"What It Takes '88" Screenplay
(Part & Parcel)
Brought to you by the dogged, vicarious political reporting of Richard Ben Cramer who spent 6 years on this beast and the cheap, vicarious "free-riding" of a smart-ass kid! (ALL RIGHTS RESERVED)

"To the death!"

 

***Winona can play the voice
of "The Narrator"!***

 

What It Takes '88

An Original Screenplay

by

Michael "Lawless" Adams

 

Based on an Original Work

by

Richard Ben Cramer

(DO YOURSELF A FAVOR & READ THE ORIGINAL!)

 

 

 

Second Draft

Registered by "Insufferable Industries"

In the year of our Lord, 2008

(God help us all!)

FADE IN

BLACK SCREEN

A quote opens: "The vision thing. . . . . have sight will travel"

Then a picture appears: GEORGE H.W. BUSH standing by the American flag with his dorky, "aw, heck grin" and the text beneath that reads, "They can't lick our Bush!". The picture is distended, suggesting our surreal media age and the notion that you could use such campy language without a double entendré, implying that BUSH is something less than 100% macho in an obscenely crude way that would appeal to a young, alternative crowd snickering amongst themselves as he continues to look on clueless, immune to the deeper meaning.

[SOUND EFFECT: Roaring crowd as "Hail to the Chief" plays in the background]

THE NARRATOR speaks over the din as the "George Bush" picture hangs there, suspended in the black space absurdly. It is the world-weary voice of journalism, of "The Insider" in a tweed coat who doesn't expect miracles in "the game of politics" as he gauges "The Beltway" windage, like a man sighting a rifle of incisive commentary of "how things work in Washington". This, of course, is a glacial, slow-motion game as the candidates make their way toward "the finish line" like tortoises, a function of money and influence and "not rocking the boat". If anything, getting behind "bold yet spineless" initiatives that don't threaten the system "that belongs to the big boys" gnawing over the lion's share of the American bounty like carnivores. Make as if to take away their kill, and they'll raise their paw with a snarl, scare you off, then go back down to eating. Everyone intuitively understands this, which is why no credible politician is waving the red flag of socialist revolution and never will.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Very few of us thought he should be President-- much less that he even could be. Of course, we were all taught that anything was possible in America (-- God bless her). But probably by the running sore of our teenaged years we had that idea stripped away from us with the downward drag of the crowd.

[As previous narration happens, CUT TO CLIP of pathetic high school student government and delinquent kids looking bored and miserable, screwing off and throwing spitballs]

A President-- the President-- was someone altogether larger, and more extraordinary, than we commoners doodling around our lives miserably. Though we may like him or even revile him, though we could judge him (-- and yeah, even send him packing in times of famine), . . . . though a million words a day were written on his policies and politics, though millions of people may listen to his speeches, or watch a network television tour of his home. . . . . though his face and his voice, his wife, kids, and dog would be known to every self-aware adult, though his name or initials would leave us smacking over a time of our lives-- for the rest of our lives. . . . . . still, we came of age knowing, somehow, that the life of this inhuman beast must be freakin' unknowable.

[As previous narration happens, CUT TO VARIOUS CLIPS of GEORGE BUSH making his way through Presidential functions, smiling and waving, or even petting his dog on a White House Tour. Show an Apache helicopter in "Operation Desert Storm", indicating a time & place]

You can read a mountain of newspapers, stare at the t.v. like some kind of O.D'd political junkie whose eyes are glazing over like the couch-bound undead. You can learn about polls and ad campaigns, people-meters, direct-mail fund-raising, computer-targeted media-buys, and all kind of wizardry that licks its finger and holds it up in the air to sense which the wind is blowing. . . . . . but there are a few questions left about Presidential campaigns--

Who are these guys?

What are they like?

[CUT TO VARIOUS CLIPS of televisions set to CNN and pollsters "sweating it out in war rooms" in short sleeves at a frenetic, informal space]

Who knows what kind of life would lead a man to think not only that he ought to be President, but one can only guess at the habit of triumph to make him conclude that he could be President. . . . .

[CUT TO "They Can't Lick Our Bush" PORTRAIT with a "Steve Urkel" whinny and snort sound effect-- clearly insinuating that "a wimp" in office, catchword of his presidency]

As they say, 'hell takes the hindmost' and the winner will see you on the other side!"

 

CUT TO CLIP

A man dressed in a jumpsuit fitted out like the American flag dives out of an airplane, falling straight down toward the heartland in practically a suicidal gesture. He falls a long way. . . . . . and the American-flag parachute design only opens when he's a tiny speck far below the plane as the camera points "straight down".

The Price of Being Poppy

EXT. The Houston Astrodome, 1986, Night

The dome rises up like a piece of grand architecture in the night, a stark picture of such opulence compared to the emptiness of the bare street-lights, the cracked asphalt, and the unfortunate who don't have a ticket and are left out of the action as a chill wind blows.

INT. The Houston Astrodome, 1986, Day

A broad, sweeping shot of folks in the stands.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

INT: Houston Astro Dome, Night

As THE NARRATION continues, the action shows an idealized GEORGE BUSH far below the crowd walking across the field in a blue suit, the perfect form of grace and composure.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

"So George Bush is coming to the Astrodome. . . . ."

"Disaster in the making!"

********************

A New Montage: George Bush's Secret Service Preparations

INT. Office of the Vice President Press Office, Day.

A shot of dialing phones and a busy office, official-looking men in White House capacity deliberating over Bush's trip to the Houston Astrodome as if it's the most important matter in all the nation.

There is the coordination for "Air Force 2" and the backup for "Air Force 2" with a plane rolling out of a hangar as men talk over their radios.

A White House aide asks about the armored stretch limo, and the military voice on the other end of the phone says that there is one parked and secured twenty-four hours a day in the basement of the Houston Civic Center. They wouldn't have to fly in a backup limo, they'd use "the old one" as if it was a moth-eaten coffin.

(Show the limo, a fancy beast of the elite as secret service stood guard like ultra-disciplined black Muslims)

INT. Houston Astrodome, Day

The Secret Service are jogging through the Astrodome, going through the hallways and holding rooms and all the possible routes for the Vice President. A swarm stand on the field with a pair of binoculars, looking around in all directions and pointing. They wander around the dome like gladiators stalking around the seats of a coliseum, narrowing their hands and gauging distances.

INT. Houston Astrodome Greeting Suite, Day

Secret Service, Houston Police, and two directors from The White House Communications Agency sit down with the elderly owner, DR. JOHN McMULLEN in a luxury conference room. The gist of the conversation is,

LEAD ADVANCE MAN #1

DR. JOHN McMULLEN
(Speaking in a rough voice of another generation,
the type of man who got ahead with two-fisted business deals)

The Lead Advance men wince, and seem uncertain while the secret service frown out like statues. They don't want the VP exposed on the field like a baited goose. Did McMullen want his 44,000 fans held at the gates and frisked for metal?

DR. JOHN McMULLEN
(Frightened of idea of losing future business)

LEAD ADVANCE MAN #2

SECRET SERVICE AGENT

DR. JOHN McMULLEN
(Not getting the drift)

DR. JOHN McMULLEN
(Looking Perplexed)

LEAD ADVANCE MAN #2
(Speaking in a "Clark Kent" voice)

EXT. The White House, Day

The White House just sits there with the sound of a ringing phone, and two men having a business-like conversation as bicyclists zoom by and a homeless bum drinks from a bag of package liquor, wandering in and out of view.

WHITE HOUSE COMMUNICATION AIDE #1

WHITE HOUSE COMMUNICATION AIDE #2

WHITE HOUSE COMMUNICATION AIDE #1

WHITE HOUSE COMMUNICATION AIDE #2

WHITE HOUSE COMMUNICATION AIDE #1

WHITE HOUSE COMMUNICATION AIDE #2

WHITE HOUSE COMMUNICATION AIDE #1

WHITE HOUSE COMMUNICATION AIDE #2

WHITE HOUSE COMMUNICATION AIDE #1

INT. Office of the Vice President Press Office, Night.

Two men are sitting in the office, going over the schedule minute by minute, living out the countdown like technicians at NASA. Finally they have a booklet printed out known as "The Bible" on official stationary which has "the plan" all nailed won right there in black & white.

An official reads out of "The Bible":

----------------------------------

6:10 PM   THE VICE PRESIDENT and Mrs. Bush arrive Astrodome and proceed to Astrohall to attend Reception

                Met by: Dr. and Mrs. John McMullen (Jacqueline)

EVENT:    HOUSTON SPORTS ASSOCIATION OWNERS RECEPTION

CLOSED PRESS
NO REMARKS
MIX AND MINGLE

6:15 P.M.    THE VICE PRESIDENT and Mrs. Bush arrive Reception

6:50 P.M. THE VICE PRESIDENT and Mrs. Bush conclude Reception and depart Astrohall en route Astrodome

---------------------------------------------------

INT. Houston Astrodome Greeting Suite, Night

THE SECRET SERVICE, forever like a pack of monotone-talking wolves, lean in and want to know if he is going to throw from the seats or the mound. They have to know this because it's an either/or different route. If it's from the mound, they have a bathroom where the VP can put on the vest. THE SECRET SERVICE keeps going over the ramifications, and THE LEAD ADVANCE cut them off with a glare:

LEAD ADVANCE MAN #1

HEAD OF SECRET SERVICE

LEAD ADVANCE MAN #1

HEAD OF SECRET SERVICE

LEAD ADVANCE MAN #1

HEAD OF SECRET SERVICE

LEAD ADVANCE MAN #1

"What if it rains?"

 

HEAD OF SECRET SERVICE

LEAD ADVANCE MAN #1

THE ADVANCE MAN writes down something on his legal pad.

INT. Houston Astrodome, Night

Government men are fanning out and inspecting cables, platforms, camera angles, and backdrops as the Secret Service loads up rifles with a dramatic clicking sound in black suits and sunglasses. Absolutely nothing must go wrong!

Secret Service jog out with bomb-sniffing dogs throughout the hallways, as they screw off the tops of air-conditioners, looking for any hidden bombs.

EXT. Houston Airfield, Night

"Air Force 2" lands with a roar and banks to a halt. GEORGE BUSH stands at the door, waving into the night like Mickey Mouse. He loads into THE MOTORCADE, led by cops on motorcycles.

EXT. Houston Motorcade, Night

The sleek MOTORCADE takes off, a mad, crazy procession of infinite preparedness to look out for this man's safety. Why, there's even an ambulance with a top-light flashing 'round and 'round.

The cops speed ahead and close off ramps so there can be absolutely, ABSOLUTELY no unforeseen complications. THE MOTORCADE sails right through the red lights on this empty road, on the way to the Astrodome.

INT. Motorcade Car, Night

(Some White House officials, who have tagged along for the ride, look out the window at the passing red lights they don't have to obey and chuckle that "this car will never need a brake job!")

(Another asks, "How's this for security and comfort?" to a secret service man sitting in the seat with a machine gun like a Terminator robot)

CUT TO "They Can't Lick Our Bush" PORTRAIT as narration "fires up" again:

NARRATOR (V.O.)

'Security' & 'Comfort'. . . . . the end-all, be-all of the Vice Presidency. Those were the givens of this ruthless yet candy-ass existence, along with the thousands of hours of intense unseen labor generated by others to make sure that George Bush didn't spill one drop of anxious perspiration on his way to the ball park, paeon of working-man glory. Some four hundred people, a couple of hundred thousand dollars, and a couple of hundred million dollars in government equipment got him there in perfect security and comfort. They also made it possible for him to make this odyssey halfway across the country, for the better part of a day, without ever having to glance at a single person who was not a friend or whose sole purpose it was to serve or protect him.

Call it 'the bubble'"

 

INT. Brown-Noser's Curio Cabinet of Prestige

Here is a collector who is showing off his cabinet of all things "George Bush" as he gives his tour of all of his collectibles, holding up A JACKET with "Vice President" stitched on the back of it like a boxing jacket. There are cufflinks, memo paper, matchbooks, lighters, ashtrays, swizzle sticks, coasters, glasses, mugs, china teacups, all with the Vice President's name and seal on it.

As the brown-noser introduces these items, like a snorfling geek, the camera cuts to a shot of the item actually being used in a Vice-Presidential context. For example, when he gets to THE SWIZZLE STICK, we would show it being stirred in a glass of whiskey and ice cubes at an official White House function, gripped in someone's hands with the sound of it being stirred. It's funny how some people fetishize power and officialdom.

Back to the portrait of George Bush as the narration continues:

NARRATOR (V.O.)

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Back to the PORTRAIT OF GEORGE BUSH as the narration continues:

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Six years of patient work, after a lifetime of being a dogged team player and making friends, and here Bush was at the Houston Astrodome for that little tip of the job that somehow made it all worth it-- actually communing with Americanus Neanderthalus, or hopefully the sanitized version. . . . .

[CUT TO CLIP of BALDING SLOB without shoes sitting in La-Z Boy recliner with bag of Cheetoes in dim lamplight, stuffing and crunching away]

 

GEORGE BUSH rises out of "The Catfish Hole" and comes out onto the field, hunched over as the crowd cheers. Camera angles of him from all over the ballpark, from all sides as the Veep looks tiny from down below-- the secret service jogging out with him-- standing on the second and third base lines along with the photographers. There is the blown-up version of GEORGE BUSH on the giant screen hunched over, making his dogged way over like a man marching to his doom.

There is a picture of how BUSH appears on the giant screen on the televisions in bars all across America, guys looking up at the game over their beers and whiskeys with world-weary cynicism.

Now BUSH from behind is standing at the pitcher's mound; he can't rest easily with his hands at his sides because of the vest. . . . . once, again he looks like a kid in a snowsuit or a fat turkey. He pads around gently on top of the mound with baby-steps, uncertain and off-balance. The catcher squats in the background. BUSH lifts up his right hand in front of his face, palm up, and flaps his wrist as if asking the catcher to come closer. It's a joke, but the catcher doesn't know that, so then BUSH has to raise both hands, quick, palms out, with THE BALL flashing white in his left hand, to keep the catcher where he is, at the plate.

Truly an awkward moment.

Bush attempts to make the windup, but really can't manage because of the vest, makes an awkward throw that doesn't go anywhere, and then does something that no politician anywhere would ever dream of, like a kid who just dropped the cookie jar. . . . . he buries his head in his hands in front of the roaring multitude!

 

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Yes, George Bush had a problem with men. . . . .

(A Great Way to Close The Demo)

*******************