07:14
Faizan
(In the form of a film scenario)
A loose version, adaptation, of William Faulkner's short story:
"Mirrors of Charters Street"
by
Dennis L. Siluk
1
Morning. (Fall of 1925)
Music.
New Orleans. Bourbon Street. An old man, with a harsh face, his breath reeking with alcohol, somewhat with crippled walk (a portion of one leg missing), an ape like walk, and ape like agility, he stops by a young man walking the opposite way. He moves up closer to the young man's face. The old man's eyes are wild looking, but not threatening. He has a crutch, and he seems to be more athletic than he really is. He is still to the youth, a mystery.
A closer look at the young man, we see he is in his twenties. It is fall, and he has a long cloak on, tightly around him. The old man now exercises his crutch taking it from under his armpit, he which now seemingly he is using it as a kind of a prophet's staff, moving it about, and keeping his balance quite well. He has kind of a coffin-shaped forehead. He looks down to think, to put his words he is going to use, together; he's got the young man's attention.
Old Man. "Say, you're a young fella now, and you got both legs. But someday you're going to need a bite of bread and a cup of coffee perhaps, just a cup of coffee, to keep the wet out of your bones; and you may stop a fella like I'm stopping you, and he may remind you of your son, like you do for me, -I was a good father once, back in my youth, so fella can you spare a quarter?"
The old man raises his hand, staring just over the young man's shoulder as if staring out of a window, or over the roof of the café down the street. He acts almost as though to himself alone. The young man gives him a quarter, and moves on.
Fade Out.
Fade In
2
Morning.
Music.
Fifteen minutes have passed between the last meeting of the old man and the youth. The young man sees the old man in high spirits, going into a movie theater, one of those with double features of naked girls and all that pervasive stuff. Now slow and graceful the old man moves. It is as if the young man is trying to readjust his vision to make sure it is really the old man, and heads to the front of the theater, but sees only the back of the old man, finding his way into where the show house is.
The Youth. "Well, don't that beat it all... ?"
3
Evening, on Bourbon Street.
Music.
The youth is standing on a balcony, leaning over an iron rail looking down upon the Bourbon Street-and sees the old man for the last time. The moon is a gibbous moon this evening, and a tinge shadowy. And the people down below look more like spectral creatures than people, but the old man, he stands out like the Temple of Ramses...
He notices the old man walks to the side of the street. He's making gestures of dismissal to the bystanders. It would seem the old man is a little tipsy, and spins around on his Moses like stick. He dances around a streetlight, in one full movement.
A loose version, adaptation, of William Faulkner's short story:
"Mirrors of Charters Street"
by
Dennis L. Siluk
1
Morning. (Fall of 1925)
Music.
New Orleans. Bourbon Street. An old man, with a harsh face, his breath reeking with alcohol, somewhat with crippled walk (a portion of one leg missing), an ape like walk, and ape like agility, he stops by a young man walking the opposite way. He moves up closer to the young man's face. The old man's eyes are wild looking, but not threatening. He has a crutch, and he seems to be more athletic than he really is. He is still to the youth, a mystery.
A closer look at the young man, we see he is in his twenties. It is fall, and he has a long cloak on, tightly around him. The old man now exercises his crutch taking it from under his armpit, he which now seemingly he is using it as a kind of a prophet's staff, moving it about, and keeping his balance quite well. He has kind of a coffin-shaped forehead. He looks down to think, to put his words he is going to use, together; he's got the young man's attention.
Old Man. "Say, you're a young fella now, and you got both legs. But someday you're going to need a bite of bread and a cup of coffee perhaps, just a cup of coffee, to keep the wet out of your bones; and you may stop a fella like I'm stopping you, and he may remind you of your son, like you do for me, -I was a good father once, back in my youth, so fella can you spare a quarter?"
The old man raises his hand, staring just over the young man's shoulder as if staring out of a window, or over the roof of the café down the street. He acts almost as though to himself alone. The young man gives him a quarter, and moves on.
Fade Out.
Fade In
2
Morning.
Music.
Fifteen minutes have passed between the last meeting of the old man and the youth. The young man sees the old man in high spirits, going into a movie theater, one of those with double features of naked girls and all that pervasive stuff. Now slow and graceful the old man moves. It is as if the young man is trying to readjust his vision to make sure it is really the old man, and heads to the front of the theater, but sees only the back of the old man, finding his way into where the show house is.
The Youth. "Well, don't that beat it all... ?"
3
Evening, on Bourbon Street.
Music.
The youth is standing on a balcony, leaning over an iron rail looking down upon the Bourbon Street-and sees the old man for the last time. The moon is a gibbous moon this evening, and a tinge shadowy. And the people down below look more like spectral creatures than people, but the old man, he stands out like the Temple of Ramses...
He notices the old man walks to the side of the street. He's making gestures of dismissal to the bystanders. It would seem the old man is a little tipsy, and spins around on his Moses like stick. He dances around a streetlight, in one full movement.
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