For Bravenet: Mark@NationalTheater.org

A filmscript by
Mark Knight

Intro (Voice over): After the performance at Shakespeare's Globe Theatre for England's Prince Phillip which made Michael Skeaping famous, or notorious, [Shot of Michael Skeaping on the Shakespeare's Globe stage] he left England quietly. Or rather, quietly for him. 

It is difficult to know exactly what, or who, he was. In interviews about the Globe show, after his release from jail, he claimed to have been a British Navy Captain, a Parson, a hotel owner - an hotel owner as he himself said - and countless other occupations, including actor, producer, director, teacher and supermarket manager. Subsequent inquiries into his background show most of these stories to be imaginary, except for two discoveries. While relief manager for several Tesco supermarkets a sudden outbreak of shoplifting forced the company to employ private detectives to no avail. And under another name, he organized a schools' theatre festival which mysterously lost all it's money, and Michael Skeaping, after the awards ceremony, though no charges were preferred. 

The young filmaker, Wallace Francis Climalia, who decided to record a weekend with his New York Village friends can only be lauded for this film and congratulated on his luck in being there. It is a fascinating clash of cultures which finally blend with a happy, though disturbing, ending. And happy, though disturbing just about sums up the man who called himself Sir Michael Skeaping. The title was self-conferred. 

Whatever his past, and whyever he performed so inappropriately before the consort of the then Queen of England, Elizabeth, this film of the last part of his life is at least a fairly accurate record. 

[During the last few words of the intro, the man, Calvin, has obviously got fed up with walking and tries, in vain, to hail a cab. He lights a cigarette gloomily. Another man approaches him.] 

Michael: Excuse me sir. 

Calvin: Yes? 

Michael: I wonder could I ... 

[Calvin assumes he is being tapped for a cigarette] 

Calvin: Here ya go. 

[The man accepting the cigarette is past middle age, whatever that is. The man sharing his cigarettes looks younger, but isn't really.] 

Michael: I am grateful, of course, but I usually only smoke the occasional cigar. 

[Calvin lights the cigarette for Michael.] 

Michael: I was actually about to inquire as to the whereabouts of a good and inexpensive hotel. 

Calvin: I love your accent. 

Michael: Thank you. Yours is charming too. 

[He looks at the camera, and smiles broadly. He has appalling teeth but great charm and thus a great smile.] 

Michael: And who is this? 

Calvin: This is Wal. He's doing a project for Parsons. 

Michael: Really? I was a parson once. 

Calvin: You were at Parsons? 

Michael: At? 

Calvin: It's a film school. 

Michael: A film school for parsons? Never heard of such a wonderful idea. America the beautiful, America the innovative. Hallo Wol. 

[Wal says 'Hi'] 

Michael: Are you as wise as Pooh's old friend owl? Were your parents A.A. Milne fans? 

Calvin: It's short for Wallace. Of course! Wol! Do you like Pooh? A.A. Milne is so my favorite English writer. Disney just did not get it. 

Michael: Ah. A fellow Pooh fan. [big smile] Have you read Milne's poems? 

Calvin: No. 

Michael: Then we have much to share. My name is Michael. Sir Michael Aloysius Dornford Skeaping. And what are you known as? 

Calvin: Never mind what I'm known as. My name is Calvin. My friends call me Calvin Klean. 

Michael: Are you the gentleman who is involved in underwear? 

Calvin: Oh god have I been involved in underwear. No hun, it's a nickname. 

Michael: Well Calvin, do you know of a cheap hotel (preferably with a cheap bar) where I can make myself comfortable? 

Calvin: Come to my club honey. I'll make you as comfortable as you wanna be. 

Michael: A club? I'm a member of several clubs in London. 

[Calvin raises a hand and a cab appears. He links arms with Michael and waltzes off, Michael still talking.] 

Michael: One of Milne's most poignant pieces is Vespers. 'Little boy kneels at the foot of his bed'. I remember kneeling by my bed for nightly prayer and Nanny and Mother would watch me. Such innocence. Now all gone, of course. I had several books in my trunk, but they're bloody-well gone too, lost in the bowels of a baggage cock-up... 

[They get in the cab. The doors close and the cab starts to move. Then Wal realizes that he is being left behind. The camera tilts down and we see the sidewalk jerk about as he races after them. Blackout] 

[Exterior. The Village. Calvin stands in front of a bar.] 

Calvin: This is my bar. The Hungry Hefalump. 

Michael: Splendid. What a splendid name. What do think Wal? 

Wal: Um. Great. 

Michael: So this is the village? 

Calvin: Yeah. What do you think? 

Michael: I shall always think of it as the village in the middle of the hundred-acre wood. 

Calvin: Oh that's so sweet. 

[The cab that brought them has been unloaded and the cabby is waiting. Calvin pays and tips. Michael breathes in deeply surveying the situation; a bar and a friend willing to pay for things.] 

Michael: I feel as if I am home. 

Calvin: Sir Mike, you are. Now get in there and let's hear some of that poetry. 

[They enter the bar.] 

[Interior. The Hungry Hefalump. The gay clientele are, for the most part, outrageously dressed.] 

Calvin: Everybody! This is Sir Michael from England. He is a friend of Pooh 

Customer: Is he a friend of Dorothy too? [Lots of whistles and friendly laughs.] 

Calvin: Who cares? He's a friend of mine and he's welcome here. 

Michael: Bless you Calvin. 

Customer: Speech. 

Customer: Make it short honey. 

[Various catcalls and whistles encourage Michael to speak.] 

Michael: Thank you Calvin. Thank you all. A short speech, honey? Who better to quote than Winnie the Pooh then? Isn't it funny, how bees like honey and I like all of you. Now I would like a drink. 

[Cheers and general approval] 

Calvin: Omen, a drink for my friend Sir Michael. 

Michael: Bless you Calvin. I wonder if you stock any single malt? 

Calvin: Omen? 

Omen: Howsabout Highland Park? 

Michael: Omen - what a wonderful name - I am in paradise. Weave a circle round him thrice, for he on honey dew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. Highland Park. Yes please. Omen, how did you get such a majestic name? 

[Omen is tall, extremely sexy and as fit as a horny fiddle. Not bulky, he nontheless has muscles that ripple like a cats.] 

Omen: My name's Damien. Like the movie. Damien - Omen 3. It stuck. 

Calvin & Michael: Gregory Peck. 

Michael: One of the old school.  

Omen: Highland Park. Ice and water?  

Michael: A little iced water on the side please Omen. I never insult a single malt by freezing it. There is a circle in hell for people who commit that particular sin. I'll no doubt end up in hell but at least they won't get me for mistreating malt whiskey. Omen, I can't help noticing that you're wearing a singularly fetching sarong. 

Calvin: I wonder who you're hoping to fetch? 

Michael: In fact many of the clientele are decked in their finest feathers. 

Calvin: Well Michael you are about to witness a fashion duel. 

Michael: Ah? 

Calvin: It was Wal's idea. 

Michael: Wol. [He grins at the camera] I had forgotten you were there, little mouse. 

Calvin: He got me to challenge Jamie's bar down the street to see who had the best dressed customers. At nine tonight Jamie and I will lead out our finest and let battle commence. 

Michael: Battle? 

Calvin: Well, sort of. We'll be selling little beanie chickens and bouquets to the audience. Proceeds for the hospice. First the contestants line up for the pageant. Then each contestant walks down the catwalk- 

Omen: I'm not walking. I am definitely going to sashay 

Calvin: whatever, as they walk down the catwalk the audience can either give them the bird or the bouquet. Then we add up who got most bouquets and announce the winner. 

Michael: Hah! What fun.  

Calvin: Oh! I have just had an idea. Michael, you could be the master of ceremonies. Jamie and I were going to do it but with your voice you would be such a hit.  

Michael: Calvin, dear Calvin, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to repay you for your kindness. And what a lark! 

[Calvin turns to the bar.] 

Calvin: Ladies. I would like to introduce you to the Master of Ceremonies for tonight's battle of the Queens - Sir Michael Skeaping. 

[Lots of happy cheers. Everyone drinks. Fadeout] 

[Cut to Calvin and Michael at the bar.] 

Calvin: Michael hun, I am about to go and dress. I will return reborn. 

Michael: Calvin I shall bait with wated breath. Ha! 

Calvin: You mean you'll wait with brate - brate - 

[Wave of giggles roll over them both.] 

Calvin: Wait..! 

Michael: Bate..! 

Calvin: No, wait ... I have an idea. Why don't we get you dressed up? 

Michael: Calvin. 

[Michael seems about to speak, to say something of import. Calvin waits.] 

Michael: Calvin. [Michael belches, but immediately follows it with] I would be delighted. And I'm honoured that you invite me to become a member of your club. 

[Calvin beams and links arms with Michael as they head towards the changing room.] 

[The changing room. The quiet figure, still before the mirror, coughs a little. Each cough feeds on itself until the man is heaving for breath. He brings the dress up to his mouth involuntarily, desperately. He staggers, then falls to his knees in front of a chair. He suddenly stops coughing, forcing himself to breathe slowly. His head bows until it is resting on the dress bunched in his hands. From out side the room we hear a booming voice, half singing, half declaiming.] 

Michael: They're changing guards at Buckingham Palace. Christopher Robin went down with Alice. 

[The changing room. Michael & Calvin approaching the door.] 

Michael: I wonder if I should change my name to Alice. I always saw Alice as a sensible and attractive woman. 

Calvin: I've never heard of an Alice in the Pooh stories. Of course I- 

[He stops. Michael has seen the kneeling man. He stops horrified and whispers...] 

Michael: Hush, hush, whisper who dares... 

Calvin: Chris! Oh you poor love 

[He rushes to comfort Chris who starts to mumble apologetically.] 

Chris: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. 

[Michael suddenly comes out of his frozen moment and goes to help Calvin lift Chris so that they can sit him in a comfy chair. Chris starts to sob quietly, as if he has no energy, and stumbles. Michael puts his arms around him and lifts him to the chair.] 

Chris: My dress. 

[The dress has fallen to the floor. Michael gently gathers it and kneels by Chris.] 

Michael: Here it is. A beautiful dress it is too. I very much look forward to seeing you wear it. 

[He strokes Chris' hair.] 

Calvin: [In tears.] Chris lovey, would you like us to help you put it on? 

Chris: I don't.. 

[Gathering his thoughts is hard.] 

Chris: I thought I could put on a good show. But I'm having a bad day. I don't think I can even walk down the catwaaalk. 

[He bursts into heartfelt sobs.] 

Michael: Christopher, I would be honoured if you would let me carry you to the stage so that you might see, and be seen. Calvin, might we arrange a comfortable chair for dear Christopher? 

Calvin: Oh yes, of course. 

Chris: Oh, god I hate this. Dying is such a pain in the butt. 

[He laughs and then sobs.] 

Michael: Hush, hush, whisper who dares, Christopher Robin is saying his prayers. 

Chris: What is that? 

Michael: That is from a poem about beauty and innocence. Now let us stop crying onto your frock and make you beautiful. 

Chris: I'm Chris. 

Michael: I am Michael Skeaping. 

Calvin: Sir Michael Skeaping. 

Chris: I love your accent. 

Michael: And I yours. Wol? 

[There is a mumble from behind the camera.] 

Wal: Try not to look at the camera. 

Michael: Wol, go away dear boy. 

[Another mumble, cut short by Michael.] 

Michael: Wol, leave my newfound friend in peace for a moment. 

Calvin: At least until she's got her make-up on. 

[A mumble. Michael approaches Wol sternly] 

Michael: Wol! 

[Mumble. The camera lowers and blackout.] 

Calvin: Ladies, girls, guys, good afternoon and welcome to the Fashion Duel in which you pick the winners. My name's Calvin and I run the Hungry Hefalump. If you've never visited, why not? - you'll be welcome. If you're a regular customer - thank you. Jamie's bar - and this is Jamie - is a co-sponsor of this event. Would you like to say a few words Jamie? 

[Jamie smiles thinly and takes the microphone. He licks his lips and then says...] 

Jamie: No thank you. 

[He hands the mike back to Calvin.] 

Calvin: OK. Now I'd like to introduce our guest of honor and master of ceremonies. All the way from England will you please welcome Sir Michael Skeaping. 

Michael: Thank you Calvin and Jamie for making this extraordinary event possible. The rules are simple. If you want to vote for one or more of our bevy of beauties as they walk down the catwalk, you buy a bag of little beanie chickens and bouquets. A vote for the contestant means you throw a bouquet. Otherwise, you give them the bird. Bag vendors are passing amongst you now.  

[Calvin holds up a beanie bird and a bouquet. The bird is some kind of Macaw or parrot.] 

Calvin: Look. Aren't they cute? 

[Michael takes the bird and looks at it.]  
Michael: I had an aunt who looked just like this, though her nose was larger. At the end of the day you can take your toys home to your nieces and nephews or just drop them in the boxes on the pavement and we'll wash 'em and give them to a deserving cause. And of course, all the money for the beanies goes to the Aids Hospice on ... Calvin? 

Calvin: Baston Street. 

Michael: And where better? The beanies are ten bucks a bag, but if you wanted to pay more, nobody would stop you. Before the parade begins I would also like to introduce Chris who will be the maid of honour who hands the prize to whoever is crowned Queen for the day. 

[Michael walks to where Chris sits and, taking his hand, kisses it. The crowd cheers and applauds. Chris positively glows in the limelight.

The parade begins. A montage of crowd shots, contestants showing off their frocks and general revelry. After the main parade each contestant walks to the end of the catwalk and poses.  
The crowd throws bird or bouquet, which are collected by several helpers and tallied by Calvin and Jamie. Michael announces each count. Finally there are only two contestants left. One, Tilda, is obviously Jamies' protégé. Wearing a slinky, shiny, silver sheath dress that reaches to the floor and monstrously high-heeled strapless silver shoes. The dress is slit to the hip. The effect is devastating. The other contestant is Omen. In bright summer colours, and with a beautiful figure, he is outstanding.] 

Michael: What an exciting afternoon. I wonder, since these two lovely ladies have drawn a tie twice now, if might declare them joint winners? 

Calvin: Great! 

Jamie: No. 

[A hush falls.] 

Jamie: Tilda is one of my customers. Jamies' wants the crown. 

[He opens his slim black purse and takes out a wad of cash.] 

Jamie: I've got enough cash here to buy all the beanies the audience needs. Hand them out, I'll pay, and may the best bar win. 

[There is silence, then a chant begins: Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. Calvin steps forward.] 

Calvin: OK, let's all calm down- 

[Someone throws a beanie at Calvin. The words 'Fuck off, Winnie the Wanker' ring out. More beanies fly though the air, then cans, hot dogs, fruit. Calvin tries to call for order. Michael quietly turns to Chris, picks him up and starts to leave. A hot dog, thick with relish and ketchup, hits Chris. He cries out and Michael falls to one knee. He manages to let Chris down gently but the effort tires him. His face redder than ever he rises and a can of beer hits him in the midriff: he catches it by reflex. He staggers round and fetches up against the arm of Chris' throne. He pauses, breathing heavily, then takes a breath and roars.] 

Michael: There is a sick person here. Someone look after Chris. 

[Michael sits heavily. Calvin hears and roars into the microphone.] 

Calvin: There is a dying man here. A dying man. For god's sake control yourselves. Are you animals or what? 

[The riotous behaviour quietens. People rush forward to look after Chris. As suddenly as it began the riot is over. Helped by several people, Calvin escorts Chris across the street to the Hefalump. People mill about and gradually disperse. The camera moves to Michael, slumped in the chair. Then Wal speaks, as always, a mumble behind the camera.] 

Wal: That was awesome. I don't think anyone's going to get better shots that this. 

[Michael doesn't move.] 

Wal: Are you OK? 

[The camera zooms closer and closer. Michael is clearly dead.] 

Wal: Shit. 

[There is a long pause. The camera still rolls.] 

Wal: This is, like... what an ending... 

[Very slow fade to black. A voice is heard reading from A.A. Milne's poem, 'Vespers'.