The Proto-tagonist™
John David Washington barges into an office. It’s his agent’s.
“Well?”
“Well what, John?”
“You saw the weekend numbers, right?”
“Yeah, they’re great.”
“And so you get my point.”
“I still don’t understand your point. But I get what you want.”
John David sits down in the chair across from his agent’s desk.
“Carven. I need you to find the magic. I need a more open, clear pathway to some… better leading characters.”
“You said this last time. I promise you I’m looking.”
“Last time I didn’t have a huge opening weekend and my face plastered on every billboard across town. Something about iron, and striking it— hot—or something. What’s out there? Do something, Carven.”
Carven (white, early 40s) sighs, then opens his email inbox on the monitor on his desk. He scrolls through.
“I mean: look. You passed up on the Morpheus reboot series. A lot of good stuff in there about sacrifice, but you thought it wasn’t meaty enough. You also said ‘No TV’. Someone already pitched us an Equalizer prequel thing. You’re not doing that. Who could blame you?”
Carven looks over to John David to double check if that does anything for him. No response.
“Star Wars, no. Book of Eli reboot, definitely no. Look, JD. There is some BIG stuff in here, and if I was a betting man I just don’t think you’ll be into it. None of these feel like what you told me you’re looking for. I could read them off but I’m not sure it’s even worth our ti—andddd now you’re not even listening to me.”
John David with a thousand yard stare. The one that’s made him a star.
“Carven. You’re fired.”
“Fired?”
“Yeah, fired.”
“Get a grip, JD. You’re not firing me.”
“I am.”
The cycles of grief flash before Carven’s eyes. This isn’t a joke.
“JD, JD.”
John David gets up, heading for the door. Carven gets up, too.
“Look, look, look. JD. I’m working here. On your behalf, daily. I have all these guys—top guys—some of the best in the biz who KNOW your pedigree. They know how you do—how do yo thang. That’s because of me, baby. Who got you the tole of The Protagonist? Who introduced you to Christopher Nolan’s brother? That’s me, baby! Take a second here, JD. I KNOW what you’re asking for, but the landscape needs to produce it first!”
“Carven, I’m not seeing what I want to see. I’m working. But I’m not WORKING working. I want Will Smith in Bad Boys 2, Will Smith in Men in Black, man. Not Will Smith in Bagger Vance. I want pops in John Q, pops in Training Day. Not pops in Much Ado About Nothing. I don’t wanna Ado Nothin’ like that. I want that shot at immortality, man. I want that one role they can remember me by. And I need to find representation who understands this. I’m sorry.”
John David begins to walk out. Carven grabs John David by the wrist. There’s desperation in his eyeballs:
“Okay, okay, okay. I hear you.”
John David looks down at the wrist.
“JD. Brother. Give me a week. Actually, two weeks. I’ll show you I can find the kind of leading man, the brotha, that you’ve been seeking. He’s somewhere in this town. I know somebody’s writing him. Just… give me some time. I’ll sniff it out. I’ll find it.”
John David doesn’t budge. Carven, pointing to the walls:
“Look. Look.”
There are posters all over of John David’s different roles, evidence of his leading man status: Tenet, The Creator, Amsterdam, Malcolm & Marie, BlacKkKlansman, Beckett. There are set photos from each of these films of him posing next to Carven.
“All that we’ve built together? Come on, JD. My guy. What I’m hearing you saying is that we have a new challenge ahead of us; one that we got to overcome together. We got to get creative. That’s what I’m hearing. And guess what? I’m game for it…
In fact, I’m the guy for it. Just give me a couple weeks, and then you can decide whatever you want.”
John David locks eyes with Carven.
“You have 3 days.”
John David exits. Music plays over as we move into—
Carven running across a crowded intersection, bumping into people. He’s in a real hurry. The non-diegetic music playing over this part—and the next several parts—fully covers up the dialogue and ambient sounds.
Carven stumbles into a local coffee shop, out of breath.
The coffee shop is full of screenwriter hopefuls, tapping away furiously at their keyboards.
He’s shouting, and everyone in the coffee shop stops what they’re doing and turns to see him ask for something. He holds a fat wad of cash in his hand and waves it around. They look around at each other, perplexed. They all begin to slowly shake their heads no. His plea falls on deaf ears, as no one can oblige.
He hustles out of the cafe.
Carven, on the phone, strung out, negotiating with somebody.
He hangs up, disappointed, dropping the phone from his ear, but then immediately puts a second phone to his other ear.
While on that call, he answers another call via the first phone. On some Kevin Gates type shit.
He goes back and forth between the two phones, connected to both ears, getting rejected and alternating his conversations, mixing up his sentiment between calls, but staying locked in… until both phones simultaneously result in what looks like a resounding no.
Nothing doing.
Carven bursts into the front doors of a rival talent agency. The receptionist at the desk is aghast as he walks briskly past her. Then, Carven bursts through the office door of a black agent in his mid-40s, an old friend. There is still non-diegetic music playing over this, and dialogue isn’t audible.
The two agents shake hands and Carven sighs before making a confession. He pleads with the black agent. The black agent laughs out loud as a sort of “welcome to my world”.
The black agent walks up to Carven and pats him on the shoulder, calming him down. There, there. Carven looks up with hope, wide eyes. In a sort of “so you have something for me?” way.
The black agent sits back down and shakes his head dismissively, to the tune of “oh, no. of course not. I wouldn’t give that to you even if I had it, silly.”
Carven is crestfallen. He sulks out of the office.
Carven is back at his desk, tired.
But then, a burst of energy.
He has an idea.
Early the next morning. Carven still at his desk. He’s typing furiously.
His printer spits out a stack of paper and he hands them to his assistant just outside of his office. He stands there chewing his fingernails as she reads it. He hurries her.
His assistant begins chewing her fingernails as she reads. She glances up at Carven periodically, pacing nearby.
She finishes. He looks at her with open emotions, ready for a response, but really hoping for a specific one.
She gives him a “eh” face. He throws a tantrum.
Carven is back at his desk. He slumps down in the chair.
Falls asleep.
Broad daylight.
John David walking towards his car, leaving the gym. This sequence has regular sound, no more music overlay.
Carven walks up to him, strung out, stopping him before he gets to his vehicle.
“Heya bud!”
“Carven.”
“Look, I won’t keep you. But I need a couple more days. I think I can crack this thing. But it’s gonna take some more time. I’ve been trying, and I’m close. Please, JD.”
John David scoots by, unlocking the door to a really expensive sports car.
“Sorry, man. I told you what I want. You still have a day.”
“Buddy. I’m begging you.”
“Let me know what you find, Carven. If not, then you know what happens next.”
“JD. Please.”
“Good luck… buddy.”
John David gets in the car and pulls off. Through a CRACKED right side mirror, we see Carven stressed out in the middle of the parking lot, rubbing his scalp. John David doesn’t notice the crack.
Inside John David’s car, he’s listening to hip-hop music. The car stereo has pristine sound balance.
Then, an incoming call on the CarPlay system, from a “Devin”. John answers to an enthusiastic personality.
“J-Dub! What up bruh!”
“Shit man, ain’t too much bro. Just left the gym. Trying to figure out what my next move is, you know. But I’m chillin.”
“Yo. That’s a bet. I actually wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine. She says that she might have something for you.”
“The shorty you been telling me about?”
“Nigga, you know exactly who I’m talking about.”
“What she on?”
“You gotta come and find out man. But as soon as she got it ready, she told me to reach out. She’s giving you a first look at it. I told her you wanna look at things without… the uh… the middle man. You good to come in alone?”
“You know I am. I’m on my way.”
John David hangs up.
John David pries open the doors of a talent agency. The decor feels more and more familiar to us as he enters.
That’s because it’s the same agency that Carven visited. The receptionist at the desk makes googly eyes with John David: he smiles back.
“You’re here to see Devin, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“Right this way.”
John David, opening an office door.
Across from him as he enters is Devin, sitting behind his desk grinning ear to ear. It’s the same agent from before. A young, beautiful lady (mid 30s, black) is sitting down in the chair across from the desk, where Carven just was. They both stand and welcome him in.
Getting a good look at Devin’s office, it’s spacious and the view is stunning, with a long, aggressively curved corner window that overlooks the city. Somewhat futuristic.
“Yo J-Dub! Ha-haaaa!”
John David and Devin give each other a dap and a warm embrace.
“This is Asia.”
She greets him with a smile:
“So good to meet you, John David. I like the leisurely approach.”
John David scans his gym clothing. He looks over to Devin who’s wearing full suit down to a pair of elevated alligator pups, and Asia who is dressed business casual.
“Thank you, thank you.”
“Well, I won’t beat around the bush, John David. But I’ve been writing something that I think you should take a look at. I know your agent isn’t here, but this couldn’t wait. You think he’ll mind?”
Devin jumps in to add:
“Erm, uh. Asia is a 2-time Emmy winner and she’s been doing amazing stuff all over town. She has a real voice.”
[To Devin]: “That’s what’s up!”
[Then to Asia] “And uhhhh. No, I don’t think he would mind. Not at this point. Let’s hear it.”
Asia takes a deep breath and launches into her pitch as we cut to—
Back in John David’s car. Music blasting.
John David is real pensive, but he’s nodding his head. A glimmer of a smirk bleeds through as he cruises down an LA street with several cars on the road around him. He’s replaying the high points of the pitch he just heard.
The car comes to a halt at a traffic light.
He smiles.
Using the dial on his car system, he shuffles through his favorite contacts on the car’s media display: Carven, Pops, Mom and other familiar names pop up in a list. The highlighted cursor lingers on Carven… but then moves on to “Pops”.
John David takes a deep breath, preparing to call—
—just as:
In the rear view mirror, John David sees something. A huge accident happening, cars are tumbling and flying, swerving out of the way. And out of the fray emerges another car: A black Audi SUV is SPEEDING in the same direction of traffic, but BACKWARDS. Yup, backwards. The inertia, the physics: it’s all in reverse.
His eyes widen and his jaw drops.
The BACKWARDS-MOVING Audi, windows tinted, is coming up on him, one lane to his right. He turns his head to to look through the side mirror, finally noticing: it’s CRACKED. He is perplexed for a moment, but quickly refocuses back to the action at hand.
John David slams on the brakes. The BACKWARDS-MOVING Audi SPEEDS past him, clipping his car but “healing” the cracked side mirror back to new. Huh?
John David, a Hollywood actor, has seen just about everything… but even he is stunned. Cars all around are pulling over to get out of the fray. He puts on his hazard lights, as the backwards speeding Audi zooms further out of view.
He drives ahead, cautiously, hoping to avoid whatever nonsense that was.
He passes a few more traffic lights when—
Up ahead, he sees a silver Saab, motionless and perpendicular in the middle of a lane, stifling the flow of traffic. It’s pretty banged up.
The California license plate says “CARVO4U”, and John David immediately knows whose car this is. It’s Carven’s.
John David gets out and walks up to the drivers side of the Saab. He can’t see in because the windows are tinted.
John David bangs on the window, trying to get Carven’s attention. To no avail—so he flings open the door.
Only, there’s no one in the driver’s seat. There’s just a melanated crash test dummy, sitting in the passenger’s seat: A brown-skinned, lifeless figure with the calibration marks on the side of the head, just sitting there with a seatbelt on.
In the dummy’s lap is a thick, unbound stack of papers.
Taped to the steering wheel is another piece of paper. It says:
GET IN NOW, JD!
and in parentheses:
(And PUT ON your seatbelt!)
John David does exactly that. But, now what? What’s going on exactly?
John David doesn’t see a key in the ignition. So he feels around for it, to no avail.
He looks over to the stack of papers. In a small courier font on the front of it, it says:
“The Proto-tagonist”
by John David Washington
It’s a screenplay.
Written by him apparently.
John David’s eyes widen.
“H-h… huh?”
He reaches over to pick up the stack when—
BOOOOM!
An armored Jeep, moving in forward motion, slams RIGHT into the Saab, shattering the windows and causing it to do several flips. John David braces for impact as the car tumbles and tumbles, finally landing upside down.
The stack of papers scatter everywhere inside the car and out onto the street.
John David is panicking. He hangs upside down, with shattered glass everywhere around him.
We see a well-suited man out of focus, walking out of the armored Jeep, and up to the Saab. The man walks closer and closer and through the crunched driver’s side window we see only feet: a clean pair of alligator brogues.
John David beckons:
“Hey! Call for help!!!”
The man leans down to pick up the pages of the screenplay scattered onto the street. He speaks:
“I think this is the end of line for you, Carven. Game over.”
It’s Devin. With a sinister look on his face.
Devin pulls out a lighter and burns the handful of pages clustered in his hand. He tosses them aside in a small fiery heap.
John David beckons louder.
“Hey!!! Hey!! DEVIN!!”
Devin stops for a moment:
“Oh shit.”
Devin gets down low, looking into the car to verify the voice:
“Fuck.”
The two men lock panicked eyes. John David reaches out to him with his free hand. Devin reaches, but past John David’s face: he grabs the loose scattered screenplay pages inside the car and collects them.
“W-What are you doing? Get me outta here!”
“What I should have done a long time ago, my brotha. You’ll understand soon enough.”
Devin, backing away with a bulk of the papers collected, gets into the Jeep and drives off. He leaves John David hanging, literally.
For John David, the adrenaline is wearing off. The blood, rushing to his head. He looks to his right and sees the grim, anti-expression of the crash dummy hanging right next to him. Things start to go blurry.
He passes out.
TO BE CONTINUED…
