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The Sandman Presents: Marquee Moon by Peter Hogan Second Draft (1997), Pages 33-40
PAGE THIRTY THREE Panel 1. Large panel. Tamara—in wolf-form—is coming towards us down the stairs (nearly at the bottom and entering the hall, which is as we saw it earlier, though you might have to go back and retro-build these stairs in). She's still wearing the nightie and cardigan (we wants echoes of Little Red Riding Hood here), but it's rucked up round her middle (i.e. falling forwards). CAPTION: I HAD TO FIND OUT. SO I CHANGED, BUT EVEN THEN MY SENSE OF SMELL WAS SHOT. I WAS PICKING UP PRECISELY NOTHING... CAPTION: TILL I SPOTTED THE TRAIL OF BLOOD DROPLETS. I FOLLOWED THEM DOWNSTAIRS, TO THE HALL, AND THEN... Panel 2. A medium close-up headshot of the Tamara-wolf—startled, ears pricked up, tongue hanging out. CAPTION: I HEARD KEYS JINGLING. Panel 3. Another largish one, and angle it whichever way makes most impact. She's running full pelt up the stairs (either towards us, or in semi-profile and maybe seen through bannisters), still in wolf-form but less so, starting to change back to human. A halfway state. And as she runs (her arms still like wolfish forelegs) she's plunging out the top/neck of the nightdress, pulling herself free of it. But she's more furry than fleshy, definitely. JUDY (off): GOD, IT SMELLS LIKE WET DOG AGAIN IN HERE... JUDY (off): WHAT ARE YOU GUYS EATING? PAGE THIRTY FOUR Panel 1. Large panel. Rear view of Judy coming through the front door and into the hall. As she enters she's looking up, and catching the merest glimpse of Tamara's naked arse disappearing from view (and now fully human). The nightdress (and cardigan) is lying draped down the stairs like a shed skin. You might need to angle this from below for greater effect. JUDY: Tammy? Panel 2. Smallish two-shot of Ray and Judy. He's in the background, shutting the door. Judy's looking up, a little concerned. RAY: WHASSUP? JUDY: NOTHING. I JUST CAUGHT TAMMY STREAKING... Panel 3. Similar, but larger, and they've moved on/up a few paces. Judy is holding the nightdress up, one eyebrow raised. Still concerned. Ray is below her, looking up and grinning, suddenly interested and completely transparent. JUDY: THAT GIRL'S GOT A LOT TO LEARN. RAY: REALLY? JUDY: AND SO DO YOU. Panel 4. Large panel, and a scene change: we're in the living room, where Nigel, Jimmy, Tamara and the Weasel are ranged round the TV (on chairs, sofa and floor). On telly is Chicken George from Roots, so you'll have to either (a) do some research or (b) angle this so we can't see the screen. But nobody seems to be actually watching it (though the whole scene is lit by the TV screen—and it may well be a black and white set): the Weasel's sitting on the floor tinkering with the back of an amp with a screwdriver; Nigel's reading through some sheets from Tamara's lyrics notepad and frowning; Tamara looking up at him expectantly (almost a wince); and Jimmy is reading an old comic—let's make it an old copy of House Of Mystery. ALISA: Over to you for research. What we want is an issue from late 1976 or earlier—but if older, it'll have to appear more dogeared. Ideally, what we want is one with a werewolf on the cover, and I'm guessing there must have been one at some point. According to Neil, there's one about this date with a Bernie Wrightson cover showing a man being cornered by a wolfpack in the snow. Sounds ideal! CAPTION: I TRIED TO CORNER VIC ABOUT IT, BUT HE ALWAYS SEEMED TO BE OUT OR ASLEEP... CAPTION: SO I JUST TRIED TO CONCENTRATE ON WRITING THOSE DAMN LYRICS. TV: IT'S IMPORTANT TO KNOW WHERE YOU COME FROM, CHILD. TV: YOUR GREAT-GRAND-DADDY WAS KUNTA KINTE... NIGEL: NO. SORRY, BUT THEY'RE NO GOOD...TOO POETIC, TOO SOPPY. NIGEL: TEENAGE ANGST IS FINE, BUT YOU NEED TO LOSE ALL THE LOVE AND RELATIONSHIPS STUFF... PAGE THIRTY FIVE Panel 1. Small close-up of Tamara. Her feelings are hurt, but she's trying not to show it, and to bounce back, show willing etc. TAMARA: SO...WHAT SHOULD I WRITE ABOUT? Panel 2. Smallish two-shot: Nigel in the background, somewhere between offhand and matter-of-fact; Tamara sprawled on the floor in the foreground. NIGEL: LOOK AROUND YOU. TAMARA: HOW'D YOU MEAN? Panel 3. Small two-shot: Nigel, frowning, almost exploding (but not); Jimmy getting up and heading for the TV. NIGEL: ARE YOU BLIND? TV (crackly, off): AND NOW, THE NINE O'CLOCK NEWS, WITH ANGELA RIPPON... JIMMY: I'LL TURN THE SOUND OFF. Panel 4. Medium: a rear/side view of Nigel explaining his viewpoint (more calmly and politely) to the attentive/curious Tamara. Jimmy in the background, turning the volume dial on the TV (a good place to get reference on gizmos—and clothes—of the era is in old mail-order catalogues. Try the libraries of art schools—some of them have had the foresight to hang onto this stuff). Jimmy's looking back at them/us a bit nervously (he doesn't like arguments). Weasel also visible, one eyebrow raised skeptically. Meanwhile, the TV shows a picture of a grinning and optimistic Jimmy Carter. NIGEL: LOOK, I DON'T WANNA BE RUDE...MAYBE WHERE YOU COME FROM EVERYTHING'S LOVELY... NIGEL: BUT THIS COUNTRY'S FUCKED. Panel 5. Largish close-up of Nigel, righteously indignant/angry. NIGEL: THE ECONOMY'S COLLAPSED, THERE'S NO BLOODY JOBS AND NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE US EXCEPT PEOPLE LIKE US. NIGEL: BUT THE LIKES OF QUEEN AND BLOODY GENESIS DON'T TALK ABOUT THIS STUFF, SO WE'VE GOT TO. NIGEL: YOU DO, I MEAN... PAGE THIRTY SIX Panel 1. Smallish. Either a two-shot, or else a close-up of Tamara, wrinkling her face up in a sympathetic wince. TAMARA: IS IT REALLY THAT BAD? NIGEL (off): WORSE. PEOPLE WANT SOMEONE TO BLAME, SO... Panel 2. Medium. Similar panel four on the previous page. This time the TV in the background shows an image of Thatcher. Make sure you get a photo from the right era for reference—she looked softer and less maniacal back then. Nigel and Tamara are just silhouettes—or absent entirely. We could have just the TV set, with a crumpled cigarette pack or beer can propping up a wonky aerial—but we should also see a slightly grumpy Weasel (almost squirming, about to erupt). NIGEL: THERE ARE PACKS OF NAZIS OUT THERE RIGHT NOW, BEATING UP PAKISTANIS... NIGEL: I TELL YOU, BRITAIN'S JUST RIPE FOR A SODDING DICTATORSHIP. Panel 3. Medium close-up of The Weasel, exploding with annoyance (he should have been simmering in the background for quite a while). THE WEASEL: WHAT DOES SHE BLOODY KNOW ABOUT IT? SHE'S AMERICAN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. THE WEASEL: AND A RICH AMERICAN, AT THAT. Panel 4. Two-shot: Tamara on the defensive, Weasel confrontational and antagonistic. TAMARA: I'M NOT RICH... THE WEASEL: YOU AIN'T EXACTLY POOR THOUGH, ARE YOU? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN WRITE ABOUT BRITAIN? Panel 5. Two-shot, but mainly Tamara—trying to be reasonable, almost tearful. Weasel grumpily walking off-panel. TAMARA: I'M TRYING TO UNDERSTAND—BECAUSE YOU GUYS ASKED ME TO TRY. TAMARA: MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE WRITING THE SONGS. THE WEASEL: YEAH, MAYBE I SHOULD. Panel 6. Tiny panel: just the door slamming. SFX: SLAM. Panel 7. Smallish: Tamara dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, and trying not to make it more of a production than absolutely necessary. TAMARA: I THINK WEASEL HATES ME... NIGEL: NO...HE'S JUST, WELL...A BIT PASSIONATE ABOUT THE MUSIC, THAT'S ALL. NIGEL: DON'T LET HIM PUT YOU OFF. PAGE THIRTY SEVEN Panel 1. Mainly Nigel, handing back Tamara's notepad/lyrics, in a gently encouraging way. Not bullshitting, just being sensitive/kind. NIGEL: SOME OF THIS WASN'T THAT BAD. HONESTLY. NIGEL: WHY DON'T YOU HAVE ANOTHER GO AT IT? Panel 2. Close-up of Tamara, attempting to be cheerful i.e. the second line here is her making a joke at her own expense. TAMARA: WELL...OKAY, THEN. TAMARA: NO LOVE SONGS, RIGHT? Panel 3. Small/medium close-up of Jimmy. Earnestly adolescent and thoughtful, but also a little embarrassed at speaking up, and on this topic in particular (maybe he has a slight/hopeless crush on her). Not at all creepy though. JIMMY: IT'S OKAY IF IT'S REAL. YOU COULD WRITE ABOUT, erm... JIMMY: Y'KNOW...SEX. JIMMY: AND JEALOUSY...STUFF LIKE THAT. BUT ROMANCE IS JUST TOO CORNY. Panel 4. Medium: maybe a group shot. Jimmy's big moment, as he articulates a pet gripe. JIMMY: I MEAN, SONGS—AND FILMS—ARE ALWAYS MAKING OUT THAT EVERYBODY FINDS SOMEONE TO LOVE, AND IT'S JUST NOT TRUE, IS IT? JIMMY: I MEAN, NONE OF US HAS GOT ANYBODY. Panel 5. Smallish group shot. Tamara wryly amused/cheered up, Nigel deadpan (raising a beer can or coffee mug in a mock-toast), Jimmy sheepishly grinning. NIGEL: THANKS, JAMES. NOW YOU'VE REALLY CHEERED ME UP. Panel 6. Medium/large panel. We're in Tamara's room a day or so later. Daylight (unless we forgot to put a window in) streaming in. And Tamara's had a drastic haircut. I'm tempted to say give her a Mohican (which—as any fool knows—should rightfully be called a Huron), but they weren't really around yet. But a few years later Anabella from Bow Wow Wow did prove they could look very sexy on girls (but completely stupid on most people), so maybe we should just go for it. Or you could go for something along the lines of Sue Catwoman—not copy her look, but do a variation on it (that was suitably wolflike). Or else she could just have it short and spiky/shaggy—the choice is yours. Anyway, she's been out buying clothes (new and secondhand) of various kinds—and we want her to have a sizeable wardrobe: enough to get her through the next few gigs, anyway. You could check out the kind of stuff the Slits used to wear: a mixture of really girly and really tough. Anyway, there are clothes and carrier bags in abundance, and Tamara's lying on the bed on her stomach amongst all her new finery, fiddling with and admiring it. And smiling slyly to herself. CAPTION: SO I PUSHED WEASEL'S INSULTS AND VIC'S SILLY GAMES TO THE BACK OF MY MIND, AND DID A LOT OF WRITING. CAPTION: I ALSO DID A LOT OF SHOPPING, AND A LOT OF SPEED. SO WHAT IF MY NOSE HAD GONE BLIND? I DIDN'T NEED IT... CAPTION: I HAD NEW HAIR AND NEW CLOTHES. I WAS SOMEONE ELSE NOW... CAPTION: AND SHE WAS HAVING FUN. PAGE THIRTY EIGHT You can structure this however you like, but what we want to see here are three medium panels depicting Tamara and the band playing three separate gigs (and it needs to be blindingly obvious that they are different gigs). Feel free to ignore my suggestions—the important thing is that we should get the impression that punk is starting to snowball—at each gig there are more of them, and the longhaired contingent is more appreciative, beginning to see that there's a point to all this. So, we could kick off at a small college somewhere in London. A smallish hall, with a smallish bar in it. Audience would include mystified students, virtually all of whom are very dull looking. Lots of longish hair, glasses, bad fashion decisions. Not that much audience reaction. Second gig at a pub, small club, or even another college. Audience definitely more enthusiastic. Finally, we want a pub gig. A barn of a place, with a long curving bar down one side of it. Stage still small, but bigger than any to date. And a much more enthusiastic audience than we've seen to date: lots of punks, a few sceptical skinheads, lots of pub-rocker types, everybody else with long hair. Everybody looking approvingly. Obviously we want costume changes for the band at each gig as well (if only Tamara—though the guys would at least change shirts/T-shirts). But whether you do big panels or medium ones, profile shots, rear views, front shots etc I leave entirely up to you. The other point to try to get across is that Tamara's confidence as a performer is growing, and she's obviously more relaxed about it and actually enjoying herself—and she'll be a bit more confident about herself generally from now on. She's blossoming, in fact. Panel 1. CAPTION: SO WE PLAYED... TAMARA (with musical notes): SCATTER CAKE, SCATTER CAKE, BAKER'S VAN—WE AIN'T GOT NO BREAD, WE EAT WHAT WE CAN... TAMARA (with musical notes): 'CAUSE THERE'S NOTHIN' DOIN.'.. Panel 2. CAPTION: AND WE PLAYED... TAMARA (with musical notes): NOTHIN' DOIN.'.. Panel 3. CAPTION: AND WE PLAYED... TAMARA (with musical notes): NOTHIN' DOIN' IN MY LIFE... CAPTION: AND WE WERE DEFINITELY GETTING BETTER. Panel 4. Medium: another after-gig scenario: the band's leaving the pub. In the background, Vic's on the pavement, signing autographs for a small pack of young girls (Debbie nearby, looking sulky); Tamara's in the foreground—behind her a small group of geeky boys are shuffling about awkwardly. Tamara is being ineffectively accosted by one of them: a young guy (17/18) with really long hair and loon pants. Neil from The Young Ones. He's holding out a biro and a flyer for the gig (or some other bit of paper). Tamara surprised but flattered. CAPTION: WE WERE EVEN STARTING TO GET FANS... MALE FAN: erm, COULD I HAVE YOUR um AUTOGRAPH? Panel 5. Similar, but smaller and closer in—basically a two-shot of Tamara and the fan, except now Weasel is barging between the two of them, carrying an amp and leaving havoc in his wake. Fan nervous, Tamara mildly irritated. WEASEL: FUCK OFF, HIPPIE. PAGE THIRTY NINE Panel 1. And finally, we're outside the Marquee. This'd be some hours before the gig, so there's no punk presence yet on the street. We're looking up at the Marquee sign/porch above the door (and we want to see it clearly, so we need a close-up—either just the sign, or a rear view cluster of the group all looking up at it). A smallish horizontal. CAPTION: AND THEN IT WAS TIME FOR THE BIG ONE... RAY (off): WELL, WE MADE IT. CAPTION: THE GUYS HAD BEEN TELLING ME ALL ABOUT THE PLACE FOR WEEKS... Panel 2. Medium panel. Tamara and the band are standing outside the Marquee entrance. Ray is in the act of opening the door and entering the club. It's late afternoon, on a grey January afternoon. We want a side view here, and we're looking North up Wardour Street, and in the far background we might even be able to see The Ship pub in the distance. Band all wearing coats and/or jackets over...not stage gear, exactly—more like a punk version of Sunday best. Tamara's wearing a short red shiny vinyl raincoat over a miniskirt of some kind (short and tartan, possibly) with some fishnet stockings. She looks more vulnerable than sexy (but will be far more fiery onstage later). Once Weasel's removed the coat/jacket he's wearing, we'll see that he's wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Gary Gilmore's face (good luck with the research) and the words: Gary says...(above the picture) and "Let's do it!" (underneath it). Also wearing a studded black leather dog collar around his throat. CAPTION: AND I WAS EXPECTING SOMETHING IMPRESSIVE...BUT IT WAS JUST THIS POKY DIVE IN WARDOUR STREET. RAY: COME ON, YOU LOT... RAY: LET'S GET THIS SOUNDCHECK DONE. Panel 3. Medium: we're inside the club, in a long and dark, but quite broad passageway/lobby which leads (eventually) into the club. The walls here are lined with photos and posters of all the famous names who've played here. These could include large photos of Hendrix, Ziggy-era Bowie and...take your pick! Pretty much everybody in the '60s and '70s played here (if in doubt, ask). There's a famous black & white poster advertising The Who at the Marquee (with the legend "Maximun R&B") that you could use. (ALISA: Michael Zulli specifically mentioned he wanted to use that poster in Love Street, but maybe we can talk him out of it. Strictly speaking, it's the wrong era for it, anyway.) Anyway, Tamara is lingering to examine all this memorabilia, obviously impressed/entranced. Behind her, the chaps are ploughing onwards into the club, oblivious to the décor (which they've doubtless all seen before). A rear view of them will suffice. CAPTION: BUT STILL, YOU COULD FEEL THE HISTORY. I MEAN, EVERYBODY HAD PLAYED THERE... VIC: WHAT'S THE BLOODY RUSH? WE'VE GOT HOURS YET... RAY: YEAH, BUT YOU WANNA GET A FEW PINTS IN, DON'T YOU? VIC: GOOD POINT. CAPTION: AND NOW IT WAS OUR TURN. Panel 4. Medium/large, and we're backstage at the Marquee in quite a large dressing room (which gets shared by both bands). Bare white walls (covered in graffiti and stickers—suggestions in a second) and no window. There's a sloping ceiling which cuts one wall short, a table/counter running along it which is loaded down with plastic bags and guitar cases and tins of beer. Along another wall runs a large bench/couch, covered in red vinyl which is pockmarked with cigarette burns and badly torn in several places—maybe mended with silver gaffer tape, but with foam lining spewing out nonetheless. A big mirror (just screwed to the wall), cracked in several places and smudged with various hideous stains. Graffiti consists of (a) bragging and (b) rude messages directed at other groups scheduled to play the Marquee in days/weeks to come: we could include names like Eddie, Rat, Gene, Billy, etc., etc... Outside this room there's a longish corridor leading to the stage (in one direction), a small and distinctly unsavoury toilet and the bar (in the other direction). We're looking through the door at the Uninvited, who are all dressed up and getting ready or just hanging out (putting on lipstick, tuning up, changing shirts, swigging from bottles of beer. Weasel is adding his name to the graffiti on the wall). And all of them have turned to take notice of the person who's about to enter. CAPTION: EVERYBODY THINKS BEING IN A BAND IS REALLY GLAMOROUS. THAT'S BECAUSE NOBODY EVER TALKS ABOUT HOW BORING IT REALLY IS. MOSTLY, WHAT YOU DO IS WAIT. CAPTION: AFTER THE SOUNDCHECK WE SPENT HOURS HANGING OUT IN THIS REALLY CHEESY PUB, AND THEN WE HAD TO WAIT AGAIN BACKSTAGE... CONSTANTINE (off): OI, OI... CONSTANTINE (off): OO'VE WE GOT 'ERE THEN? Panel 5. Medium panel: And enter Mucous Membrane, framed in the dressing room doorway. There are four of them, and I don't much care what the others (apart from Constantine) look like (punky, but in a 'I-want-to-be-a-rock-star' kind of way...though I suppose you'd better avoid making any of them look like any of the Police). Constantine's in the lead—very sarcastic and teasing. Smirking. Wearing some kind of tight leopardskin shirt or T-shirt, with leather trousers. The rest of the band are sniggering—they're J.C.'s little gang. At least one of them is leaning against the door. Constantine has some kind of small holdall or bag slung over one shoulder; the others might have carrier bags and guitar cases. And, of course, the Uninvited's coats, handbags, etc., would already be in the room, lying on floors and or counter surfaces (if possible, we want a shot of Mucous Membrane sweeping some of the Uninvited's stuff out of the way as soon as they've left the room—these guys are very territorial). CONSTANTINE: MUST BE THE SUPPORT BAND. CONSTANTINE: DIDN'T YOU LOT USED TO BE THE BLOODY MORONS? PAGE FORTY Panel 1. Smallish: mainly (or only) Ray and Constantine, confrontational and in profile. Ray's more than a little pissed off, Constantine's smug and dismissive. RAY: WE WAS THE BONE IDOLS. WE SUPPORTED YOU IN AYLESBURY. CONSTANTINE: WELL, I KNEW YOU WERE SOMEBODY... RAY: AND YOU WERE A RIGHT CUNT THEN AS WELL. Panel 2. Small two-shot: Tamara (slightly defensive and a bit nonplussed—not used to dealing with smooth geezers with dyed blonde hair. Of course it's bloody dyed) and Constantine (interested/intrigued). CONSTANTINE: YOU'RE NEW. CONSTANTINE: WELL, WELL, WELL... Panel 3. Smallish close-up of Constantine, eyebrow raised, smirking smugly. CONSTANTINE: I BET YOU GET A LOT OF WOLF-WHISTLES... CAPTION: HE KNEW. I DON'T KNOW HOW, BUT HE DID. Panel 4. Medium. Ray shoving/pushing Constantine (but not too hard—this is a warning shot). But this fight isn't going to develop because they're being interrupted by the appearance (at rear or side of panel) of a barman or stage manager poking his head round the door to summon the Uninvited to the stage. This guy's in his thirties, longish hair, not too shabby or too flash. RAY: YOU'RE OUT OF ORDER, CONSTANTINE. CONSTANTINE: OI. I WAS JUST BEIN' FRIENDLY... RAY: LIKE FUCK YOU WAS... BARMAN: UNINVITED? YOU'RE ON... Panel 5. Medium panel. The Uninvited are starting to leave the room, Vic first out the door and pointing his guitar neck before him (not essential that we see him, but a glimpse would be nice. Tamara gently tugging Ray along by the hand or arm, trying to defuse the fact that he's still staring daggers at Constantine. Constantine's smirking, other Membranes mildly amused. Weasel making a rude gesture as he nears/exits the door. TAMARA: LEAVE IT, RAY. CONSTANTINE: BREAK A LEG, GIRLS. WEASEL: WANKER. Panel 6. Smallish: in the background, the band are some distance off down a corridor, with Tamara Somewhat peeved at Ray (a back view will do). Constantine watching them depart—again, a back view will do. He's talking to himself, so nobody else too close to him. TAMARA: I CAN LOOK AFTER MYSELF, YOU KNOW... CONSTANTINE: TWO IN ONE BAND... CONSTANTINE: YOU WOULDN'T CREDIT THE ODDS, WOULDYA?
Thanks to Peter Hogan for providing the script and artwork, Peter Doherty and Hogan for answering my interview questions, and Adrian Brown at the Voices From Beyond forum for helping make it possible. An excerpt of this script originally appeared on John McMahon's Straight to Hell site. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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