Strange things are afoot at Sketch War...

We're going to be making a few changes and tweaks around here over the next few weeks, and because of that we're holding off on posting our sketches until Monday. I know, it seems to defeat the whole purpose of a "Friday Sketch War" to not post on Friday, but that's part of the tweaking.

Come back Monday morning first thing for more details about the changes. In the meantime, here's something to tide you over, know what I mean?  

There's video below, FeedReader.

Friday Night Sketch War: Borders Edition

Forgive me the lateness of this recap, but I'm still recovering from the bloody melee in the arena yesterday. *Five* warriors did battle yesterday; the floor slick with cream pies and banana peels.

Whoa. Passed out from the blood loss. On to the sketches on the theme: borders.

• Making his debut in the arena of mirth and death, David didn't waste any time bringing out the guns...
• Coyote went smaller, telling the tale of a war pitting sister against sister...
• In his return to the funny killing fields, Michael looked at the toll on the brave caregivers...
• Ken dug deep into the economic pressures underpinning immigration issues...
• Peter fired the final shot from deep in the middle of nowhere.
  

Wow. Just, wow. Five warriors, and rumors of another battler considering joining the fray next week. We've got guns, rednecks, zombies, Minutemen, Ivans, and fat kids. Check them out and be sure to leave comments.

Next week's topic: advertising.

If you think you've got the comedy chops to do battle with our scarred and bitter warriors, if you dare step into the hailstorm of seltzer and cream pies, if you think you're MAN ENOUGH to make us laugh, write a sketch and contact us at sketchwar(nospam)@dreamloom.com.

FSW: Borders Edition (Peter's entry)

Friday Sketch War
Borders Edition
"52.3°N, 119.9°E"

FADE IN:

EXT. BORDER CROSSING - DAY

A little hut occupies a desolate, rocky landscape. Truly the middle of nowhere.

A worn sign reads "Border Crossing" in Russian, Mandarin, and English.

LUBOV

(Russian, subtitled)

I spy with my little eye --

INT. BORDER PATROL STATION - CONTINUOUS

LUBOV (20s) and BOROVICH (30s), military men, play chess in the shabby little hut. The hut contains the bare necessities -- an old communications radio, some tin pots and pans, and (oddly) a taser.

Both men speak subtitled Russian throughout.

LUBOV

-- something beginning with the letter 'S'.

BOROVICH

(immediately)

Sky. Go.

Lubov makes a move; Borovich makes him take it back.

BOROVICH

Not that, Lubov. You do that, I get your queen.

LUBOV

Oh! I spy something beginning with 'R'.

BOROVICH

(immediately)

Rocks.

Lubov picks up the taser.

LUBOV

You're great at 'I Spy'!

BOROVICH

That's not a toy.

Lubov shoots the taser's little electrical clips into the huts ceiling. It makes a BZZT sound.

Lubov notices something out the window.

LUBOV

Huh. Now I spy something that starts with 'M'.

BOROVICH

'M'? What, outside?

LUBOV

There's a man out there.

EXT. BORDER CROSSING - DAY

Lubov (taser in hand) and Borovich stand outside the little hut.

XIAO is running full-tilt towards the border station.

Lubov nervously raises the taser.

Borovich pushes Lubov's hand down.

BOROVICH

Stop! This is a protected border!

Xiao doesn't stop; Borovich grabs Xiao.

Xiao only speaks in subtitled Mandarin.

XIAO

I'm being chased by a man with an axe!

Lubov picks a little book out of his pocket, thumbs through it quickly.

BOROVICH

What's he saying?

LUBOV

It's "I am..." -- here it is -- "I am enjoying my morning run."

BOROVICH

He can't -- you can't run here! It's the border!

XIAO

I don't speak Russian! There's a guy with an axe!

Xiao mimes appropriately.

LUBOV

He really wants to cross.

BOROVICH

Hmm.

EXT. BORDER CROSSING - DAY

Now all three men occupy the little hut.

Borovich places the last chess piece into the starting position.

BOROVICH

Simple. You win a game of chess, and you can cross.

LUBOV

Is that legal?

BOROVICH

Who cares? I haven't played decent chess in seven months.

LUBOV

Hey!

XIAO

What?

BOROVICH

Your turn.

Xiao and Borovich start playing, blindingly-fast.

In the background, Lubov tries to juggle the taser, a pot, and his hat.

LUBOV

It's lucky you showed up. Things were getting a little dull here at crossing #5201/B.

XIAO

What?

Lubov digs out his little book as Xiao and Borovich continue their game.

LUBOV

(Chinese, subtitled)

We are happy for your dog because we have spoons here.

XIAO

I'm so confused.

BOROVICH

Huh! I lost! Already!

Borovich shakes Xiao's hand.

BOROVICH

Well-done.

LUBOV

Wait! He also has to -- uh -- juggle these things!

BOROVICH

Lubov, a deal's a deal.

LUBOV

But it would be fun. Right? Sir?

EXT. BORDER CROSSING - DAY

Xiao stands in front of the building with the taser, the hat, and the pot in his hands.

Xiao looks confused.

Lubov mimes juggling.

Xiao juggles --

LUBOV

He's really good.

BOROVICH

He gets to cross into Russia, no question.

Meanwhile, a crazed BRUTE WITH AN AXE appears behind the two men and raises his weapon to strike Lubov.

Xiao notices this, stops juggling, and shoots the madman (with the taser). The brute drops, unconscious.

Borovich, of course, only sees Xiao shooting at them -- he jumps towards Xiao and punches Xiao out cold.

BOROVICH

Lubov. You gave him the taser?!

LUBOV

Uh, sir?

They both look at the felled brute.

BOROVICH

Are you sure the visitor said 'morning run'?

LUBOV

Not 100%.

BOROVICH

Hmm.

Borovich points to the brute.

BOROVICH

Tie him up with something.

Lubov produces a length of rope from his pocket and starts tying the brute's hands.

LUBOV

What'll we tell command?

Borovich ponders a moment, then points to the brute.

BOROVICH

We'll say he's an evil spy --

Lubov props the axe against the hut.

Borovich checks Xiao's pulse, props him up against the hut.

BOROVICH

-- and this guy is a valuable informant -- someone we need to detain for further questioning.

LUBOV

That's an excellent plan, sir!

Borovich opens the hut's door, drags Xiao in.

BOROVICH

It'll be good to have this guy around.

Lubov follows Borovich in and closes the door.

FADE OUT.

FSW: Borders Edition (Ken's Entry)

Wow....who knew I'd be the last one posting at 10:00 am Pacific time.

This here sketch war is heatin' up....
(and welcome back Michael!)
__________________________________________________________________

EXT. SOUTHWESTERN DESERT - NIGHT

JUAN, JORGE and ESTEBAN, all three Mexican men in their early 30’s dressed in ragged dirty clothes, crouch-walk through scrub brush under a night sky, talking in hushed tones.

JUAN

We are almost there mi hermanos...almost there.

JORGE

Madre de Dios! At last! We have made it!

ESTEBAN

My wife, my children, please forgive me for leaving you.

JORGE

You have no choice my brother! We leave that they may survive.

JUAN

Si Esteban! We cross the border so you can find good work, so you will make good money. When their bellies are full with the food they buy with the money you send back, they will understand...they will bless your name.

JORGE

Shhh! Do you wish to alert the border patrols?

ESTEBAN

I pray you are right my brothers.

JUAN

Let us go, now, with no regrets. Let us go where the money still has value, where there are still jobs to be found, where our lives are not at the whims of corrupt men.

JORGE

The border is just there. Run fast, run quiet, and do not look back.

JUAN extends his arm, hand open palm down, and looks at the others. JORGE’s face tightens in determination as he clamps his hand down over JUAN’s. ESTEBAN pauses, thinking, in turmoil. But he too tightens his jaw in determination and smack his hand down over the other two.
Just as the three men stand up and start to run, they are hit by bright search lights. They freeze shielding their eyes as BOBBY RAY and JIMBO enter, pointing shotguns at the three.

BOBBY RAY

Well lookee here Jimbo. Looks like we got three little illegals tryin’ to cross the border.

JIMBO

Looks like.

BOBBY RAY

Now just where in the name of Jesus did you three think you was goin?

ESTEBAN

Please...just, let us go. For the sake of our families, please let us cross.

BOBBY RAY

Did I hear that right Jimbo? Is he askin’ us, a couple of duly authorized Minute Men, to let him just slip across this here border and pretend like we didn’t seen nuthin’?

JIMBO

Sounds like.

BOBBY RAY

Well how bout this, ‘Pedro’. How bout you three get your asses right back where they belong pronto before I lose my temper.

JUAN

Mister, please, have mercy, there is nothing left for us in this country...

BOBBY RAY

GODDAMN IT!!! I am gonna to count to three and y’all best be steppin’ away from that border....1.....2....

JUAN, JORGE and ESTEBAN step back. BOBBY RAY and JIMBO walk over beside them.

BOBBY RAY

We can’t have you boys leavin’ the U.S. just yet - Uncle Sam needs all the cheap labor he can get right now. Y’all go on with Jimbo and he’ll give drive you back into town.

JUAN, JORGE and ESTEBAN exit following JIMBO. BOBBY RAY shoulders his shotgun and shouts after them.

BOBBY RAY

And you tell you’re other illegal immigrant buddies that we’re watching - ain’t none of you gettin’ back into Mexico ‘til OUR economy’s fixed.

Titles fade in over the silhouette of Bobby Ray Standing with his shouldered shotgun:
"THE MINUTE MEN - KEEPING AMERICA’S CHEAP LABOR INSIDE AMERICA UNTIL WE’RE READY FOR THEM TO LEAVE"

FADE TO BLACK.

FSW: Borders Edition (Michael's Entry)

EXT. PARKING LOT - DAY

A large, olive green tent is set up in a desolated parking lot. The remnants of burned out cars sit around it. The urban landscape is near ruin. There is a Red Cross painted on top of the tent. A long line of disheveled, sickly looking refugee-types are waiting their turn. A helicopter flies over, low enough that people duck their heads in worry, and is gone. In the distance, the sound of barking dogs. Or maybe gunfire.

At the back of the tent stands KARRIE MOORE, 30s, British, tired but still lovely to look at. She takes a long drag off of a cigarette. She wears a yellow, plastic apron that is smeared with blood. A moment later, HENRI FALCONE, 40s, French, rakishly handsome, exits the tent, wiping his hands on a bloody rag.

HENRI
Those things will kill you, no?

KARRIE
(taking another drag)
I’m trying to build up an immunity.

HENRI
Busy day today.

KARRIE
It’s been like this since we arrived.

HENRI
I’ve been working with Médecins Sans Frontières for over a ten years now. This is one of the worst places I’ve ever been sent.

KARRIE
They ever sent you to any good places?

HENRI
Just when they send me home. How about you?

KARRIE
This is my first assignment.

HENRI
And?

KARRIE
I can handle the blood. Gunshot wounds. Stabbings.

HENRI
That’s good considering this is practically a war zone.

KARRIE
It’s the children that get to me.

HENRI
Oui.

KARRIE
Their watery eyes filled with fear. We don’t have an immunization for that.
(Beat)
Makes me feel helpless. Like I’m doing nothing.

Henri puts a hand on her shoulder.

HENRI
You’re doing more for them then their own people are. That’s not nothing.

KARRIE
You think they’ll ever come a time when we won’t be needed?

HENRI
We can hope, no?

A shiny, black Cadillac Escalade pulls up and the tinted window slides down. The sound of children trying to talk over one another spills out. An overweight man leans out the window. He has a severe Texan twang.

TEXAN
Pardon me, Miss. Y’all wouldn’t be able to help us, would ya?

KARRIE
Is someone in need of medical attention?

Henri sticks his head into the tent.

HENRI
Stretcher!

TEXAN
Oh no, no. It’s nothing like that. We’re all as fit as fiddles.

The back window rolls down to reveal two very plump children sitting in the back seat, both sucking on super-sized sodas. They wave their pudgy hands at Karrie and Henri.

TEXAN
But we are lost.

KARRIE
Lost?

TEXAN
We’re trying to find the Henry Ford Museum, but this here map’s got us turned every which way. Who knew Detroit would be so confusing to drive around?

HENRI (Under his breath)
Merde.

KARRIE
I’m sorry, I don’t know where that is. But some of the locals might be able to help you.

She points to the people waiting in line. Texan takes a look at them and cocks an eyebrow.

TEXAN
Uh, thanks. But I think we’ll just keep drivin’ around. We’re bound to come across it sooner or later, right. Thanks.

He rolls up his window and begins to drive off. Two large McDonald’s bags are tossed out of the rear window before it slides back up. The stretcher bearers arrive.

HENRI
Sorry, false alarm.

They go back into the tent.

KARRIE
You know what’s ironic? I always wanted to visit the states when I was a kid.

HENRI
At least they still have running water.

KARRIE
Yeah, but don’t drink it.

They share a laugh. Karrie flicks her cigarette to the ground and steps on it, grinding it into the dirt. They head back into the tent.

FADE OUT

FSW: Borders Edition (Coyote's Entry)

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

Matching pairs of twin beds, nightstands, and dressers mirror left and right. A line of duct tape neatly divides the room down the center, right up the back wall, splitting a JONAS BROTHERS POSTER right between Nick's eyes. EMILY, 7 and sassy, enters the left and notices a shirt edging over her side of the line.

EMILY

Mom! Maddy's stuff's on my side again!

Mom's heard this before and she's tired of it.

MOM (O.S.)

So move it, Emily.

EMILY

She's always over the line! It's not fair.

MOM comes into the room from the right and picks up the shirt. She folds and lays it on the right side bed. She crosses the line and sits next to Emily.

MOM

Em, you know she tries, but she's not a big girl like you. Try to be understanding?

EMILY

Okay.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

MADDY, a precocious 4-year old with a mouth as big as her sister's, enters the empty room from the right. She spies a pink sneaker on her side of the divide.

MADDY

(whiny)

MOM!!! Em'ly's shoe's on my side!

MOM (O.S.)

Maddy, what did we say about whining?

MADDY

(whinier)

But, mom!

Mom enters from the left, picks up the sneaker and puts it next to its mate at the foot of Emily's bed.

MOM

Maddy!

(beat)

Never mind.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

Emily enters from the left and sees one of Maddy's dolls on her side of the room.

EMILY

Mom!

VIRGIL, a mid-50s rancher in boots, jeans, and 10-gallon hat, enters from the right with a folding chair, sets it up on the center line, and sets hisself down.

EMILY (CONT'D)

Who're you?

Virgil tips his hat so-slightly.

VIRGIL

Name's Virgil. You must be Emily. Your mom's told me all about you.

EMILY

She has?

VIRGIL

Yep.

EMILY

Why are you here?

VIRGIL

Keepin' the peace.

Maddy enters from the right and stops dead in her tracks when she sees Virgil.

MADDY

MOM!!!

VIRGIL

Whoa now, little lady. No call for hollerin'. Name's Virgil.

MADDY

You smell funny.

Virgil plucks a flask from his pocket and takes a sip.

VIRGIL

Wouldn't know about that. Been minding the border down Mexico way with the Minutemen. Then they finally up and finished that dadburned fence.

Emily slides one of her pink sneakers across the floor to the line. Just as it breaks the plane, Virgil pulls a six-shooter from a hidden shoulder holster and trains it on her head.

VIRGIL (CONT'D)

Might want to rethink that.

Virgil opens his flask again and offers it to Emily and Maddy before taking a swallow.

BLACKOUT:

BORDERS: Better Than Hunting Rats (David's Entry)

EXT. HUNTING BLIND - NIGHT

Bobby Lee (Early twenties, thin with scraggly hair) and Jasper (Late forties, tall with a beer gut and a camouflage jacket) are hunkered down, staring out over the rail of the blind toward a chain link fence across a plowed field. The fence is torn and curled back. Beyond the fence piles of junk rise in heaps.

BOBBY LEE

We're wastin' our time out here, Jaz. I knew you were full of crap.

JASPER

Just sit still and keep your eyes open. You loaded?

BOBBY LEE

Not yet, but there's a bottle of Jack in the truck...

Jasper turns and glares at Bobby Lee.

JASPER

You see me smiling? Your gun, dumbass...it loaded?

BOBBY LEE (WHINING)

Jesus, Jaz, you know it is. The shotgun and the rifle. Not like there's anything to ...

JASPER

There!

Jasper points out over the field and Bobby Lee follows the pointing finger with his gaze.

One of the piles of garbage has begun to move. Earth is tossed, and something very low to the ground is in motion.

BOBBY LEE

I'll be damned.

JASPER

Happens every time they move a truckload to the landfill. Be ready.

Both men lean down and grab a gun.

JASPER (CONT'D)

Remember now ... just like in the movies. Head shots.

Bobby Lee is barely listening. He raises his 30/30 and takes aim at a shambling figure rounding the wrecked carcass of an old Ford truck. A rotting, shambling form with a rebel cap perched on its head comes into clear view in the moonlight. Bobby Lee pulls the trigger, and the thing's head explodes with a pop.

BOBBY LEE

Hoo Ha!

Bobby Lee turns to Jasper, who pays him no attention but sites in on his own second target.

JASPER

Don't screw around boy. Be quick! If we let them get past that fence, they'll be headed toward town, and it can be hell trackin' 'em all down. It's like border guard duty.

Both men aim and fire repeatedly. Zombies explode all over the dump.

BOBBY LEE

You were right about one thing. This beats hell out of shooting rats.

Finally the very last of the things crawls out of a pile of garbage, shakes its head, and looks directly at the blind. Bobby Lee aims and fires and the thing's head pops up in the air, severed at the spinal cord. It bounces like a ball.

When there's no more movement in the dump, Jasper leans back and starts gathering his guns.

JASPER

Let's go get that bottle.

The two men climb down slowly and walk back to Jasper's truck. As he puts his gear in the truck bed, Bobby Lee stops and glances down at the bumper. He starts laughing.

JASPER (CONT'D)

What the hell is wrong with you?

Bobby Lee points at the bumper sticker. It reads "The South Will Rise Again."

365 Sketches in 365 Days

Howdy Fellow Warriors, Michael here.

Long time no sketch. From me, at least. I'm hoping to change that this week.

But before I return to crush all of you into a fine sketcherific powder I wanted to point out an impressive undertaking by a fellow sketch writer.

Sketch Field Marshall Joe Janes has challenged himself to write a sketch a day for the next year. Joe's a teacher at Second City and Columbia College here in Chicago, as well as a performer and all around swell guy. Just reading his pieces will be like getting a free class in the art of writing sketch comedy. I know I'll be tuning in every day.

Friday Night Sketch War: The Heist Edition

Ssh! The warriors were in stealth mode this week for a battle of wits and wills in The Heist! Let's see what convoluted and shifty schemes our combatants put together.

• Peter put together a crack team under the pressure of an economy gone south...
• Coyote showed us the truth behind this past week's biggest story...
• Ken went all Euro on our asses and did it in style.

Me, personally, I think Peter kicked our asses hard with his short, sharp blackout sketch. I'm a little embarassed to have mine in competition against it, even if I do have a really nice visual midway through.

Next week's topic: Borders.

If you think you've got the comedy chops to do battle with our scarred and bitter warriors, if you dare step into the hailstorm of seltzer and cream pies, if you think you're MAN ENOUGH to make us laugh, write a sketch and contact us at sketchwar(nospam)@dreamloom.com.

FSW: The Heist (Ken's Entry)

Looks like I'm bringing up the rear today. Here goes:
___________________________________________________________

INT. - ART MUSEUM - NIGHT

GERARD and HENRI are in the middle of a laser-grid in a magnificent oak paneled room with a parquet floor. The two men are trim European men in their mid-40’s, dressed all high-tech looking black skin-suits, with black gloves and black watch caps. They are surrounded by red laser beams. The room is illuminated only by small pools of light and the intricate grid of laser beams that criss-cross the room. At the opposite end is an incredibly large diamond in a glass case highlighted under a bright spotlight. GERARD and HENRI gymnastically navigate the laser beams slowly with controlled athletic grace.
HENRI slides deftly under a particularly low laser beam.

GERARD

(speaking with a French accent)

Exquisite movement, my friend.

HENRI

(also with a French accent)

Perfection Gerard, just as you taught me.

GERARD

Ah! Have we have become too good Henri?

HENRI

Too good for us? No. Too good for everyone else...oui!

GERARD

Sometimes I wonder...why do they even bother with security anymore?

HENRI

Oui...I think the same thing my friend. After all these years...

GERARD

All those diamonds we two have stolen...

HENRI

Still they leave them out, in plain sight, in glass cases.

GERARD

Oui. Thinking they are protected the lasers, the heat detectors..

HENRI

The hidden cameras, the pressure sensitive plates.

GERARD

Pittances

HENRI

Trifles.

GERARD

Does it stop us?

HENRI

No...never.

GERARD

They should put such diamonds in a safe at night.

HENRI

Or put some big metal thing around them when the public is not around.

GERARD

They want to tease us, Henri...to tempt us...

HENRI

Oui! They wish us to come out and play with them.

GERARD

(mockingly)

"Oh...the cat burglars, they are so good"

HENRI

(in the same mocking tone)

"They cannot be denied."

GERARD

"We have no chance of catching such men...men with such panache."

HENRI

"They are so much better than we in every way!"

GERARD

"They are clever"

HENRI

"They are handsome"

GERARD

"They are stylish"

HERNI

"So well groomed"

GERARD

"So athletic"

HENRI

"So lithe"

GERARD

"Let us put out some expensive bauble...and maybe they will grace us with a visit"

HENRI

"It would be an honor to be robbed by them"

GERARD

"To be humiliated by them"

HENRI

"To have our jewels grabbed by them"

GERARD

"To have our chambers violated by them"

HENRI

"To be so degraded"

GERARD

"So outwitted"

HENRI

"Publicly defeated in public"

GERARD

"Let us dangle our gaudy baubles for them!"

HENRI

"And hope that they will grab them"

GERARD spots himself in a mirror

GERARD

God we are attractive!

HENRI

I am one of us, and I want us to degrade us!

HENRI clicks a button on his suit, and all of the sudden "BAD GIRLS" by Donna Summer starts blaring loudly from HENRI’s suit. HENRI and GERARD continue navigating the laser grid with a some disco flair to their movements.

A side door opens, and a GUARD enters quickly flipping on a light switch. The whole room is illuminated. HENRI and GERARD freeze in some awkward laser-grid-navigating positions as the GUARD, an American, shouts at them.

GUARD

(screaming)

JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH!!! WOULD YOU GODDAMN EURO-FRUITS PLEASE KEEP IT THE FUCK DOWN IN HERE! I GOT 50 BUCKS ON THE FUCKING CELTICS AND I CAN’T HEAR JACK SHIT!!!

HENRI slowly reaches up and clicks off the music from his suit.
The GUARD turns to leave.

GERARD

Wait....are you not surprised to find the two greatest cat burglars in the world inside your museum, deftly defeating your security, coming to steal your big expensive diamond?

GUARD

You pricks tripped a silent alarm an hour ago. And frankly the oil sheik that owns that fucker is just dying for someone to steal it. It’s worth shit thanks to the economy - and there ain’t no one else out there stupid enough to buy it. You steal it, he collects a big fat insurance settlement...you two get shafted with on a big rock you can’t unload and he gets richer. We’re getting a kickback from the sheik to look the other way if there’s a break in.

HENRI and GERARD look at each other from their frozen positions.

HENRI

So...no one is going to try and stop us, or arrest us, or deny us with some unbeatable state of the art anti-theft technology?

GUARD

Nope.

GERARD

You won't burst in again yelling "halt" or "freeze" or something?

GUARD

Not if you assholes keep it down in here.

HENRI and GERARD look at each again, a little defeated but thinking things over. HENRI reaches up and turns the music back on, then lowers the volume looking to the GUARD for approval. The GUARD gestures for him to turn it down until the volume meets his approval, then he turns to go again, reaching for the light switch.

GERARD

Uh, could you leave the lights on? We like see ourselves in the mirror.

The GUARD gestures as if to say "suit yourself", closes the door and leaves. GERARD and HENRI go back to their athletic disco gymnastic navigation of the now invisible laser field, looking at themselves in the mirror the whole time now.

HENRI

We cannot be stopped! The dashing cat-burglars cannot be denied!

GERARD

I want a copy of the security tape - I bet we look good on it.

HENRI

Only if its from a good angle - high mounted cameras make me look pudgy.

FADE TO BLACK.

FSW: Heist Edition (Coyote's entry)

EXT. RIVERBANK - DAY

A secluded spot on the NY side of the Hudson River. The GW Bridge is recognizable to the north. The camera focuses out on the river.

MARTIN (O.S.)

Goddamn, it's cold!

PIERRE (O.S.)

Oui. I could have stayed in Quebec if I'd wanted to freeze my tail off.

MADELINE (O.S.)

The job's here, not in Quebec. Stop your squawking and focus. The boss is almost in position.

PIERRE (O.S.)

I still don't understand the plan.

MADELINE (O.S.)

That's because you're a stubborn old fool. Look, the courier is on the plane, right?

PIERRE (O.S.)

Oui.

MADELINE (O.S.)

He always has the case with him?

MARTIN (O.S.)

You don't have to talk down to us.

MADELINE (O.S.)

I think maybe I do. We need a distraction, some way to create enough chaos that the courier forgets the case for just a moment. Then Marcel can grab it and get out.

PIERRE (O.S.)

And that's why--

CUT TO:

The three plotters are in bird costumes. Goddamn Canada Geese.

MADELINE

--That's why we crash the plane.

CUT TO MAIN TITLES:

Montage of the Geese committing crimes. Picking locks, picking pockets, cracking safes, stuff blowing up, and finally a slo-mo walk toward us by all four of the Geese criminals. The title on the screen...GOOD FOR THE GANDER

EXT. RIVERBANK - DAY

The three Geese are right where we left them, stomping their webbed feet in the cold.

MARTIN

What's with this manifesto you sent out?

MADELINE

We're taking out the plane for the Canuck Avian Liberation Front.

PIERRE

CALF?

MADELINE

Yes.

PIERRE

Shouldn't it be BIRD, or GOOSE, or something like that?

MADELINE

Cute.

PIERRE

Really, who are they?

MADELINE

I read about them in Time Magazine. It should throw the Feds off our scent.

A cellphone rings. Martin takes his out of his pocket and answers.

MARTIN

Go.

(beat)

Alright, we're ready.

He hangs up and turns to his comrades.

MARTIN (CONT'D)

They're airborne. It's time.

MADELINE

Remember...flap around like crazy so the pilot thinks there are more of us, then throw the frozen turkeys toward the engines. The turbines will do the rest.

PIERRE

See you on the other side!

Pierre starts to run toward the water flapping his wings.

MADELINE

No, you idiot! The rendezvous is on this side of the river!

BLACKOUT:

FSW: The Heist Edition (Peter's entry)

Friday Sketch War
The Heist Edition
"The Team"

FADE IN:

INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

BILL sits at a table piled high with schematics, maps, and diagrams.

Guns, rapelling equipment, and electronic gadgets sit on another nearby table.

A nearby chalkboard shows the (heavily-annotated) floor plan of a large mansion.

A giant photo thumbtacked to the chalkboard shows a big, glittery diamond.

Beyond the tables and chalkboard: darkness.

Bill scribbles on the papers, checks a map against the chalkboard floorplan.

A DOOR OPENS somewhere in the dark.

JULIAN steps into the light.

JULIAN

Mr. Ellis. Our employer hopes your plan for obtaining the Zawabi Diamond is coming together?

BILL

It’s the perfect heist, kid. Just gimme manpower.

JULIAN

Excellent. Mr. Ellis, please meet your team.

EZRA enters the area, holding a Boggle game.

JULIAN

Mr. Ezra Diablo, three-time regional Boggle championship.

Ezra shakes the Boggle game.

EZRA

Let’s boggle!

MARY enters, holding a chihuahua who wears a hand-knit sweater.

JULIAN

Mary Williamson, editor of Doggie Sweater Enthusiast Magazine.

MARY

Hello!

JEAN-CLAUDE enters in full chef costume.

JULIAN

Jean-Claude Brillac, expert pastry chef.

JEAN-CLAUDE

I am without equal!

STEPHEN HAWKING wheels forward in a motorized wheelchair.

JULIAN

And renowned physicist Stephen Hawking.

Mr. Hawking speaks via a computerized voicebox.

MR. HAWKING

Let’s do this shit.

Beat.

BILL

So... all the real criminals have gone into banking?

JULIAN

Afraid so.

BLACKOUT.

Friday Night Sketch War: Cartoons Edition

Sufferin' Succatash! We've got three very animated sketches this week on the topic of cartoons. Anvils were dropped, gravity was defied, and meddling kids and their dog spoiled plans. Let's get to it.

• Ken ripped his sketch from my adolescent dreams. From all boys' adolescent dreams. Let's all be sure to send him a box of Scooby Snacks...
• Peter told the heartwarming story of Frank vs The Angel of Death...
• Coyote went all the way to Oslo to blow some stuff up.

Check them out. We've got a Hanna-Barbera, a Loony Tunes, and what I'm picturing as a Tex Avery. Good stuff.

Next week's topic of death: the heist.

If you think you've got the comedy chops to do battle with our scarred and bitter warriors, if you dare step into the hailstorm of seltzer and cream pies, if you think you're MAN ENOUGH to make us laugh, write a sketch and contact us at sketchwar(nospam)@dreamloom.com.

Cartoons Edition (Coyote's Entry)

The Acme Prize

INT. TV STUDIO - DAY

Toonday Show studio. MATT MALLARD sits with MEREDITH MEERKAT and AL ELEPHANT on the couch.

MATT

Exciting news from the world of science today. The recipients of this years' Acme Prizes are about to receive their awards, including our own Toonday Show correspondant and Avery Institute fellow, Abner Fudd.

MEREDITH

I didn't even know Abner was a real scientist.

AL

What did you think he was?

MEREDITH

I thought he was just like Sanjay Bluejay.

CUT TO:

SANJAY BLUEJAY sitting behind a desk bobbing his head up and down up and down in a glass of water. He notices the camera and smiles with 88 pearly whites.

SANJAY

Good cholesterol, good. Bad cholesterol, bad. *SQUAWK*

CUT TO:

Back to the couch.

MATT

No, Abner's not just a bobbing head. Let's go to the awards ceremony.

INT. AUDITORIUM - DAY

ABNER FUDD is a very short man with a very large egghead. He is resplendent in tails standing on stage next to JACK RABBIT.

JACK

Abner, congratulations. Can you try to explain your research to the audience at home?

ABNER

I'll do my best, Jack. My research concerns black holes.

JACK

Like this one?

Jack pulls a floppy black disc from his jacket and drops it on the floor. Then he jumps into it. He pops back up a second later with an old seltzer bottle and sprays Abner in the face.

ABNER

Exactly.

Abner pulls a black hole from his jacket, drops it, jumps in, and pops up with a shotgun.

ABNER (CONT'D)

When they were first discovered by Steven Chickenhawking, we didn't know much about them. My research sheds new light on them and give us a clue what the tooniverse was like in the very first picoseconds after the Big Bang.

(beat)

Speaking of big bangs...

Abner lifts the shotgun and pulls the trigger multiple times, chasing Jack around the stage as he shoots at him.

Jack jumps back into his black hole, reaches his hand out, and pulls the black hole into itself. Abner stops shooting, stands still, and scratches his head.

As Abner turns around, looking for Jack, Jack pops out of Abner's black hole with a giant wooden sledgehammer and BASHes Abner over the head. A lump rises, and birds circle and tweet. Jack puts his paws on Abner's shoulders and guides him to a podium.

ABNER (CONT'D)

(singing)

I'm a little teapot, short and stout...

Jack pulls out a bundle of dynamite and hands it to Abner.

JACK

In honor of Alfred Acme, the inventor of dynamite, allow me to present you with the 2009 Acme Prize in Physics.

ABNER

(shaking his head clear)

Thank you. Thank you so much. This is so wonderful. I never thought--

At the other end of the stage at the end of a long fuse, Jack pushes down on a plunger, blowing up the dynamite. Abner's face is blackened with soot, his collar askew, his hair burnt off.

ABNER (CONT'D)

You're despicable.

BLACKOUT:

FSW: Cartoons Edition (Peter's entry)

Friday Sketch War
Cartoons Edition
"Frank Defeats the Angel of Death"

FADE IN:

TITLE CARD: “Frank Defeats the Angel of Death”

INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

FRANK, a cat, sleeps in a basket on a hardwood floor.

He wears a collar with a name tag attached.

A large Christmas tree sits in one corner of the living room, near the front door.

A creepy- and androgynous-looking ANGEL with tiny wings sits atop the tree.

A fire roars in the fireplace.

Nearby, OLIVE (30s) holds a large drink and talks on her cell phone.

OLIVE

I'm just about ready for the dinner party.

ANGLE ON FRANK

-- snoozing happily.

OLIVE (O.S.)

Thanks, I am so nervous. Both of my bosses will be here, and everyone from the book club.

CLUNK.

A red-ball Christmas-tree decoration rolls past Frank's basket.

Frank idly sharpens his claws on the basket, but doesn't wake.

OLIVE (O.S.)

You're right. I can make a good impression.

CLUNK.

Another Christmas-tree decoration rolls by.

Frank opens one eye.

OLIVE (O.S.)

You and Terrill are bringing the fruit dip, right?

Frank looks around, and is alarmed to see --

AT THE TOP OF THE TREE

The angel has sprung to life!

OLIVE

I know! I love guavas!

BACK TO SCENE

With malevolent glee, the angel flings another red-ball Christmas decoration at Olive.

Olive, looking the other way, doesn't notice.

OLIVE

Well, you'll have to tell us all about the Caymans.

The decoration misses her ricochets off the wall, and rolls underfoot.

OLIVE

I just love that little -- WAAAGH!

Olive trips on the decoration and lands on the floor next to the tree.

The drink lands on the floor, making a puddle.

Olive glances at the angel, and the angel reverts back to a motionless, innocent-looking ornament.

OLIVE

I tripped on a Christmas decoration.

Frank blinks a few times, shakes his head, and looks up to see --

-- Olive standing in the puddle, phone in hand.

OLIVE

Really, I'm fine. Just clumsy.

The angel now has a length of Christmas lights, frayed and sparking at one end.

The angel lowers the live wire towards the puddle.

OLIVE

You know, I called Harry, but I think he has that -- what, fundraiser thing?

Closer.

Closer.

It's an inch away from the puddle, and then --

Frank leaps into the air!

He grasps the Christmas lights midair, carrying the wire out of harm's way.

He lands in a heap in the corner.

OLIVE

What's that? Oh, that's just Frank.

Frank, still holding the lights, un-heaps himself and sees --

-- the angel using a candy cane to skim down the lights like a zipwire.

The angel lands on Frank.

OLIVE

Yeah -- he runs from one room to another sometimes. Crazy. Cute, but crazy.

Frank throws the angel off.

The angel pulls a red ball off the tree and holds it menacingly.

Frank looks smug and unworried.

OLIVE

Yeah. Yeah. But do you think Harry knows how he feels? -- y'know, how he really feels?

The angel cracks the ball into two jagged pieces, which he wields with martial-arts-style panache.

Frank panics and grabs the nearest thing to hand. It's a length of popcorn rope.

They fight. Frank uses the rope to block one attack, then another.

OLIVE

Glenlivet, of course. I mean, it costs, but --

Frank whips the rope around one jagged piece of metal, and rips the weapon out of the angel's hand.

Frank does the same to the other.

OLIVE

Absolutely. That is so right.

Frank whips the rope at the angel, BUT --

-- the angel grabs the free end.

Tug-of-war.

The angel drags Frank off his feet and ties him up.

OLIVE

You know, I always get my dipping trays from the farmer's market.

The angel drags Frank toward the FIREPLACE.

Frank struggles.

Frank panics.

Frank has an idea: he unsheaths his claws!

OLIVE

Yeah. It's just there's always something you overlook, y'know? Not until the last minute --

Frank cuts himself free of the rope.

He piles into the angel.

The two of them disappear into the tree.

They reappear a third of the way up the tree, fighting.

They reappear two-thirds of the way up the tree, fighting.

They reappear at the very top of the tree, fighting.

OLIVE

Oh, of course! You're right. I'll just have to make do without feta.

Finally, Frank plants the angel firmly on the treetop, gets a series of good swats in, grabs the angel --

-- and flings him off the tree.

The angel arcs downward, fluttering his tiny, ineffectual wings --

-- towards the FIREPLACE!

(Think Die Hard.)

FOOM!

Crispy dead angel.

Frank heaves a sigh of relief.

And another.

And now THE TREE IS TIPPING OVER.

Frank makes a mad scramble, but it's no use --

-- the tree smashes to the floor.

Decorations scatter.

Tinsel floats down.

Frank slides across the hardwood to a stop.

The front door OPENS to reveal --

-- a crowd of PARTY GUESTS.

OLIVE

Oh my god!

Frank freezes with panic.

OLIVE

Frank!

Frank tries to provide a quick, nonverbal explanation of everything that has happened so far.

Halfway in, Olive scoops him up.

OLIVE

Aw, are you okay?

GUEST #1

I think the tree fell on him!

Frank puts on a sad face.

GUEST #2

Let me give him some tuna!

FADE TO:

INT. LIVING ROOM - LATER

Olive and the guests chat indistinctly.

The tree stands upright, a bit disheveled.

Frank, bloated and happy, eats the last of a big dish of tuna.

He waddles back to his basket.

He suddenly goes to the tree, nabs a length of popcorn rope off the tree, and returns to the basket.

He holds the rope and eyes the room warily, but drifts off to sleep.

FADE OUT.

FSW: Cartoons Edition (Ken's Entry)

Happy New Year everyone! I unexpectedly took last week off (meaning I realized Saturday night that the day before was Sketch War Friday....ummmm...ooopps).

This weeks theme was cartoons, and despite a promising start to a SuperFriends sketch (remember that red spikey thing in front of the Hall of Justice??), I ended up revisiting one of my favorite cartoons, and putting a little spin on the first girl cartoon character I had a crush on.

The other battlers will report in soon!!!
__________________________________________________________

INT. HAUNTED MANSION - NIGHT

DAPHNE, VELMA, SCOOBY, SHAGGY and FRED stand in the foyer of a dilapidated dark mansion, complete with grand decaying staircase, grandfather clock, cobwebs - all the haunted trimmings.

FRED

Alright, let’s split up and see if we can find this bearded ghost. Daphne and I will go this way, Velma you go that way with Scooby and Shaggy.

VELMA

Actually Fred, Daphne and I are going together this time. You go with Scooby and Shaggy.

FRED pauses and looks at VELMA.

FRED

Very funny Velma. Daphne come on, we’re going this way.

DAPHNE

No Fred....not this time. Not ever again. I want to go with Velma.

FRED looks at SHAGGY and SCOOBY, who just shrug their shoulders.

FRED

Daphne, you and I always go together, always!

DAPHNE

Fred, I’ve been in denial about some things for a long time, and I’m just starting to come to grips with them.

FRED

Stop kidding around. You and I always go together when we split up, because we’re the two attractive ones of the group.

DAPHNE

That’s just it Fred. I’ve gone with you all those times because I felt like I SHOULD be attracted to you, but...it never felt right.

VELMA

It’s okay Daphne, tell him the rest.

DAPHNE

I think I developed some subconscious resentment towards you Fred...I wanted to be attracted to you, and when I wasn’t it made me do stupid things.

VELMA

All those traps she accidentally sprung weren’t an accident Fred. Her subconscious was trying to kill you.

DAPHNE

It was my way out...if you were gone I wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.

VELMA

Danger-prone Daphne was really "Need-to-get-Fred-out-of-my-life" Daphne.

FRED

But...all those times...when we’d split up...and we’d have sex when we were supposed to be hunting ghosts.

DAPHNE

Don’t make this harder than it is Fred.

FRED

We’d blame your moaning on ghosts.

DAPHNE

Fred, please...

FRED

I MADE YOU ORGASM!!! HARD!!! EVERY TIME!!!

DAPHNE

I faked it, every time! Just to save your big ego!!! I just pretended. I’d close my eyes and imagine you were someone else....someone I WAS attracted to. I just did whatever I could to get through it.

FRED sulks for a moment, taking it all in.

FRED

Fine. But think about what you’re giving up. Any woman would kill to have a guy with his own custom van.

VELMA

(sarcastically)

The paint job alone should do it.

FRED

A guy with some athletic ability, and good fashion sense.

VELMA

You dress like a sailor in the Gay Navy.

FRED

(to VELMA)

This doesn’t involve you.

VELMA

Yes, it does. Daphne, go ahead. Tell him the rest.

DAPHNE

I can’t...he’s already so upset.

VELMA

We talked about this Daphne. It’s like pulling off a band-aid. Do it all at once.

DAPHNE gathers her courage, then faces FRED again.

DAPHNE

It took me a long time to admit it to myself, but the person I kept imagining when we were having sex is part of this group.

Everything stops, and FRED looks at SHAGGY and SCOOBY, suspiciously. Then FRED slowly turns his head to look at VELMA. DAPHNE walks over hooks her arm through VELMA’s, and rests her head on VELMA’s shoulder.

FRED

(to VELMA)

You goddamn dyke.

DAPHNE

She listens to me, understands me...values my opinion.

FRED

So it’s just platonic.

DAPHNE

Oh GOD no!

VELMA and DAPHNE laugh, loudly

DAPHNE

Only a woman knows how to really please another woman. Velma has surprisingly well-toned arms under that sweater too.

VELMA

I need them for doing this....

VELMA dips DAPHNE and kisses her passionately. SCOOBY, FRED and SHAGGY just stare, slack jawed.

DAPHNE

(a bit flustered)

Velma is soooo decisive...when she wants something she just goes for it. And trust me, her traps always work.

DAPHNE giggles as she leans into Velma.

VELMA

Come on purple. Let’s go down this way and find us some moaning ghosts.

VELMA smacks DAPHNE loudly on the butt. DAPHNE giggles, then heads down the corridor.

VELMA

So, Fred, from now on, when we split up, Daphne goes with me, capice?

(off to DAPHNE)

Hey purple, that’s a bedroom on the left - I bet there’s a loud moaning ghost in there!

Giggles from down the hallway. VELMA looks back at FRED with a knowing grin, then exits after DAPHNE. FRED just stares after them.

SHAGGY

So, uh, Fred. Maybe we should, like, go look for that Bearded ghost like you said.

FRED

There is no bearded ghost. It’s just old man Laskey in a costume scaring people off so he can run a real estate scam.

SHAGGY

Zoiks! Like, how’d you know that man?

FRED

I pay this detective friend for fake ghost cases he’s already solved whenever I want to get laid. We’ve never gone on a real unsolved mystery.

SHAGGY

Like....wow dude. All this time I thought we were actually, like, finding clues, solving mysteries and helping people and stuff.

SCOOBY

Ree roo!!!

SHAGGY

Now I’m like all bummed and stuff.

SCOOBY

Ree roo.

SHAGGY and SCOOBY walk start to slowly exit the same way as DAPHNE and VELMA

FRED

Where are you two going?

SHAGGY

Like there’s only one thing that can cheer me up right now - amateur girl-on-girl action. These old mansions have secret watching holes all over the place.

FRED

Won’t they see us?

SHAGGY

You and Daphne never did.

FRED thinks for a moment

FRED

Alright, here’s the plan. You two go ahead and find a hiding spot with a good clear view. I’ll go get the video camera I keep in the Mystery Machine!

SHAGGY

Now that’s the Fred I’d follow anywhere!

SCOOBY

Rrrrrroooby dooooooooo!

BLACK OUT

The Loan's the Thing

Heh. I had a little brain fart the other day. Brownlee stars in a new short and I knew it was familiar...that's because it was one of his sketchwar entries from last summer. Click here to read "The Loan's the Thing" and watch below.

Peter's Commentary on the 'Resolutions' Edition

Finally catching up on my Friday Sketch War commentary. This past week, the FSW deadline fell on January second, so we went with the holiday-appropriate theme of "resolutions".

This time we had only two entries (*sniff*): this one from me and this one from Mr. Porter.[1] Alas, all the talk from local sketch-comedy types about joining in on this turned out to be just talk. (Ah well. Writing to a weekly deadline is hard work.)


When I posted my entry, I mentioned on twitter that "I imagine I like [this sketch] better than most folks will".

Look, I recognize that this entry is very slight: man climbs mountain, man discovers that it's now a tourist trap, end scene. But I still think it would play funnier than it reads. This script is more elliptical than usual. Riley talks around the fact that his wife died, probably recently. I don't explicitly say that Jerry feels awful having to be the guy who reveals it's no longer "the most secluded place in the world", or how it breaks the spell of sharing a quiet, profound moment in the middle of nowhere.

So I think there's a good scene in there. I'll bet if I expand it to three minutes or so, it'll be something worth watching.

It's odd how this one came about. For the longest time I had a more straightforward and "think-y" concept for a sketch: a guy had hired somebody to enforce his adherence to a simple resolution ("Don't eat donuts.") The button would be a simple loop, where the enforcer's enforcer came in to enforce the enforcer's resolution ("Don't use tasers on clients.")

But then I started listening to this song over and over again, which made me think of winter in places that actually have winter, and got me wondering what hiking through the snow might have to do with resolutions. Soon I had dumped my straightforward and promising sketch for this other, quirkier piece -- something about a widower climbing a montain -- that I felt like I needed to write.


Mr. Porter's piece was about angels who worked in a divine division devoted to getting mortals to break their new year's resolutions. I think that's a really strong concept, especially since he's got Clarence (as in "Attaboy, Clarence!", as in It's a Wonderful Life), with his newly-acquired wings, as our viewpoint character.

It stumbles in a few places. The scene's setup is not in and of itself funny, so it needs to either become funny or become shorter. (I'm guessing the latter, in medias res-ifying route is the easier one.) I would have liked to see a greater variety in the ways the angels are tempting people -- if it's sketch comedy, and I've seen one perfectly normal form of temptation, I'm let down if the next form of temptation isn't a bit batshit and unexpected. Basically, the tempting needs some way to be really funny in and of itself -- that's a good way to make the sketch funnier than just its original premise.

And then there's the button. I think I get what Mr. Porter was getting at -- George Bailey's bank got hit by some form of government regulation, and now Clarence is being punished. Or maybe that's not it at all -- I mean, why would Job (blessed man, lived righteously, yada yada) be there?

So I guess the 'regulators' is just a quick one-off joke that's not related to the sketch? If that's the case, I'd probably delete it -- unrelated material at the very very end only sows confusion (see above).

No, this scene needs a button that ties in to the scene we've seen so far, and somehow cleverly inverts it. And yeah, no idea what that should be -- although if Mr. Porter were an utter bastard, then Clarence's first assignment would be George Bailey, no?

I dunno. I harp on these flaws because I think the idea is strong, ergo I think there's a good in scene in there. *shrug*

__________
[1] I again took on summary-writing duties.

Peter's Commentary on the 'Christmas Presents' Edition

Still a bit behind in writing commentary on the Friday Sketch War. I thought I'd deliver a few words about the "Christmas Presents" round.

We'd talked about maybe skipping the 12/26 week of sketchwar, on account of everybody'd be busy with the holidays. But a couple of us believed strongly in the "it's easier to keep writing than to stop and then start again" school of writing. We compromised by having a week where we just wrote mini-scenes. Two lines of dialog. Like comedy-sketch haiku.

The results of the "Sketch Skirmish" are here.

I had fun with my little two-line thing. Given the freedom to toss off anything without worrying about developing it for a few pages, I wound up with the sort of mean-spirited surrealism that characterizes most of the humor in my immediate family. The other two competitors were more talk-y and think-y, which resulted in exchanges that were rather interesting, whereas mine was just a quick, "Wait, what just happened?!"

All in all, I declare the compromise plan a success. We all were able to throw something together, and we were well-prepared to keep the train going the following week.

Peter's Commentary on the '3:34am' Edition

Hello -- looks like I've fallen a bit behind in writing commentary on the Friday Sketch War.

On December 19th, we all handed in sketches based on the theme "3:34am". I had suggested "Santa", "The Recording Studio", and "3:34am" to Mr. Porter, and he opted for the weird one.[1]

We had three sketches that week. I wrote this one, Mr. Porter wrote this one, and Mr. Robertson wrote this one. (I also wrote that week's summary.)


There is one and only one thing I was happy about with my own sketch. Specifically, I think I hit upon a structure for a comedy sketch that I'd like to use again.

First, I need to back up and explain: sketches are different from scenes. Scenes are about a character who pursues an objective and overcomes adversity. Sketches are about something funny that happens, something funnier that happens, and then something even funnier that happens. Sure, you can write an amazing miracle-scene that does both, but it's damn difficult. When scenes try to be sketches, they feel shallow and stupid. When sketches try to be scenes, they feel unfunny and pretentious.

This structural difference makes scenes rather easy to end: you resolve the central conflict and the scene feels 'done'. Sketches, on the other hand, are an absolute bear to end. All you have is a chain of funnier and funnier events, but nothing the audience cares about is at stake, so nothing you do will resolve that and make the sketch *feel like* it's over. The best you can do is just write a hilarious joke, bring the lights down, and move on to the next thing before anybody notices.[2]

But I think I did something clever with this. I introduced a situation: Sanjay is trying to make a presentation. Then the janitor comes by and interferes in ways that are increasingly wacky. And then the payoff at the end is that you realized the executives are preparing a LARP session. Suddenly the wacky janitor-actions all fit together, and that resolution makes the sketch feel like it's finished.

But like I said, that was the *only* thing I liked with that scene.[3] The topic just kicked my ass that week, I ran with the best idea I could cough up, and... meh. None of it made me laugh [4] -- unlike my entries the previous two weeks, which had me giggling like mad.

The previous two weeks were easier to write, too. The tragic thing about sketch-writing is that when I'm writing something funny, the first draft just 'happens'. When I'm writing something lame, the first draft passes like a recalcitrant kidney stone. This was the latter.

Anyway, the structure shows promise.


I was happy to see Mr. Porter trying a "list sketch" this time 'round -- I'd given it a shot for the "First Dates" round, and I was curious to see how the other sketchwar types might handle it. Instead of dates going wrong, Mr. Porter has a protagonist (Jared) who keeps getting woken up at 3:34am in various ways.

I liked that it wasn't totally a list sketch. It's not just a list of ways to get woken up, it's a series of wakings-up in chronological order, so we follow Jared through one damn thing after another, and the sketch has a through-line with Jared getting more and more frustrated.

I think it generally works. There's a solid button, with Jared cooped up in a loony bin, but happy.[5] The 'traveling to various quiet parts of the world' is a nice way of upping the ante.

Yet I found myself wishing that the things that went wrong for Jared would get crazier. Basically, I want the audience thinking two things: (1) "Surely *nothing* can go wrong *now*", and (2) "Oh, god, there's no *way* he would have thought to guard against *that*!" I think we've all had that moment where we've made perfect plans to stave off some Horrid Thing That Keeps Going Wrong, and then the universe still finds a way to screw us -- so there's something deeply satsifying about seeing it happen to a protagonist.[6]


No word from Mr. Robertson about wanting sharp and/or pointy criticism, so I'll kick back and make a few vague statements. I love the situation: Santa gives up on just knowing which kids are naughty and nice, and commences hard-core interrogations. And turning it political ("I pop down the wrong chimney one night and BOOM! I’m a hostage with a ransom video showing 24/7 on Al Jazeera.") is perfectly appropriate.

I think it just needs paring down -- sketches longer than a few minutes tend to get stale (y halo thar Saturday Night Live). Go over it, make it two-thirds as long, and it'll get 50% funnier.

On a technical note, its prose is too novel-y and needs to be more screenplay-y. Any decent screenwriting book should have pointers about that.


And that's it for the 12/19 edition of Friday Sketch War. I am now one week closer to being caught up.

______________
[1] Side note: I like this method of picking a topic, though -- that is, having several people throw out suggestions and one person pick from those. It makes the eventual topic no one person's responsibility, and by "responsibility" I mean "fault", and by "fault", I mean, "It's bloody difficult to come up with something funny to say about 3:34am."

This way, it's kind of like giving only one real bullet to a firing squad.

[2] See also: Monty Python, who almost never ended their scenes, but just segued through from one to the next. Side note: even with comedy sketches that I love, I can rarely remember how they end.

[3] Okay, and I was happy with the voice for Mr. Abbas.

[4] Also, this stage direction was 'for the lose': "A wall clock tells us it’s 3:34. The darkened windows along the wall tell us it’s 3:34am." Too precious by half on that bit.

[5] ... though I might have reversed it -- shown the clock at the nurse's station first, *then* revealed happy!Jared in his padded cell.

[6] It also sets up a game between the audience and the writer -- the audience tries to guess how the writer can possibly screw over the hero *now*, right up to the point when the screwing-over transpires.

Friday Night Sketch War: Resolutions Edition

Howdy folks, Peter here.

Coyote has finally made it back stateside, but apparently he found a stash of something aboard that commandeered Catalina 22-foot sloop. (Ah, the rich -- they always keep their exciting pharmaceuticals close at hand.) He's still a bit how-you-say "altered" this week, but I'm sure once he stops telling his invisible-walrus friend about all the pretty colors he's smelling, Coyote will be back on sketchwar-summary duty.

This week, in honor of the (Gregorian) New Year, our topic was "resolutions", a topic that evidently weakened the resolve of all but two sketch-warriors:

• Coyote turned in a sketch about office-bound angels.
  
• And I (Peter) delivered a short scene about mountain climbing.

And lo, the eternal battle continues: stay tuned for next week, when we enter the squared circle of pain with sketches about cartoons!

As always, Sketch War is open to anyone who wants to participate. All you have to do this week is write a sketch about cartoons and contact us at sketchwar at dreamloom dot com.

Resolutions, Inc. - R.A.'s entry

INT. OFFICE BULLPEN - NIGHT

Half-height cube walls provide minimal privacy and noise dampening between seat after seat of headset-wearing drones dressed all in white. Except, they're not drones. They all have angel's wings. MICHAEL shows CLARENCE the operation.

MICHAEL

That's some nice work you did last Christmas, Clarence, really. We were all very proud to see you finally get your wings.

CLARENCE

Thank you, sir. I've always wanted to help people. I'm glad I'll finally be getting my chance.

MICHAEL

Oh.

(Beat)

What do you know about our division?

CLARENCE

St. Peter said he thought this would be a good place for me to start out, to get my toes wet.

MICHAEL

You know that the Big Boss works in mysterious ways, right Clarence?

CLARENCE

Of course, of course.

MICHAEL

His plan is ineffable.

CLARENCE

Yes, yes.

MICHAEL

Unfathomable.

CLARENCE

Michael, dear boy, what are you trying to tell me?

MICHAEL

What we do here at Resolutions, Inc. is a little...different. Did you ever make a New Year's resolution when you were mortal?

CLARENCE

Oh yes! Every year I vowed I would take a little of this

(indicates ample waist)

off by taking regular constitutionals and eating less of my dear Martha's food. But her cookery was so good, that by two weeks into the year my resolve was lost.

MICHAEL

And that's what we do here.

CLARENCE

Help people stick with their resolutions?

MICHAEL

Cause people to break them.

Michael points to a computer in front of one of the angels. Pictures of foamy mugs of beer, frosty margaritas, and double scotches fill the monitor. ESTELLA, all blond ringlets and cherubic face slides a mouse on the desktop and speaks into her headset.

ESTELLA

(Whispering)

Just one little drink wouldn't hurt. Two long days without a drop...a little pick-me-up...it'd be like a reward for doing so well...

Clarence blanches and backs away.

CLARENCE

Michael! This is terrible!

MICHAEL

Now Clarence, I told you, it's all in the Big Boss's plan. Come with me. Let me introduce you to the angel who'll be training you.

Michael leads Clarence past more angels at their desks. We catch glimpses of their monitors: devilish desserts and scantily clad women and men dominate. Michael stops behind a bald male angel energetically talking into his headset. His monitor displays a hammock swinging between two trees.

MALE ANGEL

(Whispering)

The gym will be there tomorrow, but this sunny afternoon won't last forever. Make some lemonade, have some cookies, take a nap.

The angel clicks his mouse and the monitor changes to show loaves of bread baking in an oven.

MALE ANGEL (CONT'D)

(Whispering)

It's homemade. One slice won't hurt. They're whole grain carbs.

The angel clicks again and the monitor shows a football game.

MALE ANGEL (CONT'D)

(Whispering)

It's the playoffs! Your wife will understand. The game's just too important to miss. You can clean the gutters tomorrow.

CLARENCE

I say my good man! How can you do this? Have you no heart?

The angel faces Clarence...

MICHAEL

Clarence, this is our top performer. Job, meet Clarence.

JOB

Pleasure. So you're the new fellow, eh? Nice work on your wing assignment. Shame what happened when the regulators showed up the next day.

BLACKOUT:

Sketch War, "Resolutions" Edition, Peter's Entry

Friday Sketch War
Resolutions Edition
"Mount Waxahachie"

FADE IN:

INT. SNOWY FOREST CLEARING - DAY

JERRY (20s) sits in a quiet spot in the woods on a cold winter day. He holds a hamburger wrapped in wax paper.

RILEY (50s) enters, exhausted and weighed down with hiking equipment. He sits and takes in the view.

JERRY

Cold for climbing, man.

RILEY

Yeah. Every year, January first, Theresa -- my wife -- she'd resolve to climb Mount Waxahachie. But...

He shrugs.

RILEY

I guess I did this for her.

JERRY

Nice.

RILEY

She always said it was the most secluded place in the world, even though she'd never seen it.

JERRY

Oh. Yeah.

RILEY

So you must have climbed up the southeast approach?

JERRY

I work at the gift shop. They put in a pretty major road last year.

O. S. a car RUMBLES BY, HONKING while its passengers HOOT and HOLLER.

PASSENGER (O.S.)

Party on Mount Waxahachie!

Jerry gets up to leave.

JERRY

Customers.

He hands Riley the hamburger.

JERRY

My Waxa-burger is still warm.

He exits.

Riley peevishly tosses away the burger.

At the same time, another car RUMBLES PAST O.S.

PASSENGER #2 (O.S.)

Don't litter, old dude!

Riley gets up and trudges back the way he came.

FADE OUT.