| Sneak Peeks |
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THE CLOAK A Television Comedy Series by Tad Williams EPISODE ONE "HIS AWESOME ORIGIN!" FADE IN: A COMIC BOOK PAGE: We see a drawing of a
PAIR OF GLOVES. Printed over them, in huge thrilling lettering, it reads: "THE
CLOAK — HIS AWESOME ORIGIN!" The drawing
dissolves into a real-life version of the same thing... INT. — ERIC'S HOUSE IN SIDCUP: THE
SHRINE — NIGHT Flickering candlelight. The gloves are resting on top of a pair of
pants. As we pull back, we see that the
pants are on a chair, and that a uniform coat is draped over the back — a bus
conductor's uniform. A hand (MUM's)
comes into the frame and arranges the gloves more neatly. We pull farther back and see MUM, a sixty-ish
lady in an apron, with spectacles on a cord around her neck, looking carefully
at the new arrangement. MUM takes a step to the dresser behind
the chair. The entire room is a shrine
to ERIC'S DAD. Candles burn in front of
a picture of him in his bus conductor's uniform. His ticket machine and pocket-watch are
arranged in front of the picture. MUM gazes reverently on the arrangement,
then frowns and leans very close to the watch, lifts her glasses, then checks
it against her own watch. MUM Oooh.
Sorry, George. She turns and hurriedly leaves the room
as we CUT TO: INT. — THE KITCHEN — NIGHT The KITCHEN, DINING ROOM, and LIVING ROOM
are divided only by open doorways, the whole arrangement perhaps 30 feet from
wall to wall. The decor is big on
porcelain knicknacks and paintings of dogs playing poker. ERIC WORBY, 30-ish, quiet and somewhat
fuzzy-edged, stands in the kitchen doorway. ERIC Mum!
Is there anything to eat? His mother is just sitting down on the
sofa. She roots for the remote and
points it at the television, bringing up the sound. MUM My show's on. ERIC makes a resigned face and retreats
to the kitchen. He pulls open the refrigerator. TV
ANNOUNCER (VO) Next up, real-life crime drama in "You're
Nicked!" GROOVY DRAMATIC CRIME-SHOW THEME MUSIC
fills the small house. ERIC (inspecting
refrigerator) I don't see anything! MUM (watching
telly) There's lovely beans. ERIC lifts out the open can and makes a
face. He holds them at arm's length as
he returns to the door. ERIC They're covered in mould! MUM (not
worried) It's the climate, dear. DISSOLVE TO: INT. — KITCHEN — MINUTES LATER ERIC has made himself a Marmite sandwich
and a glass of milk. With these in his
hands and a magazine under his arm, he walks to the dining room table. There are no chairs. ERIC Mum!
Where are the chairs? MUM I'm drying the hall carpet. ERIC peers out through the window into
the small back garden. The hall carpet,
rolled up, is stretched across three chairs.
He shakes his head. MUM
(cont.) You can eat in here if you don't
talk. Bring my custard, will you? ERIC retreats to the kitchen and returns,
now balancing the custard bowl along with everything else. As he enters the LIVING ROOM, MUM is watching
TV. We CUT TO: ANGLE ON: TV SCREEN A man in a rather raffish TV
ANNOUNCER (VO) Petty thief and extortionist Carlo Munken
thinks he's won a free cruise from a local radio station... ERIC struggles to put everything down on
the coffee table without spilling. MUM
grabs her custard without taking her eyes off the TV. She fumbles in her apron and takes out a
large napkin which she tucks into the neck of her blouse, then takes a large
spoon from another pocket. MUM That's a lovely suit he has. ERIC (looking
up briefly) He's a criminal, Mum. A doer-of-evil. MUM (eyeing
ERIC's old jumper) Well, it never did anyone any harm to
dress nicely. ANGLE ON: TV SCREEN A heavyset man, looking uncomfortable in
a bright shell-suit, is smiling unconvincingly while smacking a badminton
racket against his open palm. TV
ANNOUNCER (VO) ...What Carlo doesn't know is that the
Cruise Recreation Director is really Inspector Bob Bridwell of the Fraud Squad! MUM (sighing) Your father used to love this show. ERIC He was never home in time to see it. MUM He used to love hearing me tell about it
while he was reading his paper. ERIC lifts his magazine up to shut out
the screen. It is, we see, a COMIC BOOK.
We DISSOLVE TO: INT. — ERIC'S ROOM — NIGHT, THREE HOURS
LATER ERIC has clearly had his room since
childhood. There are magazines piled
everywhere, airplane models (some dangling from the ceiling) and
20-year-outdated pictures of football players. ERIC's bed is a BUNKBED. He's in the upper half, in his pajamas,
reading another comic book. MUM appears in the open doorway and
knocks at the frame. She is wearing the
most awful housecoat imaginable. MUM Did you check all the windows? ERIC (not
looking up: it's a ritual) Yes, mum.
Everything's locked. MUM I wouldn't want to see that Carlo fellow
coming in through my window of a night.
Makes my stomach turn over just thinking about it... ERIC (still
reading) Everything's locked, Mum. She lingers in the doorway. MUM Are you going in to work tomorrow? ERIC It's Friday tomorrow. I work Monday to Friday, Mum. When have I ever not gone in on a Friday? MUM (reasonably) You had that cough. ERIC That was November, three years ago. Yes, I'm going in to work. MUM Just wondering. And you checked the windows? ERIC stares at her. She shrugs and
wanders off. ERIC returns to his comic. ANGLE ON: COMIC BOOK The cover title is "TRIUMPHANT MAN". The picture shows the superhero fighting for
his life against an all-devouring blob. ERIC (reading
aloud quietly) "But I can never reveal my secret
identity, for fear that those closest to me might suffer at the hands of
unscrupulous evil. Despite all my
powers, sometimes it is a terrible burden, being... ERIC lays back and stares at the ceiling,
as we FADE TO: EXT. — ERIC'S HOUSE: FRONT PORCH —
MORNING ERIC descends the front steps, both hands
engaged in clinging to his briefcase and pulling on his windbreaker. Two pieces of Marmited toast are clamped in
his mouth. Across the street, someone's
CAR ALARM is whooping over and over and over. MUM appears around the side of the house,
again in her awful housecoat, carrying a huge, damp, rolled carpet. MUM Eric!
Stop! You forgot to take the
money for the lottery! ERIC Mmmmf? MUM Here, hold this. Don't let it on the ground — it's clean. She hands him the carpet, which squishes
damply against his shirt and pants. As
she disappears through the front door, he awkwardly tries to balance it with
his other burdens. His windbreaker is
still only half-on, the toast still in his mouth. After a few moments, his mother reappears
with a tattered coin-purse. MUM
(cont.) Now, get me five. She laboriously counts out five pound coins,
then starts to hand him a folded piece of paper. He nearly drops things trying to grab it; his
mother keeps taking it back, doing a complicated act with her glasses
re-checking the numbers. MUM
(cont.) I've written out the numbers for you. (smiles
nostalgically) They're from your father's old timetable
on his Dulwich to Bermondsey route. You
remember, one of his regulars there was that woman with the terrible skin
problem who always wanted to pay by checque... ERIC (trying
to give her back the carpet) Rmmf mrmnf. Mmmmff! MUM You shouldn't stand around, dear, you're
going to be late. Oh, and don't forget,
we need to air the tea-towels tonight because Helen's coming over
tomorrow. We're going to get that
Tandoori chicken pizza from the takeaway. ERIC looks at her crossly, then finally
dumps the carpet against the stair railing, grunts again, then turns and heads
down the sidewalk, still trying to struggle into his windbreaker. MUM (calling
after) Now, how can you even see where you're
going, walking around with your mouth full? She stands on the porch, worriedly
watching him go, as we CUT TO: INT. — HIGH STREET NEWSAGENT — MORNING,
MINUTES LATER ERIC is standing in line behind a LARGE
MAN who is leaning on the counter chatting up the young cashier. ERIC glances
at his watch. LARGE
MAN ...Oh, you might think that being a
plasterer wasn't a dangerous job, but I could tell you stories... COLIN enters. He's a nice-looking black man with
interesting hair, slightly younger than ERIC and much better dressed. COLIN Yo, Eric.
How are things this morning? ERIC Fine, Colin. Just getting my mother's lottery tickets... COLIN meanwhile has sized up the
situation. He leans past the LARGE MAN
and addresses the cashier. COLIN 20 Silk Cut, please. She gives him the cigarettes, he gives
her the money. COLIN turns to ERIC again
as he goes back out the door. COLIN See you at the sweatshop. ERIC smiles weakly, still waiting. LARGE
MAN ...And he was trying to tell me how to do
corners! I says to him, "Listen, mate, maybe that pack o' shite goes down well
where you come from..." ERIC at last decides he must act. He leans forward, doing his best to stay out
of the LARGE MAN's bodyspace. ERIC Ummm...? The CASHIER stares at him as though he
has just farted. The LARGE MAN turns on him with an irritated, menacing
glance. ERIC shuffles back a step and
waves his hand, smiling anxiously as if to say: "By all means, carry on!" as we
DISSOLVE TO: INT. — PERFECT PACKAGES — MORNING, FIFTEEN
MINUTES LATER PP is a small delivery firm — perhaps a
dozen or fewer people in the office.
Eric is a dispatcher. He has his
own desk, blotter, and telephone. COLIN,
a driver, is gossiping with SERENA, ERIC's unrequited love, a pretty dispatcher
in her mid-20s. Already looking exhausted, ERIC drags in
and sets his briefcase down on his desk and takes off his windbreaker. COLIN You made it, then. SERENA Good morning, Eric. ERIC Erm.
Hello. (he
is now stuck for conversation) I'm...I'm just... (indicates
box on the counter) ...just going to have a doughnut. COLIN Wow.
You really start the day at a fever pitch, don't you? ERIC scuttles toward the doughnut box as
COLIN and SERENA resume chatting. ERIC
stops before the box, transfixed. We see
that there are THREE sprinkle doughnuts and ONE plain chocolate. ERIC (in
quiet raptures) Can it be? Sprinkle doughnuts left! Many, many, many of them! Doughnuts of joy! (delighted,
he looks them over) And one of them will be mine! Ah, but which? Should I choose for the pointillistic beauty
of the pattern? (humming,
he peers closely at one) Very nice grouping. Or should I select for sheer abundance of
tiny, lovely, friendly sprinkles? (he
inspects another, sighing
with pleasure) I so seldom get a choice... ERIC's boss, Mister BLINDER, has appeared
behind him. BLINDER is early 40s, a bit
of a lad with a teddy boy quiff and cowboy boots. BLINDER Worby! ERIC, nose-down in the doughnut box and
singing to himself, jumps. ERIC Oh! Good morning, Mister Blinder. BLINDER For god sakes, I'm not your bloody
grandfather. My name's Reg. Got it?
Reg! ERIC Yes, sir. BLINDER holds up a piece of paper. BLINDER Now tell me what the hell that says. ERIC (squinting) Bushey Heath? ERIC's eyes widen as BLINDER seizes one
of the sprinkle doughnuts from the box and wolfs it in large bites as he
continues to bark at ERIC. BLINDER Right.
Exactly. And can you explain why
you wrote Bushey Heath when the pick-up was in Bexleyheath? And why I sent a driver almost all the
frigging way out to ERIC Because I made a very bad mistake, Mister
Blinder? BLINDER Reg!
Because-I-made-a-very-bad-mistake,
Reg! Yes! And if it happens again I will flay all the
skin off your body and roll you in rock salt!
Get me? An OFFICE WORKER has approached the
doughnut box; ERIC stares with despair as the man ponders, then takes another
of the sprinkle doughnuts. ERIC's
bugging eyes follow the doughnut away. BLINDER Worby!
Are you totally daft? Do you hear
what I'm saying? I'm talking to you,
son! To ERIC's utter horror, COLIN now
approaches the doughnut box. ERIC tries to keep looking at BLINDER, but he's
frantic to see what COLIN's doing. ERIC (nodding
rapidly) No.
Yes. I absolutely deserve to be
tortured and killed. It won't happen
ever again, I swear by all that's holy. Reg. BLINDER stares, then snorts in disgust
and returns to his cubicle. Released,
ERIC leaps toward the doughnuts, thrusts himself between them and COLIN, and
curls his lip dog-fashion, GROWLING. COLIN Whoo, calm down there, mate. Now I know how a mother doughnut behaves when
her young are threatened. ERIC (slightly
crazed) I...never...get a good doughnut. COLIN I've had my morning pastry, Eric. Honestly.
I was just getting some tea and eavesdropping on your chat with
Elvis. So, you got your mum's tickets
all right? ERIC lovingly picks up the last sprinkle
doughnut. He stares at it, unable to
believe his luck. ERIC Yes.
I bought one, too. For myself, I
mean. I just said, "Why not?" and bought
it. COLIN You are
living large today. ERIC (so
happy, he is dancing with
his doughnut) Maybe this doughnut is a sign my luck is
changing. I picked the lottery numbers
very carefully. One for Triumphant Man's
first issue — the one where he got his powers.
Seven for issue 7, the first appearance of Doctor Dreadful. 23, because that's the issue where you find
out that the Black Sparrow is really Triumphant Man's dermatologist... COLIN But what would you do if you won the
lottery, anyway? You already have a
whole house for just you and your mum. ERIC If I won?
Who knows? Tell Blinder to...to
drop dead, for a start. Travel the
world. Buy a copy of Triumphant Man #1
— it would be an excellent investment... (looks
across the room; quietly:) Ask Serena out on a date. COLIN Eric, mate, you don't need a million
pounds to ask her out. She's a nice
girl. ERIC finally takes a single small bite of
his doughnut. He chews and swallows, enjoying it hugely. ERIC Yes.
She's a very, very nice girl. SERENA (calling) Eric? SERENA is on the other side of the room,
but he starts as though she might have heard him talking about her. SERENA
(cont.) Eric, I'm stuck on hold. Could you bring me one of those sprinkly
doughnuts? Pretty please? COLIN looks in the box, then at ERIC's
one-bite-missing doughnut, laughs and walks away. ERIC looks into the box and sees that the
only remaining doughnut is plain chocolate.
He looks at SERENA, who smiles at him.
He is undergoing a crisis of conscience.
At last, he blocks her view of the box, puts his own doughnut down, and
begins transferring the sprinkles one by one to the plain doughnut. When he finishes, he puts the rebuilt doughnut
on a little napkin and takes it to her.
She is still on hold. SERENA Oh, thanks. Without looking, she takes the doughnut
and puts it to one side. He stares at
it, then at her, looks down at the scarred, sprinkle-less doughnut in his own
hand and visibly sighs. We DISSOLVE TO: EXT. — HIGH STREET — EVENING, HOURS
LATER ERIC is walking home, briefcase dangling,
shoulders slumped. He passes the
newsagent. The Evening Standard sign
reads: "PM SAYS CRIME NUMBER ONE PRIORITY". ERIC stops in front of LITTLE SHOP OF
HORROR next door. In the window, in the
midst of monster masks, action figures, and other comic books, is a copy of
TRIUMPHANT MAN #1 with a price tag of £1900.00. On the cover, dressed in blue and yellow,
TRIUMPHANT MAN is an awesome specimen of muscles and chiseled good looks. As ERIC looks at it longingly he sees his own
REFLECTION superimposed over the comic and tries to pull himself up straight
and hold his shoulders back. After a
moment he gives up and returns to his jellyfish posture. We see his REFLECTION turn and slouch away
as we DISSOLVE TO: INT. — ERIC'S HOUSE/LIVING ROOM —
SATURDAY NIGHT ERIC, his MUM, and her friend HELEN (a
woman of MUM's age, but dressed and coiffed like a teenager) are sitting on the
sofa in front of the TV. A pizza box is
on the table and they all have plates in their laps. ERIC is reading a comic. A quavery CHILD'S VOICE is finishing some
ghastly show-tune on the TV.) MUM Go on, dear, have the last piece. HELEN I couldn't. I'm that full. MUM Don't be silly. With that figure. Have it. The song ends. LOTTERY
HOST (VO) Brilliant, brilliant. Little Anna Himble, MUM Take it, Helen. I'm stuffed. HELEN Maureen, I swear I'll heave if I do! ERIC leans forward to take the last
piece. His MUM smacks his wrist and
pulls the box away. MUM Eric!
We have a guest! HELEN Ooh, look they're drawing the numbers. MUM puts the pizza box on the floor, out
of reach, so they can spread their lottery tickets on the table. MUM I feel quite faint with anticipation. ERIC, who has regretfully given up on the
pizza, fishes around in his pocket, looking for his ticket. HELEN (looking
at LOTTERY HOST) What has he done to his hair? LOTTERY
HOST (VO) And here's the first ball...7! The first number is seven! MUM It's a wig. They all wear wigs these days. Did he say seven? LOTTERY
HOST (VO) ...I believe, Number 23! Anna, can you bring that over here so the
folks at home can see? We'll wait. Yes!
Twenty-three! HELEN (bitterly,
staring at her card) It's fixed, you know. It was in the paper. They've hushed it up, of course. MUM Maybe I shouldn't have used Dulwich to
Bermondsey. George was on the Lewisham
route almost as long, until he developed the knee problem... ANGLE ON: ERIC ERIC, in the course of looking for his
ticket, has pulled a whole variety of ODD THINGS out of his pocket — a Swiss
army knife, a squirting lapel-flower, a snake-bite kit, a dinosaur
trading-card, a sock... The TV and MUM
and HELEN's conversation FADE DOWN as he off-handedly hunts for the ticket and
REACTS to the objects. At last he finds it — wrinkled and
folded — and brings it out. Still not
very focussed, he looks at it, then looks at the TV. It takes a moment for him to realize that he
has ALL FOUR NUMBERS RIGHT. ERIC Erm...uh... HELEN Derek, down the street? He got three right — he won a tenner! Played three years and he finally won! MUM Ooh, he's a lucky man. ERIC is already in mild shock, looking
back and forth from his ticket to the screen. MUM and HELEN are oblivious. LOTTERY
HOST (VO) Anna, love, could you just stand back a
little now? Thanks, darlin'. And the fifth ball is...44! Number forty-four! ERIC's eyes bug out. He hunches his shoulders and leans very close
to the screen. HELEN That can't be a wig. MUM Didn't you read what his wife did to
him? Three months in a special scalp
clinic, he was, when she'd finished. But
he had it coming. LOTTERY
HOST (VO) It's rolling down now. One little number, but it could mean eight
million pounds to some lucky person! ERIC is leaning closer still, until his
nose touches the screen. LOTTERY
HOST (VO, Cont.) It's...One! Number one! ERIC contorts his face and sucks in a
huge breath, gasping like he's having a heart attack. For a moment he rises, staggers a little,
almost falls over, then turns around and drops onto the couch like a stone,
eyes glassy. He still holds the ticket
clutched in his hand as HELEN rises. HELEN I don't know why I even watch it. Well, Mo, I should be running. Beauty sleep, y'know. ERIC (weakly) I won... MUM What's that, dear? ERIC Won...won... MUM (sadly) No, I didn't get a single number. Not a single number. HELEN I told you, Maureen, it's fixed. No one
real ever wins. MUM escorts her to the door, leaving ERIC
sitting on the couch, still clutching his ticket, eyes bulging, as we FADE TO: INT. — ERIC'S HOUSE/LIVING ROOM —
NIGHT, HALF HOUR LATER MUM is on her way off to bed, wearing her
terrible house coat. ERIC is still sitting in front of the TV, stunned. MUM You will turn that off when you go to
bed, dear, won't you? And check the windows? When there is no reply, she trundles off
to bed as we DISSOLVE TO: INT. — ERIC'S HOUSE/LIVING ROOM —
SUNDAY MORNING MUM is wearing her best coat and a
hat. ERIC is still sitting glassy-eyed
in front of the television, still clutching his ticket. SPORTS
ANNOUNCER (V.O.) ...They play a very plucky game, these
Italians. SPORTS
ANNOUNCER #2 (V.O.) Very plucky indeed. More pluck than you can shake a stick at. MUM Eric, dear, I'm off to church. Are you sure you don't want to come? (waits
for reply, gets none) I'm not sure this much television is good
for your eyes, dear. She shakes her head and exits. ERIC
stares. DISSOLVE TO: INT. — ERIC'S HOUSE/LIVING ROOM —
SUNDAY AFTERNOON ERIC is still sitting in front of the TV
as MUM wanders in, pushing the NATURE
SHOW HOST (VO) ...this particular salmon is on the
Endangered Species list, in no small part because of its unique habit of
swimming downstream to spawn. As you can
see here, this results in some painful collisions with other salmon... While the ANNOUNCER speaks, MUM Hoovers
around ERIC and continues on her way.
ERIC stares blankly at the television screen and we watch as TIME SPEEDS
UP. ERIC remains static, but the sun
moves across the sky, then sets. The
lights go on. We see MUM occasionally
whisk through on some strange errand or another, then at last flash up the
stairs in her housecoat. ERIC is still
sitting in the darkened living room in front of the TV Test Card as we DISSOLVE
TO: EXT. — HIGH STREET — MONDAY MORNING ERIC lurches zombie-like down the street
past the newsagent. The sign reads:
"LOTTERY MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY". A crowd
of reporters are fighing like pit bulls to get inside, shouting questions at
someone within. They almost crush ERIC
as he makes his way past, oblivious, and we CUT TO: INT. — PERFECT PACKAGES — MINUTES LATER COLIN, SERENA, and MARLA (another driver,
a stocky woman in her 20s) are gossiping by the tea bar as ERIC staggers in. MARLA ...I heard it on the radio! COLIN I don't believe it! From that
shop? SERENA It might be someone we know! Oh my god, what would you do with eight
million pounds?! COLIN Hey, Eric, did you hear the news? ERIC, oblivious, flops at his desk and
stares at his blotter. MISTER BLINDER
appears from his cubicle. BLINDER Worby!
Is it seventeen minutes after nine, or have I gone daft as a frigging
brush? ERIC (quietly
dazed) |