SCREENPLAY: THE ART OF ILLUSION.

SCENE ONE: INT

LARGE ROOM, WHITE WALLS. EMPTY SHELVES. BARE WALLS EXCEPT FOR

A REPRODUCTION OF A MODIGLIANI HANGING ABOVE A SINGLE

MAHOGANY CHAIR. A LARGE BAY WINDOW OVERLOOKS FIELDS, TREES, A

FOREST IN THE DISTANCE. A SINGLE TREE, DEAD AND BARREN, STANDS IN

THE FOREGROUND.

DANIEL, A MAN IN HIS MIDDLE-THIRTIES, WELL DRESSED IN A THREE PIECE

BUSINESS SUIT, SITS IN THE CHAIR, IDLE, DAYDREAMING.

Daniel jerked his head upwards as a movement caught his eye. He rose and walked slowly

towards the window. A raven had swooped down and, after circling nearer, alighted upon a branch

on a distant tree. Daniel rested his palm on the window, and with the other shaded the sun from his

eyes. He saw another black mass in the tree, a small dark rent in the fabric of daylight. It attracted
the raven; it began to edge its way along the branch. Another bird? Daniel asked himself. But it

seemed too inert. A nest then? Daniel brought his face nearer the window. With a start he recognised

a dead bird. He pushed himself away from the window, slightly repulsed.

'It's a corpse! It's the corpse of another raven!'

Daniel walked slowly backwards to his chair and sat down. The branch was still visible

above the ledge of the window. Daniel wondered how the bird met its end. A mistimed swoop?

he asked himself, then breaking his neck on a branch? Or perhaps a slow interminable death, from

starvation, as it became trapped within the jagged maze of branches? A broken wing prevented its

escape?

Daniel smiled to himself as he realised the clinical indifference with which he was

discussing the bird's fate.

Of course, it was obvious now, Daniel thought, that it was a bird, only the lustre of the

feathers had decayed, leaving the long, black, shapeless mass hanging within the tree. Daniel

watched the other bird still edging its way along the branch; at first cautiously, but then, after a

tentative prod with a claw convinced itself that the prey was dead, it began to peck at the face.

Daniel stood up, shocked.

'God, it's eating its own kind! It's eating it!'

Daniel walked towards the window again, his eyes unable to avert themselves from the

spectacle. He tried to calm himself with the reasoning that this was normal, nature's law, and that

there was nothing he could, or should, do, that the bird was merely eating to survive. Why should

he be so repulsed? he asked himself, feebly attempting to provide himself for a rationale for

standing there fascinated. But suddenly he could bear it no longer, and he knew he would have to

do something, he clenched his fist, and struck the glass. He used too much force, the window

shattered. He swore and held his bloodied hand, cursing as he examined the cut. Three large
fragments of glass had fallen from the bay window, and now lay on the floor. Daniel saw how the

tree had been fractured, severed into three pieces, now neatly spread out across the floor. The bird

still sat pecking at the face, unaware of the disturbance fifty yards away. The face of the dead bird

was now no longer recognisable, the eyes having been pulled away, leaving entrails hanging down

the body. The black feathers now hung streaked with a discoloured liquid. Daniel looked at the gap

where the glass had been. Until the jagged edges, the view of the field was as normal - fertile,

verdant, green but the base of the tree snapped off into darkness. Daniel reached out to touch the

blackness. His hand passed through. Surprised, he moved towards one end of the window, changing

the parallax, so that he could see the view behind the glass. Beyond the apparent view of the fields

through the window, lay nothing.

Daniel gently fingered the glass, steadying himself as he prised his head through the gap.

Taking care not to touch the glass with his head, he turned to look back into the room from the

outside. The view was normal, he could see the print on the wall, the chair, even his fingerprints

were visible where he had earlier smudged the glass. He carefully withdrew his head and stood

again in the room. The bleeding from his hand had stopped, it had only been a minor wound.

Daniel knelt down to the floor to look at the bird more closely. He saw the raven, having

satisfied its hunger, begin to move off. It edged its way along the branch, gave a cursory flap of

its wing, then threw itself off into the air. It began to flap its wings in long, slow swoops. It

disappeared off the edge of the fragment of glass, reappearing, as it flew upwards, on the next

pane lying a foot or so away. It soared ever upwards, now visible, once again, at the top of the

main window. It became smaller, and thus fainter, as it flew into the distance. Daniel watched it

recede, puzzled.

'But how? How?...'

The telephone rang. He turned his head sharply.

-cut. Okay, not bad - except for the weird ending. A bit too fantastic for my liking.
Who wrote this shit! Still, we can always edit it out, later, probably from the moment

when the fist touches the glass. Best to end on a moment of anticipation, eh? A

violent note? Not bad, Daniel. Next scene? What is that?

SCENE TWO: INT

LARGE ROOM, PALE BLUE WALLS. SHELVES CLUTTERED WITH OBJETS D'ART.

AN OIL PAINTING OF A SMILING WOMAN HANGS ON THE WALL. A SQUARE

WINDOW, SHUTTERED. A TELEPHONE LIES ON THE FLOOR, AN ANTIQUE

MODEL: TALL STEM, DETACHABLE RECEIVER.

DANIEL, A MAN IN HIS MIDDLE THIRTIES, WEARS AN ELEGANT SILK

DRESSING GOWN. HIS HAIR IS STILL WET. HE SITS ON A LONG WHITE SOFA,

LISTENING TO THE RECORD PLAYER. A BACH FUGUE, NUMBER FORTY EIGHT,

IS HEARD.

Daniel jerked his head upwards as the telephone rang. He reluctantly rose and walked

towards the shelf. He turned the volume down before picking up the receiver.

'Hello.'

He recognised the voice at once.

'Fancy hearing from you.'

The caller spoke with a sense of urgency. It appeared it wasn't an informal call. Daniel

listened carefully. He didn't, couldn't believe what the voice was saying.

'But why would he want to do that?'

 The voice garbled on, ignoring Daniel's indifference.

'Your husband?'

Daniel asked, incredulously.

'Coming here?'

The voice continued to affirm that he was.

'Well, thank you for the call, and for the warning. A pity we couldn't have been a bit

more informal.'

Daniel replaced the receiver, and turned up the record player again. It seemed some sort of

confrontation was in the air. The prelude for the next fugue began. It was the famous one, thought

Daniel, in C Major. He sat down. He felt relaxed, after his long soak in the bath. And he didn't

really think the husband was coming. Or care if he did. We can discuss it like two reasonable

people, he reassured himself. He listened carefully to the beginning of the fugue. Ah Bach, how he

loved Bach! The record was coming to the end. He stood up and walked across again to the shelves.

He removed the needle. The sound continued.

'Oh really, how ridiculous.'

He switched off the amplifier. The music continued. The next prelude began, in C Sharp

Major. Puzzled, Daniel stood back. He checked to see if the record had stopped turning. It had.

The prelude continued. Daniel bent down and tugged the mains plug away from its socket; the

music stopped.

'Ah, good. I wonder why -'

The next fugue started. There was a knock on the door. He turned his head sharply.
 'Yes?'

-cut. Fine. We can always take off the superfluous sound later. I think Bach was an

apposite choice, hm? I liked the way you jerked your head, Daniel, that feeling of

unease, menace, you create. It's good. Okay, two more minutes of action left for

us today. Next scene?

SCENE THREE: INT

LARGE ROOM, WALLS DAMP WITH PEEL ING PINK PAINT. FADED POSTERS OF

FADED POP STARS ADORN THE WALL. A WINDOW OVERLOOKS ROWS OF TER

RACED ROOFS. IN THE DISTANCE FACTORYS ARE VISIBLE.

DANIEL, A MAN IN HIS MIDDLE THIRTIES, SHABBILY DRESSED IN A TATTY

T-SHIRT AND TORN JEANS, LIES ON A LARGE BROWN CUSHION. SEVERAL

OTHER CUSHIONS LAY SCATTERED AROUND THE ROOM. A SONG BY THE

RAVENS PLAYS ON CASSETTE.

Daniel jerked his head upwards at the knock on the door. It had been a long time since

anybody had called. And when they had, they never used to knock.

'Come in.'

he instructed, indifferently. A man in his late twenties edged his way in. He looked in a bad shape,

thought Daniel. Nervous, tense, irate. The face was vaguely familiar.

'Daniel'
 'Yes. Who are you? What do you want?'

'I need some stuff.'

Daniel realised at once where he had seen the man before: years before, when he'd been a

client.

'I'm sorry, I don't deal any more: I got busted. And I didn't like the prison food.'

'No, you don't understand - I need it. Now.'

'Sorry.'

'Daniel, I know you've got some.'

'Not any more.'

Daniel, at first mildly irritated, was now becoming uneasy at the man's fanatical conviction

that Daniel still kept a store of heroin.

'Listen, what I've told you is the truth: I don't, can't, deal any more.'

The man fell to his knees and clutched a cushion. Daniel stood and moved back.

'Shall I ring for an ambulance?'

The man started to cry. Daniel could feel no pity, he stood immune - the familiarity of

this scene, having been repeatedly enacted before him in years past, had eroded away any

semblance of an emotional involvement.

'I'll ring for an ambulance.'

he insisted. The man shouted out, desperately,

'No!'

The man stumbled to his feet, jerked a knife out from his pocket, and flashed it before

Daniel.

'Oh don't be silly, you idiot.'

Daniel murmured. He retreated towards the wall.

'They'll only lock you up.'

The stranger approached.

'I need that stuff, I need it. Give it to me.'

Daniel pushed him away.

'There isnt any. And there hasn't been for some time. I no longer -'

The man lunged with the knife. Daniel fended him off, too easily, he thought, the director

had wanted realism. Still it was only take one.

'Listen, I dont want to call the police.'

Daniel struggled to remain calm. He knew that no malice was intended, that only the crazy
/
desperation caused the man to behave as he did. He tried to remain calm even as the man lunged

again, jamming the knife between his ribcage. The man forced him against the wall and drove the

knife further in.

'I need it. I need it now.'

 Daniel felt a cutting sensation inside himself; a far-off pain, distant, but not a stabbing

sensation at all; it seemed to belong to another body.

'I want it, I want it now.'

The man let Daniel fall slowly to the floor. The knife stuck wedged between his ribs, jutting

out at an absurd angle. Daniel struggled to speak, to murmur anything, but could not. He felt he was

dying, but could not believe it. He refused to believe it, it had not been in the script. This cannot be

right, he thought, this cannot be right - I am only an actor reading my lines. Only an actor. Only a

role. But this feels too real.

'I want it now.'

'I don't deal any more.'

mumbled Daniel.

'Not any more.'

Daniel rolled over, and felt the knife slide deeper into his body - was that his heart? He

thought he spat out saliva mingled with blood, but he couldn't be sure.

-cut. that was great, great! Realistic. I don't think we need cut anything from that.

Well done Mike, I didn't realise you were such a convincing addict! Or that you,

Daniel, possessed such heavenly death throes. One more scene then? To finish it all

off? The day's work done? On with the show? Next scene? On with the show? Next

scene? Daniel? Daniel? Are you all right boy?