dear pet turtle about have you? Been missing for about a month now…
FARNABY-WORTH EXITS CALLING FOR HIS TURTLE
FARNABY-WORTH:
Shelly! Shelly! Where are you?
