HUMAN RIGHTS SCRIPT ENTRY for Scott H Mitchell (Yielding).
INT. MILITARY OFFICE/ GUANTANIMO BAY.
THE AMERICAN COMMANDING OFFICER (PATTON) IS SAT BEHIND HIS DESK IN FULL UNIFORM.
ON THE DESK ARE PAPERS, A LAMP AND AN INTERCOM ETC.
IN FRONT OF THE DESK IS A VACANT CHAIR.
A PRIVATE ENTERS CARRYING TWO CHAIRS AND PLACES THEM BESIDE THE VACANT ONE.
PATTON:
Three chairs?
THE PRIVATE STANDS TO ATTENTION.
PRIVATE:
Hip, hip!
PATTON:
No, no… chairs, (indicates chairs) why three?
PRIVATE:
Oh, right, yes. The Patels are here sir.
PATTON:
The Patels?
PRIVATE:
Yes sir, they arrived from England yesterday.
PATTON:
England? Who picked them up?
PRIVATE:
Nobody sir. They arrived at the gate in a yellow Datsun.
PATTON: (FROWNING)
Voluntary detention?
PRIVATE:
Seems that way sir.
PATTON:
Well… that’s a new one. Okay, send them in.
PRIVATE:
Yes sir.
THE PRIVATE OPENS THE DOOR.
PRIVATE: (TO PATELS)
Okay, come on in.
MOTHER, FATHER AND JUNIOR PATEL (INDIAN FAMILY) SHUFFLE IN.
ALL ARE WEARING ORANGE JUMP SUITS AND THEY ARE CHAINED TOGETHER AT THE ANKLES.
JUNIOR PATEL IS LISTENING TO HIS I-POD.
THEY AWKWARDLY SHUFFLE TO THE SEATS (IN FORMATION) AND SIT DOWN.
PATTON:
Now, it seems that you came here of your own free…
THE MOTHER INTERRUPTS LOUDLY.
MOTHER:
Dat-dat-dat! Before you start with the greetings, my husband would like to make a complaint.
PATTON:
A complaint?
MOTHER:
Yes, a complaint.
PATTON EXCHANGES AN AMUSED SHRUG WITH THE PRIVATE.
PATTON: (TO FATHER)
Okay… go ahead.
FATHER:
When we booked our chalet, we asked for two-bedrooms, en-suite bathrooms, a mini-bar and a sea-view, but instead we were given one room with no windows, a bucket to pee in and a leaky roof! This was not what we were led to expect from the brochure!
PATTON:
Brochure? I don’t think…
MOTHER:
Dat-dat-dat! Do not interrupt when my husband is complaining! He is a very important man in the Chigwell community!
PATTON AGAIN EXCHANGES AN AMUSED LOOK WITH THE PRIVATE.
FATHER:
Second of all, we were led to believe that the gymnasium was optional, and while we are sure that being beaten every evening with a rubber hose is a good way to keep fit - we did not come here to lose weight!
PATTON:
I’m not sure you…
MOTHER:
Dat-dat-dat!
PATTON IS A LITTLE MORE PUT OUT BY THIS INTERRUPTION.
JUNIOR REMOVES HIS HEADPHONES.
FATHER:
Your brochure also states that your chef is the finest the north of England has to offer, and yet our first meal consisted of nothing more than dried porridge with crunchy cockroach, and no popodoms!
JUNIOR:
You tell ‘em Dad!
FATHER: (TO JUNIOR)
You shut up, and go back to your fifty-pence!
JUNIOR PUTS HIS HEADPHONES BACK ON SULKILY.
JUNIOR: (GRUMBLING TO SELF)
It’s fifty-cents.
MOTHER: (TO JUNIOR)
And sit up straight!
JUNIOR SITS UP RELUCTANTLY.
FATHER:
Now, I know you Northerners like your exotic porridge and your ferret pies, but we expect better from a four-star Pontins holiday getaway… much better.
PATTON: (FROWNING)
Er… this isn’t a holiday resort.
FATHER:
You’re telling me! This morning we had to share a shower with fifty men named Abdul! What kind of holiday is that?!
MOTHER:
Actually, I didn’t mind that so much.
FATHER:
And when your brochure said fun activities, I expected more than just having my scrotum wired to an electric toaster for three hours! Where are the bouncy castles? Where are the donkey rides and the hokey-cokey?
PATTON:
The what?
FATHER:
My testicles look like onion Bhaji's!
PRIVATE:
Who’s onion Bhaji?
FATHER:
This is just not good enough! We were told Morecombe bay was the second best holiday destination in the north, and when we book second best, we expect second best! Otherwise we might as well have gone to Newcastle again!
FATHER AND MOTHER EXCHANGE A GRIMACE AT THE THOUGHT OF RETURNING TO NEWCASTLE.
PATTON:
Look, I think there's been some sort of mix up.
FATHER:
You're damn straight! So what are you going to do about it?
PATTON:
You misunderstand... This isn't Morecombe bay. This is Guantanimo bay. It's a detention centre… a prison, in Cuba?
MOTHER AND FATHER LOOK SHOCKED.
MOTHER:
Cuba?
PATTON:
Yes, Cuba.
FATHER:
Oh dear.
THERE IS A SHORT UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE. THE PATELS ALL BEGIN TO LOOK WORRIED.
PATTON:
Look, don't worry... it’s clearly just a misunderstanding. We'll straighten this out and put you on the next flight to England, okay?
FATHER:
Yes, that would be very good.
PATTON: (TO PRIVATE)
Fetch the release forms will you.
THE PRIVATE NODS AND EXITS.
FATHER: (TO WIFE)
This is the last time I let your cousin Osama book our holidays for us.
PATTON:
I’m sorry, what?
FATHER: (TO PATTON)
Osama's not very good with geography.
PATTON NODS SLOWLY, THEN PRESSES THE INTERCOM BUTTON.
PATTON: (INTO INTERCOM)
Private... cancel that request will you. (PAUSE) and bring in the rubber hose.
FATHER:
Is it exercise time already?
PATTON: (NODDING)
Oh yes.
FADE OUT.
END SCENE.
This is my signature, there are many like it but this one is mine.
