Lights, Camera, ... Actors?

Scripts, Screenplays, Sides, Lighting, Cords, Tape, Locations, Crew, etc.

My life is hectic trying to get all that and more together. Yes, I'm making a movie. It's a short film, we're aiming for about an hour. Here's a bit of the screenplay. At least, what we have so far:


Rachel quickly wakes from a dream. She gets up and heads for the kitchen. Lane is sitting hunched over at the table with a half filled glass pressed against his temple. A bottle of liquor and a game of chess is on the table. Lane notices Rachel and quickly puts the bottle on the counter.
Rachel: Don't you ever sleep?
Lane: No.
Rachel: Does it work? (Rachel glances at the bottle)
Lane: What do you mean?
Rachel: Why are you so sad?
Lane: (no response)
Rachel: That's why you act the way you do, isn't it? You're trying to hide your emotion.
Lane: There's no room for emotion in my life.
Rachel: But it's there. That's why you have nightmares. That's why you can't sleep at night. That's why you drink. That's why you keep us at a distance.
Lane: Speaking of which, you should be in bed.
Rachel: No.
Lane: No?
Rachel: No, I will not take orders from a man I don't know. I've been doing that for most of my life, and I'm getting tired of it.
Lane: Your father.
Rachel: (hesitates) Yes...my mother ran away with another man when I was barely six. After that, my father became a workaholic, and when he ran out of work to do he went on road trips. He never really talked to me except when he wanted me to take care of something for him.
Lane: You remind him of her.
Rachel: Yes. Same story with you?
Lane: Not really. I'm just good at reading people: what they're like and what has made them who they are. For instance, I'm guessing that you are the popular girl at school, because of your attention deficiency.
Rachel: I knew it! You ARE sensitive!(Lane rolls his eyes and shakes his head) So what happened to you then?
Lane: (sigh) Fine...I'm an orphan. My parents died before I was even a year old. I never had a true family; I was just passed on from one foster family to the next. I joined the marines when I was seventeen; my foster parents at the time didn't really care. Over there, the men who fought beside me became my family. Those of us who were exceptional were recruited into a special forces unit. We made a name for ourselves, my brothers and I. After a few years of perfect service records, we were contacted by a nameless, high government official. He said we and other such soldiers of extraordinary skills were needed elsewhere in a multi-functional agency division and in an international assassination and espionage agency division.
Rachel: The Watchman and the Pantheon.
Lane: Correct. We were assigned to the two agencies according to our skills. A close friend of mine joined Pantheon. I haven't seen him since. I still miss him. Ever since we joined the Watchman, my brothers have been dying, one by one (he knocks down a pawn with each “one”). In fact, I became the last of the originals on my team not too long ago. I'm not expected to last much longer myself. I've lived past the agent life expectancy.
Rachel: (puts her hand on his shoulder) I'm so sorry, Lane.
Lane: Thanks (takes her hand off his shoulder and lets it drop), but no thanks. Sorry never changed anything. Otherwise, my friends would still be alive, and I wouldn't be all alone.
Lane gets up, grabs the bottle, and escapes into another room.


So... yeah. :)

Right now, we're trying to find some people for the different parts. Some of you who read my blog, we're considering asking. :)

Anyway, I have to go considering it's 12:30