Semaphore (First Draft)

Shortly in the beginning of the first semester, I told my friends/co-workers at IgniteTV about an idea I came up with years before about two people waiting for their job interview. The idea has since grown into a verbal battle between an arrogant artist and a neurotic artist who only draws traffic lights. I plan to finish the screenplay this summer. What's below is the first draft of Semaphore, a flawed yet ambitious draft that I wanted to be as abstract as possible, although that became its weakness when it became too abstract for even myself to comprehend. I originally wanted to piss off the audience for watching my film although that's something I'll wait to do for my following short films. This will be the first of many drafts I'll post until I finally post the completed screenplay sometime this fall. Constructive comments/questions will be greatly appreciated. 
Thank you.

Character descriptions:
Dan: A tall guy, probably 6 feet or so(Clarence doesn't have to be really short, he has to be at least 4 inches smaller but specific measurements don’t matter). Dan has lived his entire life getting what he wants, but only through optimism and continuous effort. Dan is the typical American ideal of the good-hearted worker. He is a brilliant artist(idea for his clothing: a shirt with an obscure yet comical reference to Magritte’s This is Not a (Blank). A Dan brimming with confidence. he has been very successful in most, if not all of his endeavors. His ambition is hidden well in his calm expression. While Dan is the typical ideal, he isn’t a bland, boring version of the archetype. Due to his success and background, he is unaware of what failure is supposed to be and is perplexed when he sees failure firsthand embodied by Clarence.

Clarence: A short guy(specifics about size aforementioned in Dan description) who’s glad to be in a room instead of his dank apartment. He is very passionate about his beliefs and not much else. Similar to Dan in terms of brilliance as an artist, his failures stem from his outright refusal to draw anything else other than traffic lights. Clarence is a very awkward and neurotic person, who speaks unlike anyone else, and has trouble communicating his ideas or thoughts if they have nothing to do with traffic lights. Clarence communicates his thoughts clearly with his body language. Clarence, embittered by people’s expectations of him, swears instinctively, and has a habit of “drawing” traffic lights in the air with his finger. Clarence makes more of an effort to talk with Dan when Dan expresses his interest in learning more about Clarence.  

Unnamed Female Receptionist: rude, but sweet, very impatient, but understanding, depending on the person.

ESTABLISHING SHOT OF ROOM: A black screen. The room is a bleak area devoid of any kind of creativity. The waiting room, despite being a public area and showing some activity outside, has only one light source, a rotating fan, and a small table placed next to several rusted chairs. The fan above the room rotates slowly and deliberately. The table has a few magazines on top of it. In the background, we can hear the typing from a laptop, and the voice of a woman. She has a soft, yet stern voice, probably from sitting in her chair for hours without seeing anybody else.

We hear the door opening and closing. A woman flicks on the light switch.

The door opens. A tall man named Dan, walks in, recently shaved, who sees his favorite actor on the magazine. He plops down on the chair.

Dan:
I’m here for the job.

Unnamed Female Receptionist:
10 minutes, sir.

Dan:
Thanks.

He begins flipping through the magazine, looking for the actor’s picture. A few seconds later, another man, short and with a bad haircut, comes in and nervously snaps his fingers at Dan.

Dan looks up at Clarence.

Dan:
Oh, sorry. Did you want the seat?

Clarence:
Um, yes, thank you.

Clarence sits down and scoffs at the selection of magazines. He sits impatiently and tries detecting everything around the room.

Clarence:
I’m also here-

Unnamed Female Receptionist:
(quipping off-screen quickly and with little consideration) Got it, sir. 10 minutes.

Clarence:
Uh, o...kay.

Clarence recedes into his uncomfortable seat. He moves his bottom around, trying to get some kind of comfort.

Dan:
Hi. What're you here for?

Clarence:
Nothing. I heard there was a job opening and I jumped at the chance, you know?

Dan:
Yeah. Me, too.

After smiling, they remain in their seats and say nothing else for 30 seconds. The seconds practically impair the two guys as both of them begin shaking hastily and a mental battle begins as to who is going to speak next. As always, it’s the tall guy.

Dan:
(looking straight ahead at the camera, face shows some discomfort) So, whereya from?
 
Clarence:
(Also looking straight, although could be more transfixed at looking straight into the camera, almost like being hypnotized) Around here. ‘Bout, 20 or so minutes. (Looks at Dan) You?

Dan:
I’m from LA. Don’t really know why the hell I’m here, of all places, (chuckles nervously) going out for the lNew Yorker. You have to be a fucking genius to be here.

Clarence:
 I guess I’m out of the running.

Dan:
(Laughs quietly until noticing the Clarence’s grimacing face) I was just kidding.

Clarence:
(deadpan delivery) I know. It was funny.

Dan:
But you’re not laughing.

Clarence:
Well, this is how I react to a funny joke. I don’t say anything.

Dan:
Not even a chuckle?

Clarence:
No. I think it’s rude to laugh at a joke. Then you stop thinking about it and screw up the rest of the joke. No one ever considers the beauty of an uninterrupted joke.

Dan:
Hmm. I don’t think anyone else is as considerate as you are. (Tricky delivery of being earnest and sarcastic)

Clarence:
(unassuming of the sarcasm, only assuming the earnest) Nope.

They sit back and try to get comfortable on the chairs. Clarence grabs a magazine and rolls it up, drawing two circles in the air, then a rectangle that surrounds the circles, a moment that shows how impulsive his traffic light drawing habit has become. Dan takes off his jacket, folds it, and sits on top of it.


Dan:
I’m Dan.

Clarence:
Clarence. Nice to meet you.

Dan:
Nice to meet you, too.

Dan reaches out for Clarence’s hand. The attempted handshake becomes an identity crisis with a fist bump.

Clarence:
Wait, what do you prefer, a handshake or a fist bump?

Dan:
A handshake. It’s more professional.

Clarence:
Oh, okay.

Clarence shakes Dan’s hand.

Dan:
So, how’d you find out about this job?

Clarence:
Nothing but luck, Dan. Luck and many job listing opportunities.

Dan:
Hmm. They actually contacted me and said I would be perfect for the job. I just have to go through this mandatory interview, but it should be a sweep.

Clarence:
I see. Have magazines always contacted you for a position?

Dan:
No, not always. More often, it’s newspapers and free publications, but they’re a dying industry anyway, so magazines were a natural move.

Clarence:
Yeah, they are. Undead corpses. Or is that living corpses?

Dan:
I wouldn’t know, Clarence.

Clarence:
Oh. (2-3 second pause) So where’d you graduate from?

Dan:
Rhode Island School of Design. Practically everyone told me I would drop out in a week but I showed them. I think anybody can succeed if they apply themselves well. So where’d you graduate from?”

Clarence:
I didn’t. I dropped out in a week.

Dan:
 ...oh.

Clarence:
It was a disaster, but luckily, I was able to survive from selling all of my art. You could not believe how highly priced a person would buy a goddamn Kindergarten journal for. It wasn’t even on the market, it was just a journal I hung on to for personal reasons, but the guy offered 10,000 dollars for it. Fuck if I wasn’t an idiot for not selling it.-Depicts the character as a resentful bastard instead of a misunderstood genius, depends on the actor’s delivery

Dan:
What’s your favorite medium?

Clarence:
Well, I’ve worked in many, many different ones but a regular number two pencil and sketchbook paper is good enough for me.

Dan:
Interesting. Well, I love to paint oil, but occasionally, I use mixed medium, such as collage, acrylic, and sharpie to create some marvelous works. I remember in high school that everyone was impressed with my art. Especially the teacher. (make less conceited) I don’t think a moment ever passed that she wouldn’t look admirably at one of my works. What about you?

Clarence:
Ah, everybody’s a critic, ‘specially in high school. Everyone gave me shit for only drawing traffic lights. Oh, but highly sexualized images are a-okay! Morons.

Dan:
You’ve (clears his throat) only drawn traffic lights?

Clarence:
Yes. They are my bread and butter except that they would be a very inconvenient choice for dinner, ‘specially when you’d use a screwdriver rather than a knife and a fork to cut off a piece and pass it to everybody.

Dan smiles awkwardly.

Clarence:
That was a joke.

Dan:
A very good one.

Clarence:
Thanks. What do you like to draw?

Dan:
Um, actually if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear more about your obsession (another word less subjective than “obsession”) with traffic lights.

Clarence:
Ugh, it’s not an obsession! I don’t understand why everybody-ok, that’s what you think, but once you hear my testimony, then you’ll understand.

Dan:
I’m sorry, I only assumed-

Clarence:
Never assume anything, Dan. Assumptions will get you selling prized Kindergarten journals in the street.

Dan reluctantly nods his head. Clarence clasps his hands together and begins pontificating his tale of singular obsession.

Clarence:
I was a little kid. Nothing at that age impressed me. Not the beautiful mobile my parents bought for me. Not even my parents. Living in “the city that never sleeps” never impressed me, either. I thought the slogan was an insult that other cities had come up with. A city that never sleeps is one with bloodshot eyes.”

Dan:
(Laughs heartily then stops, again, at Clarence’s impatient expression) Sorry.

Clarence
I walked with my mom down the street one day, heading to my preschool, and suddenly, she stopped at the sight of the red light. I never imagined that there could exist an object with such power to suddenly stop a human being at its will. I looked around and saw the cars on our side of the street, which also stopped. Impossible, I thought, but there it was, powerful machines and my creator, frozen by the glowing red light that decided your fate. The light turned green, and my mother was told by the powerful machine to move. I was fascinated. I looked again at the traffic light, seeing how much personality it had in its many curves, its beams, and in its configuration. Why draw a naked woman when I can draw a traffic light? From that moment on, I drew many traffic lights from every conceivable angle, color, and configuration. The journal I sold to that rich bastard had the best drawings of traffic lights I ever did. At that age, there was no desire for precision or perfection, just for drawing. When I found out there was more than one way to depict a traffic light, I jumped at the chance and made many more traffic lights, from every medium I could think of.

Dan:
Wow.

Clarence:
Yeah.

Dan:
Traffic lights...

Clarence:
Now do you understand?

Dan:
I don’t, but I do.

Clarence:
Don’t bullshit, man. I know it’s a weird thing but it’s a weird thing I’d prefer to accept than explain. Why this is the only pivotal thing that everybody rejects me for makes no fucking sense.

Dan:
...no, it doesn’t.

Dan begins considering why he came for the job, then looks again at Clarence who somehow got this opportunity after possibly years of failure, for a moment, forgets about the rehearsed interview he had, and wishes his new friend gets the job.

Clarence:
What are you thinking?

Dan:
…(looking at Clarence, smiling) My plane ticket was fucking expensive.

Clarence:
(laughs annoyingly loud) They usually are.


Unnamed Female Receptionist:
Okay, uh...Clarence, it’s your turn. Just walk down the hallway, to the open door.

The two previously unknown gentleman rise up from the uncomfortable rusty chairs.

Clarence:
Well, I guess I’m up.

Dan:
Yep. Good luck to you, man.

Clarence:
Thanks. You, too.

Clarence shakes Dan’s hand and steps towards the door. He opens it widely and steps inside. Dan smiles as he sees Clarence entering the room. The door begins to close. Dan sits back on his chair and begins thinking about Clarence’s unusual, yet fascinating subject matter. The door closes.

A cut to a black screen. The credits roll.