The Scrabble for the Holy Grail
1st Scene.
Exterior: female presenter in front of a bog-standard church. She addresses the cam.
Pr.:I want the Holy Grail. It's the holiest drinking vessel in the world today, and besides, I've lost my other one.
I'm quite aware, thank-you ever so much, that others have searched for it: priests, television presenters- even people. Everyone, in fact. But. Have they been looking in the wrong place? Yes. I'm conducting my own search, based on knowledge, and fact, and anything else that has been ignored because of intrigue and innuendo, if you'll catch my Drift?
Presenter throws a chocolate bar to cam. man.
Pr.:I'm here, in Tintagel, Cornwall, at the Roman Catholic church of Saint Louisa. Where better, after all, to look for the holiest of Grails, than in a building?
Cut to interior of church. A jumble sale is being held. Old people in cardigans mill at stalls. The presenter is at a junk stall, scrabbling through the contents. She picks out three ceramic swans and says to the dowdy Stall-Holder:
Pr.:How much for these priceless artefacts?
S-H.:Twenty pence each, please, lovey.
Pr.:How's about less, as they're together?
S-H.:No, deary. I'm afraid not.
Pr.:Remember that you're being filmed.
S-H.:...Are you threatening me?
Pr.:No, ya single limb, I mean your shop gets free publicity from being on the telly.
S-H.:This isn't a shop, sweety; this stalls only here for the day. All the proceeds go to the new hoof fund.
Stall-Holder looks down and stamps foot, eliciting a clop sound.
Pr.:I'd like to speak to your manager.
S-H.
h, come on...
Pr.:C'mon, who runs this place? Who do I complain at?
S-H.:Him upstairs dear, I suppose... Or, well, you could try in there...
Stall-Holder points to confession box.
Pr.:And what's your name, madam?
S-H.
hyllis.
Pr.:Well, Phyllis, kindly put these ash-trays under the counter for me. Now.
Presenter hands over swans and moves to the confession cabinet.
Presenter goes into the confessional and time elapses.
Presenter comes out, buys swans, and leaves.
Exterior of church again.
Pr.:Well, I checked that place from tip-top to front bottom, from high brow to low-life, North to South, East to rest, inside and pout.
Presenter pouts. She holds up her grubby fingers to cam.
Pr.:Here's proof. But, on the whole, I think that was a dead-end... It smelled like one.
Presenter happily causes swans to clank-clank in their plastic bag, and walks off.
2nd Scene
Camera shot filled with the page of a book, upon which is a Christian tapestry.
Presenter's voice heard.
Pr.:Well, this proves it! We're getting somewhere. This at least proves that Jesu was here. If you look at the centre of the tapestry you'll see a design.
A cross.
Pr.:That's Jesu's signature, or "tag".
Presenter's fingers come in to shot and double apostrophise the word "tag".
Pr.:And yes, worried citizens at your net-curtained vigil, He is known to the police. His "tag" is all the way around town, everywhere, but especially the poorer areas. But nothing can be done to stop His vandalism, because no-one can prove He did anything, there just isn't any sane evidence.
There are other designs here that attest to the involvement of organized religion: crosses, noughts- look, there's His "tag" again... There was a time when Jesu was forging Wilkinson Sword's signature and stealing vast amounts of money from their account which, the credit card receipts from the court case attest to, were spent on fripperies such as wine, and bread.
The book is snapped shut. The proprietor of the book shop says:
Prop.:Are you going to buy that?!
Presenter bustles away, muttering:
Pr.
ome very high up and influential people obviously don't want knowledge of the Grail reaching the world! We must be warm: I'm sweating.
Presenter exits shop, outside she rummages rummages at a lone bric-a-brac table.
Pr.:Where is this Holy Grail?! Where is that Holy Grail?! It must be around here somewhere...
3rd Scene
Presenter outside on a cobbled street.
Pr.:This is the ancient town of Canterbury Cathedral, the centre of Christianity throughout the entire world. I've heard rumours... If King Arthur and the Holy Knights of the Stone Table, who once part-owned the chalice, put the Grail anywhere, or left it lying around somewhere, or buried it somewhere underground somewhere to keep it away from the cats, it's got to be the holy and ancient Island of Canterbury's Tales.
So, I'm here in Canterbury, and remember: I want that cup!
Presenter accosts an innocent by-stander.
Pr.i! Oi, you! Yeah, you. Come over here!
Old Man:I'm only walkin' me dog.
Pr.:Wheeere's my the bloody Holy Grail, you?!
Old Man:Get out of it! Blimin townie.
Old Man shuffles away.
Pr.:...Well. If polite curiosity won't uncover the secrets of our the Holy Grail, then perhaps throwing some money at the situation might prove, well, better!
Presenter marches into a charity shop.
She talks to the Old Lady proprietress.
Pr.o, Ancient Canterbury, eh? ... I bet this antiques shop is a hotbath of intrigue, incest, and may I see the other of the pair?
Presenter holds up a lone, tacky, china shoe.
Old Lady:Well, I don't quite now what you're getting at, and this isn't exclusively an antiques shop... Those most things in here are old...
Old Lady looks at the milling OAP's.
Old Lady:And no, they don't come in pairs, so we don't sell them in pairs.
m' first ever sketch, written after watching tony robinson investigate the truth behind that dan brown book that nobody bothered to read... I only watched the damn documentary 'cause am interested in arthurian legend, and I love tony robinson forever for maid marion(the which is funnier than cathetar tate, shittle britain, two point four f**k's sake, children, etc,etc, oh- etceteraah)... got peeved and fell asleep thinking of how you'd make a more honest version of what I'd seen (the documentary was two hours long!)... so: inept presenter; limited research; boring no-light-shedded conclusion.
I like this presenter; she has alot of energy for her assignments, can even be voracious in her quest for truth... but ignorant... IS IGNORANCE FUNNY? Is it?... 'cause if it's not then this bitch is like well-buggered, yo. I use 'em alot; ignorant characters.
And, and; m' sketches aren't all taut, succint, leading to a punchline that crystallises the lead-up. I've read people's sketches on here, and they're razor sharp- almost avalanching to a really good tagline, which'll recall and rationalise/capitalise-on all the previous dialogue.
just wonder, really, how readable is stuff (a script, words)without an end in sight?
...oi.
am trying to learn how to write sketches; y' know, as a ... form. I've read fry and laurie scripts/vic wood scripts/ab fab scripts/farces/20th century humour (yoomer)... what else is instructional? or has been to you? for script writing.