A filmscript by
Mark Knight

[Music: Accident Waiting to Happen by Billy Bragg. Credits on black. Fade to a man, Michael Skeaping, in the port authority. He is carrying one large suitcase. The camera is obviously held by someone watching him from afar. No sound. He crosses to a food court and puts his suitcase next to a man and his son sitting at a table. He speaks briefly to them, asking if they will watch his case, and the father smiles and nods. Skeaping goes to the counter and orders a kids meal. He charms the counter clerk into giving him an extra toy with the meal. He returns to the couple at his table and produces the toys for the little boy. They all smile. Suddenly, Skeaping looks at his watch and hurriedly grabs his case. Seeming flustered, he puts the case down, shakes father and son's hand, mimes panic, smiles and rushes away. The father smiles, turns to his suitcase only to realise that it is gone. he leaps up, at first unbelieving, then furious. The camera has been in long shot all this time. It slowly zooms in on the little boy, happily engrossed in the toys his friend gave him. Then the camera whips 'round and chases after Skeaping. Our POV takes us hurriedly out of the terminal and on to the street. The camera hurriedly turns this way and that, searching for Skeaping. As it turns it crashes into a figure, Calvin, who whoops outrageously.]

Calvin: Wal sweety you are positively lethal with that frigging thing. Where have you been?

Wal: I-

Calvin: Never mind, sweet boy. We've no time. I've got a bar to run and an event to host. You can film there to your hearts content and if you want me to do a commentary on New York, next time, be on time. Come on, we'll get a cab.

[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! The wise old owl. 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 following intro (Voice over) is heard over this sequence. 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 mysteriously lost all it's money, and Michael Skeaping, after the awards ceremony, though no charges were preferred. The young filmmaker, 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. 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. The camera is turned off. After a brief blackout it comes on again. In the back of the cab, the camera shoots Skeaping in profile while through the window, we see the streets of NY as we head for the village. There is no sound, just the VO. Michael appears delighted with the sights around him and the company in the cab with him. They arrive at the Village. Calvin exits and 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: Beautifully put.

[Calvin slaps Michael playfully on the butt. Michael freezes a moment, then reciprocates with a much harder slap that makes Calvin's eyes water. Wal focuses on Michaels face, under the joviality is a viciousness not seen before.]

Calvin: Ooh. Well. That was a bit sharp sweet boy-

Michael:

[Suddenly all bonhomie again]

Sorry old love. Don't know my own strength. Probably weak from lack of alcohol.

Calvin: Sir Michael, you are just a bit wicked I think. 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. Fade to a montage of shots of Michael Skeaping and Calvin mingling in the crowded bar. Behind the bar is a huge poster of Winnie the Pooh and all his friends and other Pooh paraphenalia. Michael moves up and down the bar introducing himself and acccepting drinks. After a while the bar quietens as people go off to get ready for the big event. Michael sits quietly for a moment at one end of the bar while Omen cleans up at the other end. Michael turns to Wal, speaking directly to the camera.]

Michael: Wal, dear boy. You're so quiet, so patient that I keep forgetting you're there.

Wal: Yuh. It's like, I am a camera ... sort of thing.

Michael: You saw didn't you?

Wal: Yuh.

Michael: And

[In the corner of the screen a box showing the earlier scenes appears. As Michael joins each group at the bar, embracing them, leaning on the bar chatting, frame after frame is frozen and moves to form a ring of pictures. In each frame, Michael is surreptitiously stealing tips from the bar, dipping into purses. In the middle of the screen Michael is still sitting quietly, smoking, looking straight at the camera. His jovial 'british chap' persona is gone. His face is imobile, a bit frightening. After a long while he speaks. The booming upper-class voice is gone.]

Michael: I don't know why I do it. My mum and dad were good to me and they taught me to be nice, polite, hard-working and honest. Nobody beat me. We lived in a lovely neighbourhod, I went to a nice school with lovely teachers and I have been ripping people off all my life. I'd like to say it's a disease but bugger that - I hate excuses.

Wal: Everyone's so nice here, they've been so friendly...

Michael: Yeah. They've welcomed me with open arms, they've made me feel at home. And I've ripped 'em off. What am I Wal?

Wal: I dunno.

[Michael looks very tired.]

Michael: Me neither.

Wal: It's not very nice.

Michael: No shit, Sherlock?

[Calvin's voice interrupts them. He has been outside supervising preparations fro the pageant.]

Calvin: Well I think everything is going to be fantastic frankly.

[Wal swings 'round and we see Calvin at the other end of the bar. The few regulars left in the bar applaud. Michael speaks. He tries to put on the booming voice but he falters]

Michael: Calvin, you are fantastic, dear friend...

Calvin: Michael, are you OK?

[He walks to Michael and sits by him, concerned.]

[Michael face is like stone. Wallace turns the camera on him. Nobody speaks for a moment.]

Wal: He's hungry. He's just got into town, we've been drinking all afternoon-

Calvin: Oh my god we've been plying you with drink for hours, I've forced you to MC the pageant, you've probably got the most horrendous case of culture shock, and I haven't even offered you a bite to eat. What must you think?

Michael: I think...

[He falters. Then the old Michael returns.]

Michael: I think I would love something to eat. I also think that you may be one of the nicest people in the world. As is Wal and so many of my new-found friends here. Let's eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die. And if we live - well we'll deal with the hangover and the indigestion in the morning. And I would like...

[He reaches into his pocket afterr pocket and pulls out handfulls of cash]

Michael: ...to make a contribution to the hospice.

Calvin: Oh Michael. No-

Michael: Not a word. Omen! Take this money and put it the pot for the hospice.

[Michael throws the money on the bar.]

Calvin: I'll rustle up a snack.

[Calvin bustles off, then turns back.]

Calvin: Michael, sweet boy, thank you.

[Calvin rushes off. Michael picks up a handful of the money on the bar and puts it back in his pocket, turns to Wal and smiles thinly.]

Michael: It's a start Wol, my son, it's a start.

[Cross-fade on a quiet, thin figure standing before a full length mirror in a room in back of the Hefalump. He is wearing an ivory coloured slip. Shoulders bony, cheekbones pronounced, breathing shallow. Held down around his knees is a beautiful dress. Eyes luminous, large, watching his image all the time, he lifts the dress and holds it up to his shoulders. It is clearly too big for him- his bare arms protrude, child-like in their spareness.]

[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 think we could do with a rest. Would you like to have a nap while I make myself even more beautiful?

Michael: Calvin.

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

Michael: Calvin.

[Michael belches, but immediately follows it with]

that's an excellent idea. I shall awake refreshed and ready for anything.

[Cut to 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 outside 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 bursts in, full of himself and drink. He stops. He 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 toughts 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 catwaalk.

[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.]

Michael: Wol, would you leave my new-found friend in peace for a moment.

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

[Mumble. The camera lowers and blackout.]

[The street. There is a ramp in the middle of the street. On one side is the Hungry Hefalump crowd. On the other, Jamies'. The ramp is pink, frou frou and wonderfully lacy. A procession emerges from the Hefalump. Michael leads carrying Chris, flanked by Calvin, in a tremendously ruffled frock with an A.A Milne motif. They take the stage at the top of the ramp. Wal's camera swings to the front of Jamie's bar. Jamie and his team have just emerged. Wal zooms in on Jamie, imperious and supremely confident. Jamie is flanked by Tilda, beautiful in a deep gold shimmering gown. Tilda's head is inclined to Jamie who is talking intently. As the group comes abreast of Wal his mike picks up Jamie saying...]

Jamie: ...of course it's a competition, and may the best queen win. But if it's not you, we fuck them over.

[Jamie suddenly sees Wal.]

Jamie: Get. Away. Now.

[Wal stumbles backwards onto the stage, and settles down at the corner. Jamie, slinky in a black slip dress - trŽs chic, trŽs dangereuse, a femme fatale if ever there was - cooly takes a stance on the stage looking as fatale as her frock. Sir Michael, puffing from the exertion, places Chris in a throne-like chair and then gently strokes a stray lock of Chris's wig into place. Michael's cheeks and nose have a bright red flush and he is beaming happily.]

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. She licks her lips and then says...]

Jamie: No thank you.

[She 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. Are'nt 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 deserviing 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.

[Micahel 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 obvously Jamies' protegŽ. 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 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 akes 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 anmals 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 in the 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. The image of Michael frozen on the throne gives way to a montage of old photographs of Michael, each younger than the rest. Credits run over the montage. The final photo is of Michael as a cute, innocent, eight year old boy.]

VO:

Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed,

Droops on the little hands little gold head.

Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares!

Christopher Robin is saying his prayers.

God bless Mummy. I know that's right.

Wasn't it fun in the bath tonight?

The cold's so cold, and the hot's so hot.

Oh! God bless Daddy- I quite forgot.

If I open my fingers a little bit more,

I can see Nanny's dressing-gown on the door.

It's a beautiful blue, but it hasn't a hood.

Oh! God bless Nanny and make her good.

Mine has a hood, and I lie in bed,

And pull the hood right over my head,

And I shut my eyes, and I curl up small,

And nobody knows that I'm there at all.

Oh! Thank you, God, for a lovely day.

And what was the other I had to say?

I said "Bless Daddy," so what can it be?

Oh! Now I remember. God bless me.

Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed,

Droops on the little hands little gold head.

Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares!

Christopher Robin is saying his prayers.

-from 'When We Were Very Young', by A.A. Milne, Copyright E.P. Dutton 1924

[Music: Tank Park Salute by Billy Bragg. Credits.]

- End -

A filmscript by
Mark Knight

[Music: Accident Waiting to Happen by Billy Bragg. Credits on black. Fade to a man, Michael Skeaping, in the port authority. He is carrying one large suitcase. The camera is obviously held by someone watching him from afar. No sound. He crosses to a food court and puts his suitcase next to a man and his son sitting at a table. He speaks briefly to them, asking if they will watch his case, and the father smiles and nods. Skeaping goes to the counter and orders a kids meal. He charms the counter clerk into giving him an extra toy with the meal. He returns to the couple at his table and produces the toys for the little boy. They all smile. Suddenly, Skeaping looks at his watch and hurriedly grabs his case. Seeming flustered, he puts the case down, shakes father and son's hand, mimes panic, smiles and rushes away. The father smiles, turns to his suitcase only to realise that it is gone. he leaps up, at first unbelieving, then furious. The camera has been in long shot all this time. It slowly zooms in on the little boy, happily engrossed in the toys his friend gave him. Then the camera whips 'round and chases after Skeaping. Our POV takes us hurriedly out of the terminal and on to the street. The camera hurriedly turns this way and that, searching for Skeaping. As it turns it crashes into a figure, Calvin, who whoops outrageously.]

Calvin: Wal sweety you are positively lethal with that frigging thing. Where have you been?

Wal: I-

Calvin: Never mind, sweet boy. We've no time. I've got a bar to run and an event to host. You can film there to your hearts content and if you want me to do a commentary on New York, next time, be on time. Come on, we'll get a cab.

[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! The wise old owl. 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 following intro (Voice over) is heard over this sequence. 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 mysteriously lost all it's money, and Michael Skeaping, after the awards ceremony, though no charges were preferred. The young filmmaker, 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. 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. The camera is turned off. After a brief blackout it comes on again. In the back of the cab, the camera shoots Skeaping in profile while through the window, we see the streets of NY as we head for the village. There is no sound, just the VO. Michael appears delighted with the sights around him and the company in the cab with him. They arrive at the Village. Calvin exits and 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: Beautifully put.

[Calvin slaps Michael playfully on the butt. Michael freezes a moment, then reciprocates with a much harder slap that makes Calvin's eyes water. Wal focuses on Michaels face, under the joviality is a viciousness not seen before.]

Calvin: Ooh. Well. That was a bit sharp sweet boy-

Michael:

[Suddenly all bonhomie again]

Sorry old love. Don't know my own strength. Probably weak from lack of alcohol.

Calvin: Sir Michael, you are just a bit wicked I think. 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. Fade to a montage of shots of Michael Skeaping and Calvin mingling in the crowded bar. Behind the bar is a huge poster of Winnie the Pooh and all his friends and other Pooh paraphenalia. Michael moves up and down the bar introducing himself and acccepting drinks. After a while the bar quietens as people go off to get ready for the big event. Michael sits quietly for a moment at one end of the bar while Omen cleans up at the other end. Michael turns to Wal, speaking directly to the camera.]

Michael: Wal, dear boy. You're so quiet, so patient that I keep forgetting you're there.

Wal: Yuh. It's like, I am a camera ... sort of thing.

Michael: You saw didn't you?

Wal: Yuh.

Michael: And

[In the corner of the screen a box showing the earlier scenes appears. As Michael joins each group at the bar, embracing them, leaning on the bar chatting, frame after frame is frozen and moves to form a ring of pictures. In each frame, Michael is surreptitiously stealing tips from the bar, dipping into purses. In the middle of the screen Michael is still sitting quietly, smoking, looking straight at the camera. His jovial 'british chap' persona is gone. His face is imobile, a bit frightening. After a long while he speaks. The booming upper-class voice is gone.]

Michael: I don't know why I do it. My mum and dad were good to me and they taught me to be nice, polite, hard-working and honest. Nobody beat me. We lived in a lovely neighbourhod, I went to a nice school with lovely teachers and I have been ripping people off all my life. I'd like to say it's a disease but bugger that - I hate excuses.

Wal: Everyone's so nice here, they've been so friendly...

Michael: Yeah. They've welcomed me with open arms, they've made me feel at home. And I've ripped 'em off. What am I Wal?

Wal: I dunno.

[Michael looks very tired.]

Michael: Me neither.

Wal: It's not very nice.

Michael: No shit, Sherlock?

[Calvin's voice interrupts them. He has been outside supervising preparations fro the pageant.]

Calvin: Well I think everything is going to be fantastic frankly.

[Wal swings 'round and we see Calvin at the other end of the bar. The few regulars left in the bar applaud. Michael speaks. He tries to put on the booming voice but he falters]

Michael: Calvin, you are fantastic, dear friend...

Calvin: Michael, are you OK?

[He walks to Michael and sits by him, concerned.]

[Michael face is like stone. Wallace turns the camera on him. Nobody speaks for a moment.]

Wal: He's hungry. He's just got into town, we've been drinking all afternoon-

Calvin: Oh my god we've been plying you with drink for hours, I've forced you to MC the pageant, you've probably got the most horrendous case of culture shock, and I haven't even offered you a bite to eat. What must you think?

Michael: I think...

[He falters. Then the old Michael returns.]

Michael: I think I would love something to eat. I also think that you may be one of the nicest people in the world. As is Wal and so many of my new-found friends here. Let's eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die. And if we live - well we'll deal with the hangover and the indigestion in the morning. And I would like...

[He reaches into his pocket afterr pocket and pulls out handfulls of cash]

Michael: ...to make a contribution to the hospice.

Calvin: Oh Michael. No-

Michael: Not a word. Omen! Take this money and put it the pot for the hospice.

[Michael throws the money on the bar.]

Calvin: I'll rustle up a snack.

[Calvin bustles off, then turns back.]

Calvin: Michael, sweet boy, thank you.

[Calvin rushes off. Michael picks up a handful of the money on the bar and puts it back in his pocket, turns to Wal and smiles thinly.]

Michael: It's a start Wol, my son, it's a start.

[Cross-fade on a quiet, thin figure standing before a full length mirror in a room in back of the Hefalump. He is wearing an ivory coloured slip. Shoulders bony, cheekbones pronounced, breathing shallow. Held down around his knees is a beautiful dress. Eyes luminous, large, watching his image all the time, he lifts the dress and holds it up to his shoulders. It is clearly too big for him- his bare arms protrude, child-like in their spareness.]

[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 think we could do with a rest. Would you like to have a nap while I make myself even more beautiful?

Michael: Calvin.

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

Michael: Calvin.

[Michael belches, but immediately follows it with]

that's an excellent idea. I shall awake refreshed and ready for anything.

[Cut to 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 outside 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 bursts in, full of himself and drink. He stops. He 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 toughts 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 catwaalk.

[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.]

Michael: Wol, would you leave my new-found friend in peace for a moment.

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

[Mumble. The camera lowers and blackout.]

[The street. There is a ramp in the middle of the street. On one side is the Hungry Hefalump crowd. On the other, Jamies'. The ramp is pink, frou frou and wonderfully lacy. A procession emerges from the Hefalump. Michael leads carrying Chris, flanked by Calvin, in a tremendously ruffled frock with an A.A Milne motif. They take the stage at the top of the ramp. Wal's camera swings to the front of Jamie's bar. Jamie and his team have just emerged. Wal zooms in on Jamie, imperious and supremely confident. Jamie is flanked by Tilda, beautiful in a deep gold shimmering gown. Tilda's head is inclined to Jamie who is talking intently. As the group comes abreast of Wal his mike picks up Jamie saying...]

Jamie: ...of course it's a competition, and may the best queen win. But if it's not you, we fuck them over.

[Jamie suddenly sees Wal.]

Jamie: Get. Away. Now.

[Wal stumbles backwards onto the stage, and settles down at the corner. Jamie, slinky in a black slip dress - trŽs chic, trŽs dangereuse, a femme fatale if ever there was - cooly takes a stance on the stage looking as fatale as her frock. Sir Michael, puffing from the exertion, places Chris in a throne-like chair and then gently strokes a stray lock of Chris's wig into place. Michael's cheeks and nose have a bright red flush and he is beaming happily.]

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. She licks her lips and then says...]

Jamie: No thank you.

[She 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. Are'nt 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 deserviing 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.

[Micahel 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 obvously Jamies' protegŽ. 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 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 akes 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 anmals 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 in the 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. The image of Michael frozen on the throne gives way to a montage of old photgraphs of Michael, each younger than the rest. Credits run over the montage. The final photo is of Michael as a cute, innocent, eight year old boy.]

VO: Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed, Droops on the little hands little gold head. Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares! Christopher Robin is saying his prayers. God bless Mummy. I know that's right. Wasn't it fun in the bath tonight? The cold's so cold, and the hot's so hot. Oh! God bless Daddy- I quite forgot. If I open my fingers a little bit more, I can see Nanny's dressing-gown on the door. It's a beautiful blue, but it hasn't a hood. Oh! God bless Nanny and make her good. Mine has a hood, and I lie in bed, And pull the hood right over my head, And I shut my eyes, and I curl up small, And nobody knows that I'm there at all. Oh! Thank you, God, for a lovely day. And what was the other I had to say? I said "Bless Daddy," so what can it be? Oh! Now I remember. God bless me. Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed, Droops on the little hands little gold head. Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares! Christopher Robin is saying his prayers. -from 'When We Were Very Young', by A.A. Milne, Copyright E.P. Dutton 1924

[Music: Tank Park Salute by Billy Bragg. Credits.]

- End -