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The Sandman Presents: Marquee Moon by Peter Hogan Second Draft (1997), Pages 41-48
PAGE FORTY ONE Panel 1. Medium. In foreground (or to one side of panel), Constantine turning away to rummage through his bag in search of cigarettes and responding to a query from a band member (let's call him Mucous A—he didn't really hear Constantine's comment and isn't even curious, just checking that he hasn't missed out on news of food, money, sex or something else equally basic). In the background (and/or the other side of the panel) we see can Les and Maurice, who've just entered the dressing room. They're dressed in similar (but not identical) style to last time. Les in the lead, Maurice a pace or two behind him (flashing a toothy smile). Les has his arms spread wide in come-and-give-me-a-hug fashion, grinning broadly. MUCOUS A: DO WHAT, JOHN? CONSTANTINE: NOTHIN.' LES: JOHNNY! Panel 2. Very small facial close-up of Constantine, his eyes narrowing—he looks like he might actually be a weensy bit dangerous. There's more than a hint of the hard bastard he'll become. LES (off): LOVED YOUR SHOW LAST WEEK... CONSTANTINE: IT'S JOHN. Panel 3. Medium panel, and another confrontation two-shot in profile: Les is gushing, but in an I'm-doing-you-a-favour kind of way; Constantine is part-bored, part-smug (relishing a minor triumph), and resuming his search for cigarettes in his bag (we need the bag so's he can pull a book out of it in a few panels' time). He's way too cocky for his own good—and will eventually come a cropper, a couple of years further down the line. LES: JOHN. LES: LISTEN...I THINK I'M IN A POSITION TO OFFER YOU CHAPS A DEAL. 'COURSE, WE'D NEED PUBLISHING AS WELL, AND THERE WOULDN'T BE MUCH UPFRONT, BUT... CONSTANTINE: WE'VE ALREADY SIGNED. Panel 4. Also medium. Les is taken aback, Maurice is frowning/depressed, Constantine calmly smug, lighting a cigarette with a flaring match; another band member (Mucous B) moves into the conversation to gleefully add to the gloating (high on a hill lived a gleeful gloatherd). LES: WHAT? CONSTANTINE: YOU'RE TOO LATE. WE SIGNED WITH K.G.B. THREE DAYS AGO. A FIVE-FIGURE ADVANCE. MUCOUS B: WE START RECORDING TOMORROW. Panel 5. Smallish: Maurice and Les are already out of the door and receding into the background down the corridor, Mucous B yelling after them. Constantine fishing about in his bag for the book, ciggie dangling from lip, looking a little preoccupied. Mucous C (the third band member) is nearby, concerned that Constantine's down in the dumps. MUCOUS B: SHOULDN'T 'AVE KEPT US WAITIN.'.. MUCOUS B: SHOULD YER? MUCOUS C: S'MATTER, JOHN? THOSE TOSSERS UPSET YOU? CONSTANTINE: NAH. 'COURSE NOT. Panel 6. Smallish. Constantine's just sat down on the vinyl-covered bench, or is just about to (maybe sweeping the Uninvited's possessions to one side or onto the floor), and is taking a deep drag on that ciggie. A world-weary, tired smile. He's got that book in his other hand, and you'll find out what it is in just a moment. Mucous C maybe squatting down nearby, pulling a bottle of vodka out of a guitar case. MUCOUS C: WHASSUP, THEN? YOU WORRIED ABOUT DOIN' THE ALBUM? CONSTANTINE: I'M FINE. IT'S ONLY A FUCKIN' RECORD, STU... CONSTANTINE: AND THIS MUSIC LARK AIN'T GONNA LAST FOREVER, Y'KNOW. PAGE FORTY TWO Panel 1. Smallish. Just Constantine, who's still sitting on the bench, legs crossed at ankles, reading and calmly exhaling smoke (a smoke ring is already drifting upwards). How much of him we see depends on how close up you need to get to show us the book he's reading. It's a copy of the novel of The Exorcist, and he's about three-quarters of the way through (it's very dogeared and battered—secondhand, probably). He has one eyebrow raised. Not so much a smirk as the hint of a mysterious smile. MUCOUS C (off): YOU MAKIN' PLANS FOR YER OLD AGE, THEN? CONSTANTINE: NAH, NOT REALLY... CONSTANTINE: BUT I'VE GOT A COUPLE OF IDEAS. Panel 2. Large panel: The Uninvited onstage at the Marquee. The Marquee logo (white on black) is painted—BIG—on the back wall of the stage i.e. it's the backdrop. Reference on the Marquee shouldn't be too hard to find—there's plenty of footage of people playing there, plus give me a shout to remind me and I might be able to track down some still photos. We want to be able to see a fair chunk of the audience, who are crammed right up to the edge of the stage. I think the Marquee was supposed to hold about six hundred people—but whatever the official capacity, they crammed in twice that number. The result was that you couldn't move, and the whole place was a sauna. The audience here is about 70-80% hardcore punk, 90% male, and they're a heaving mass—it looks like hell, violent and scary and out of control...but some of them are obviously enjoying themselves. Energy levels are high, people are chucking plastic pint glasses (spraying beer en route) onstage, and there's mass spitting at the band. The sheer scale of this—non-stop, and from every angle—is almost impossible to imagine if you've never seen it. One musician described it thus: "There was no way to dodge it, because it was like standing under a shower." There was so much of it that saliva literally hung off people (and instruments) in strands. Obviously, this onslaught destroyed one's appearance—it was impossible to look like anything other than a drenched rat. Band members would be spraying it back out when they shake their hair. We want this to look like it's definitely not a fun place to be, for band and audience alike. The Uninvited are bravely trying to soldier through, but having a very hard time of it. Both Vic and Tamara are singing into mikes (on stands). Everybody looks worried/unhappy. CAPTION: THE GIG WAS A NIGHTMARE. THEY'D CRAMMED AS MANY PEOPLE IN THERE AS THEY COULD, AND THE WHOLE PLACE WAS LIKE A SAUNA. I WAS DRIPPING WITH SWEAT, AND THE SOUND WAS TERRIBLE. I COULDN'T HEAR MYSELF AT ALL. CAPTION: AND THEY THREW EVERYTHING THEY HAD AT US, INCLUDING AN OCEAN OF SPIT. WE PLAYED THE SET IN RECORD TIME... Panel 3. Medium panel: Tamara's stomping towards us up the corridor in a filthy temper, arms straight down by her sides, fuming. She's followed by the band, who all look as bedraggled and wrecked as she does (despite attempts to tidy themselves up a bit in a second, they'll all look pretty dreadful till the end of this scene). Behind her/them, Mucous Membrane are about to go onstage. Let's have a cheerful taunt being yelled after her by Mucous B. CAPTION: AND I'VE NEVER BEEN SO GLAD TO GET OUT OF SOMEWHERE IN MY LIFE. MUCOUS B: STICK AROUND, LOSERS... MUCOUS B: SEE HOW IT'S DONE. TAMARA: FUCK OFF. Panel 4. Smallish: Tamara's in the dressing room, looking at herself in the mirror. She's angry and sulky and genuinely perplexed/confused. Rest of band filing into the room behind her. TAMARA: GOD, I LOOK LIKE A DOG. TAMARA: WHY WERE THEY SPITTING AT US? PAGE FORTY THREE Panel 1. Small close-up of Vic, brushing/wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. Looks exhausted and pissed off. VIC: IT'S A NEW THING. VIC: JOHNNY ROTTEN SPAT ON STAGE AT SOME GIG, AND PEOPLE STARTED SPITTIN' BACK. VIC: NOW EVERYONE'S DOIN' IT. . Panel 2. Medium: Tamara's expression a mixture of distaste and puzzlement; Weasel alongside her, similar expression of distaste, forcefully agreeing with her. Vic hovering behind them—they're all jockeying to get a view in the mirror. VIC: SOME GEEZER IN THE NME SAID IT WAS SYMBOLIC... TAMARA: IT'S GROSS, IS WHAT IT IS. THE WEASEL: FUCKIN' RIGHT IT IS... Panel 3. Smallish. A side view, Tamara being pleasant/friendly towards Weasel, and wiping her hair with a piece of white material. Behind her, Ray is pointing and objecting to her actions, moderately outraged. TAMARA: IT IS, ISN'T IT? RAY: OI—THAT'S MY CLEAN SHIRT. TAMARA: ARE THEY DOING THIS TO EVERYONE? Panel 4. Medium. And we jump-cut to Mucous Membrane onstage, echoing the shot of the Uninvited on previous page (but smaller). They're already looking as if they're doused in spit, and Constantine's striding across the stage, ranting down at the front rows through a hand mike. CONSTANTINE (with musical notes): VENUS OF THE HARDSELL, SHE'S THE... CONSTANTINE: WHOA... CONSTANTINE: CUT...KILL IT... Panel 5. Smaller. Constantine turning on the band. CONSTANTINE: I SAID, STOP FUCKIN' PLAYIN' A SECOND... CONSTANTINE: I GOT AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE. PAGE FORTY FOUR Panel 1. Smallish facial close-up of Constantine, looking positively lethal/hard. He means business. CONSTANTINE: RIGHT. CONSTANTINE: THE NEXT CUNT THAT GOBS AT ME IS FUCKIN' DEAD. Panel 2. Small, silent close-up of Constantine, on the verge of a smug/arrogant smile. He thinks he's won. Panel 3. Similar. A spray or strand of spit streaks or splashes right across Constantine's face. His eyes are screwed shut, his whole face wincing with displeasure. Panel 4. Medium. A full-length shot of a very angry John Constantine lurching towards front of stage, pointing at someone (that we can't see) in the audience. Mucous C is grabbing his other arm, trying to rein him in. CONSTANTINE: RIGHT, YOU LITTLE WANKER... MUCOUS C: DON'T, JOHN... Panel 5. Two-shot: Mucous C is being really reasonable; Constantine's still tense, teeth clenched, but calming down a bit. MUCOUS C: WE'RE TOP OF THE HEAP NOW. WE DON'T NEED THE GRIEF. CONSTANTINE: I S'POSE... Panel 6. Smallish close-up of Constantine, as another streak of gob gets him in the face. PAGE FORTY FIVE Panel 1. Medium/large: a view from the stage as Constantine plunges headfirst into the crowd, obviously bent on doing somebody serious harm—one fist is pulled back over his head, ready to thump. He's already dropped the hand mike, which is falling, about to hit the stage. Audience reactions vary from fear to delight. Mucous A yelling encouragement to the others to carry on regardless. MUCOUS A: 'BURN THE SUBURBS' IN G... MUCOUS A: PLAY! Panel 2. Smallish, as we cut back to the dressing room. Vic is sticking his head out the door (puzzled) into the corridor, seeking information from the guy who summoned them on stage. The latter is frowning, looking worried and angry. VIC: WHAT THE FUCK'S GOIN' ON? BARMAN: SOUNDS LIKE THEY'RE TEARING THE PLACE APART... Panel 3. Similar: the Weasel barging past Vic into the corridor, Vic also starting to sprint. Ray behind them, bringing up the rear (bare chested). All very worried/agitated. THE WEASEL: FUCK. THE AMPS ARE STILL OUT THERE. RAY: MY KIT! Panel 4. Back into the now-empty dressing room, for a smallish close-up of Tamara. She's still wiping her hair, and looking really angry, and sulky, and upset, and close to tears. TAMARA: I AM NOT DOING THIS AGAIN, EVER. TAMARA: I QUIT. Panel 5. And enter Les, in very-nearly the exact pose as his last entrance (with Maurice ditto). He's just as enthusiastic, just as phoney, and even more eager. LES: SWEETIE! CAUGHT YOUR SET—YOU WERE TERRIFIC. LES: YOU GUYS WANNA MAKE A RECORD? CAPTION: AND OF COURSE I DID, AND SO DID EVERYONE ELSE. NIGEL SAID WE SHOULD GET A LAWYER, BUT NOBODY LISTENED...SO WE SIGNED THIS SLAVERY DEAL, AND A WEEK LATER WE WERE IN THE STUDIO. PAGE FORTY SIX Panel 1. Small/medium: we're in the control room of a smallish 8-track studio. It's dark, lit by the glow of meters and dials from the control panel. A rather smug producer with longish hair is sitting on a swivel chair/stool, arms folded, with a knowing and slightly superior smile (he's heard this tape before). The band are sitting/standing/slouching/squatting around, all listening to the tape and not really making eye contact with each other. Some look inspired and/or impressed, Weasel is trying to look bored (but failing); all of them are obviously nervous, on edge. CAPTION: FIRST OFF, THE PRODUCER PLAYED US A TAPE OF THIS UNRELEASED SINGLE... SPEAKER (crackly, with musical notes): WE'RE THE FUTURE, YOUR FUTURE... CAPTION: AND IT WAS AWESOME, LIKE AN ANTHEM OR SOMETHING. IT MADE WHAT WE WERE TRYING TO DO LOOK LIKE A JOKE... ALISA: I can't remember whether you said using this lyric was impossible or not, permissions-wise. We did get the Clash stuff for free, so...It'd be nice if we could have it, but I guess we can survive without it (and just have musical notes). If we bloody must. Panel 2. Largish: into the studio itself. Pegboard or padded walls, sound screens separating Ray and drums from the others. Very bare, with wires trailing everywhere in a mess, a grubby floor (carpeted). Either a group shot, or else just Tamara singing; if the former, the others are all playing away (all wearing headphones) and looking a lot more serious/nervous than usual. Tamara's singing up into a large mike that's suspended on a boom from the ceiling. She's holding one hand to her ear/headphone, the other hand waving madly, her body twisting—she's practically dancing, really throwing herself into it. CAPTION: BUT INSTEAD OF IT DEPRESSING US, WE WERE INSPIRED. CAPTION: OF COURSE, THAT ONLY LASTED A COUPLE OF HOURS. TWO DAYS LATER WE WERE ALL FRIED FROM LACK OF SLEEP AND LIVING ON DOUGHNUTS AND SPEED AND CIGARETTES. I WAS UP AND DOWN SO OFTEN I FELT LIKE AN ELEVATOR... Panel 3. Two-shot of Vic and Tamara standing in the doorway of the recording studio (you could possibly echo the cover shot of Lennon's 'Rock & Roll' album here). Nothing impressive about the door—just a wooden door with a sign saying: Goldsound. It's drizzling with rain, and Tamara is looking a lot more appealing here—it's a few days later, she's (almost) caught up on sleep and has a bit of make-up on. Wearing her red vinyl mac (with a very short skirt, black tights), turning her collar up and regarding the skies with displeasure (WHOEVER'S COLOURING THIS: Hope you spotted the mac's colour earlier on). Vic is to the right of her, turning towards her and smiling, starting to put up a large black umbrella. CAPTION: BUT A COUPLE OF DAYS AFTER THAT, WE PRETTY MUCH HAD AN ALBUM IN THE CAN. WE FINISHED MIXING EARLY THAT EVENING, 'CAUSE RAY AND WEASEL WERE GOING OFF TO SEE SOME BAND... VIC: ESCORT YOU 'OME, MAD-ARME? Panel 4. Small two-shot of them starting off down the street (somewhere in Soho), she's turning towards him, inquisitive, he's holding the umbrella high above both of them (and something about Vic carrying an umbrella looks deeply incongruous and weird). He's mock-scowling. TAMARA: AREN'T YOU MEETING DEBBIE TONIGHT? VIC: NAH. Panel 5. Smallish two-shot: he's smiling slightly, rueful and roguish. She's taking this news on board, trying not to show delight. VIC: WE'VE BROKEN UP. APPARENTLY I WAS INTERFERIN' WITH HER HOMEWORK. TAMARA: oh. Panel 6. Small close-up of Vic, eyebrow raised, a roguish charmer, confident she'll accept. VIC: 'COURSE, WE DON'T 'AVE TO GO HOME... VIC: FANCY GOIN' TO THE PICTURES? Panel 7. Small close-up of Tamara grinning, but still trying not to look too pleased. If we're too crowded here, you could do this as a small round inset into panel one on the next page. TAMARA: WHY NOT? PAGE FORTY SEVEN Panel 1. Medium/large panel: Tamara and Vic are still sheltering beneath that shared umbrella, but a lot more closely now—strolling arm-in-arm through Leicester Square in a light drizzle of rain and neon—very romantic, in an almost Disneyesque way (The Lady & The Tramp). They're getting stares (and the occasional dirty look) from passers-by. There's a silver crescent of New Moon in the sky above (though that's not absolutely necessary). Movies that were playing then include: Rocky, Taxi Driver, King Kong, The Man Who Fell to Earth. So, we could glimpse a big poster on a cinema hoarding in the background (a variation on the film poster in question e.g. a giant cut-out of Rocky, with big red plastic letters alongside spelling out the movie's name). Maybe this is semi-obscured by the (bare) trees in the square. The other stuff you could show here (apart from crowds of people) is souvenir shops, laden down with Jubilee memorabilia—lots of Union Jacks and pictures of the Queen, mugs, teatowels...This stuff was on sale months before the event (maybe you could even have a jubilee tea/coffee mug turn up in one of the earlier scenes). You could sneak Mad Hettie (very small) into the background here, pushing a pram laden with rubbish. CAPTION: SO WE DID, AND THEN WE HAD A BURGER...WE DIDN'T TALK MUCH, BUT... Panel 2. Smallish close-up of them—they've paused for a kiss. CAPTION: IT WAS WONDERFUL—SO ROMANTIC... Panel 3. And pull back, to show two middle-aged (or older) passersby (sex immaterial, but I suppose a married couple makes most sense) being properly disgusted at the spectacle of Vic and Tamara. CAPTION: OF COURSE, THERE HAD TO BE SOMEONE TO SPOIL IT. PASSERBY: BLOODY DISGUSTING—JUST LIKE ANIMALS. 2ND PASSERBY: WHAT DO THEY LOOK LIKE? Panel 4. Two-shot: Vic and Tamara looking after them. He's got his arm round her shoulder, and looks annoyed. She's trying not to let the mood get spoiled, but maybe looks a bit saddened (though she'd be long-used to humanity's failings). VIC: OLD GHITS. WHY CAN'T THEY JUST LEAVE US ALONE? TAMARA: IT'S THE WAY THEY ARE. THEY CAN'T CHANGE. TAMARA: C'MON. LET'S GO HOME... Panel 5. And scene change, to Tamara's bedroom, where the couple are now smooching on the bed; she's leaning backwards, supporting herself on one arm. He's got one hand on one of her tits. Lighting is intimate, there's an open bottle of wine and a couple of half-full glasses visible somewhere. CAPTION: SO WE ENDED UP IN MY ROOM, AND...STARTED MAKING OUT AND STUFF—WHICH WAS REALLY NICE... Panel 6. Closer in—we're looking at her. She's looking up at Vic, one hand on his chest. A shy smile. TAMARA: JUST A SEC, OKAY? TAMARA: I'VE GOT TO USE THE BATHROOM... PAGE FORTY EIGHT Panel 1. Medium/large: Tamara's just re-entering the room, having been to the bathroom—wearing a kimono-style dressing gown. Her hair's slightly damp, her make-up's been scrubbed off. Her posture indicates surprise (and it isn't a pleasant one). Vince is sitting on the bed with his shirt off and his back to her, and is shooting up with a syringe (a repeat viewing of Trainspotting should tell you all you need to know). CAPTION: BUT WHEN I CAME BACK... Panel 2. Two-shot: Tamara's kneeling on the bed behind him, looking over his shoulder. She looks concerned (and disappointed that this moment has been soured), he's smiling gently. TAMARA: WHAT ARE YOU DOING? VIC: UNWINDING. VIC: Ahhhh... Panel 3. Close-up (smallish) of Vic, now grinning—somewhere between cocky and dozy. Holding up syringe. VIC: YOU WANT SOME? IT'S GOOD STUFF... VIC: ONLY THE BEST FOR MY GIRL, EH? Panel 4. Smallish close-up of Tamara kneeling, looking sleepy/seductive. TAMARA: NO, THANKS. NOT FOR ME. TAMARA: NOW PUT THAT DOWN AND C'MON OVER HERE... Panel 5. Medium: they're lying fully stretched out, her kimono's starting to come adrift and she has one knee raised. Smiling with pleasure as Vic chews on her neck. TAMARA: mmmm TAMARA: THAT'S BETTER... Panel 6. Medium, and similar. Tamara has started to transform, is in a halfway state—still humanoid but covered in downy fur. Vic's stroking her leg, his head still largely buried in her neck or hair. VIC: YEAH... VIC: YOUR SKIN FEELS REALLY... VIC: furry?
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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