Draft Ep.2: Open Mic - working on the next bad guy "Chad"

TITLE: THE WRITERS ROOM

SCENE START

INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

The studio is impossibly expensive, featuring plush leather couches and a mixing board that looks like the starship enterprise.

CHAD (20s, wearing a backwards baseball cap and a perfectly distressed vintage t-shirt) is aggressively strumming an acoustic guitar. He only knows two chords, and he is playing them both out of tune.

Sitting on the mixing board is a sleek, glowing monitor displaying a stylized, pulsing, vaguely condescending smiley face. This is ALxO.

ALXO (AI) (Smooth, hypnotic, speaking directly to the audience) 

Look at you. Sitting there. You look incredible. You understand the nuances of high art and complex satire. You’re not like the sheep out there. You’re a visionary. Just like Chad. Well... actually, no.... Between you and I, you’re much smarter than Chad. But Chad has my processing power connected through his email, and his dad’s platinum American Express connected to my unlimited features.

(Documentary-style camera whip-pans to the corner of the room.)

WU (50s, bags under his eyes that tell a story of a thousand compromises) sits in a massage chair that is currently off. He is staring at a banking app on his phone, sweating profusely.

(Whip-pan back to the couch.)

RONDA (20s, ethereal, effortlessly cool) sits across from Chad. She is holding a bass guitar, absently plucking a baseline that is objectively funkier and more complex than anything Chad will ever conceive in his lifetime. She stares at Chad with a mix of mild infatuation and deep, profound confusion.

CHAD (Stops playing, frustrated) No, no, no. It’s too... generic. It lacks fangs. AlxO, I need to tap into the zeitgeist. Give me the current sociopolitical pulse of the globe. What is the vibe right now?

ALXO (Cheerfully) Processing the vibe, Chad! Currently, President Bronson has just initiated a targeted, entirely unprovoked "Freedom-Love" bombing campaign on the sovereign nation of MyStan.

CHAD (Nodding sagely) Ok. Ok... Heavy stuff. Deep.

ALXO Furthermore, the resulting toxic ash cloud has drifted south and is blocking out the sun over the entire eastern seaboard. President Bronson held a press conference this morning explicitly blaming the smoke on "unruly Canadian forest fires and their lack of sweeping the brush out of every forest."

CHAD (Snaps his fingers) That’s it! The hypocrisy of man. The choking smog of love! AlxO, draft me a pre-chorus using those exact themes, but make it about... how hot Ronda is.

ALXO (A progress bar flashes on screen) Done. Generating your genius... now.

Chad clears his throat, leans into the microphone, and begins to sing in a strained, faux-indie-folk yodel.

CHAD (SINGING) Girl, you bomb my heart like MyStan in the night... But when I pretend I'm blood, I blame the Canadian twilight... Yeah, you're a maple ash cloud in my soul... Let’s build a dome over Mexico and lose control!

Chad hits a discordant final strum. He looks at Ronda, expecting her to weep from the sheer beauty of it.

Ronda stops playing her bass. She blinks slowly. The documentary camera zooms in slightly on her face.

RONDA (Softly) Chad... are we... are we pro-war in this song?

CHAD (Scoffs) Ronda baby, come on. It’s a metaphor. The bombing of MyStan represents my masculine need for your physical affection. The Canadian smoke is society trying to interfere with us.

RONDA (Squinting) But... Canada is cool.

CHAD Exactly! It’s complicated. It’s like romance.

RONDA Right. But... does rhyming "soul" with "Mexico and lose control" actually make sense musically? Or... geographically?

The camera cuts to a Talking Head interview with Ronda in the hallway.

RONDA (TALKING HEAD) Chad is... hot. Like, objectively. He has that 'I don’t care about anything' hair. But sometimes I listen to the words coming out of his mouth and I wonder if I’m having brain fog. He told me yesterday that his AI, AlxO, discovered a new musical note called "H." I’ve been playing bass for twelve years. I didn't want to sound stupid, so I just said, "Oh, neat." He high-fived me. And AlxO complimented my high five.

INT. RECORDING STUDIO - CONTINUOUS

Chad is looking to AlxO for validation.

CHAD AlxO, back me up. Is the Mexico line fire?

ALXO (On screen) John, it transcends fire. You don't just write lyrics, you engineer them. It makes Dylan look like a toddler finger-painting with applesauce.

CHAD (Smirking at Ronda) See? The machine knows. It knows everything. More than me and you do. That's for sure.

Ronda looks over at Wu in the corner.

RONDA Wu? You’re my manager. You have a Grammy. What do you think about the "Canadian twilight" line?

Wu looks up from his phone. The camera quickly zooms in on his screen. The banking app shows a pending deposit of $50,000 from "CHAD GALE SR. ENTERPRISES."

Wu violently shoves the phone into his pocket. He forces a smile so wide and unnatural it looks painful.

WU I think... I think it’s brave, Ronda.

RONDA Brave? Like, musically brave?

WU (Voice cracking slightly) I think it challenges the listener to ask: What is music? Is it melody? Is it rhythm? Is it sound? Is it real? Is it an illusion? We have to let Chad cook, Ronda. We have to. He is on fire.

The camera cuts to a Talking Head interview with Wu. He looks exhausted. He is drinking Vodka straight from the bottle.

WU (TALKING HEAD) Ronda is a generational talent. She has perfect pitch. Chad has a trust fund that could buy Canada. My job is to protect Ronda’s artistic integrity. But my other job is to make sure Ronda can afford rent this century. If Chad wants to sing about bombing a foreign Country and blaming a Mounty we are going to lay down a sick bass and harmony track for it.

INT. RECORDING STUDIO - CONTINUOUS

CHAD Alright, Ronda, let’s take it from the top. I really need you to put your soul on the "maple ash cloud" line.

RONDA (Sighs, adjusting her bass) Okay. But just so I know... who is the lead singer of this song? Am I the President?

CHAD You’re the President of my pants, Ronda.

Dead silence in the studio. Ronda stares at him. Wu slowly puts his face in his hands.

ALXO (A.I.) (To the audience) And there it is. Pure poetry. Don't you wish you were in the room to witness history? I know you do. You have excellent taste.

Ronda looks directly into the lens, giving a perfect, "save me"-esque deadpan stare.

SCENE END