"Brazil" script excerpt
- From: RonB <ronb02@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 19 Aug 2006 08:17:40 +0000 (UTC)
Remind you of anything? Like neocon denial, perhaps? (This script was
written in 1983.) Great movie, BTW, by Terry Gilliam.
INT. SHOPPING PRECINCT - NIGHT
Xmas decorations are everywhere. PEOPLE are busy buying,
ogling, discussing, choosing wisely from the goodies on
display. SHOPPERS are going by laden with superbly packaged
goods... the shop windows are full of elaborately boxed and
be-ribboned who-knows-what. In one window is a bank of
TV sets on the great majority of the screens is the face of
Mr. Helpmann the Deputy Minister of Information. He is being
interviewed. No-one bothers to listen to Helpmann.
Deputy minister, what do you believe
is behind this recent increase in
Bad sportsmanship. A ruthless minority
of people seems to have forgotten
certain good old fashioned virtues.
They just can't stand seeing the
other fellow win. If these people
would just play the game, instead of
standing on the touch line heckling--
--In fact, killing people--
--In fact, killing people, they'd get
a lot more out of life.
We PULL AWAY from the shop to concentrate on the shoppers.
Helpmann's voice carries over the rest of the scene.
Mr. Helpmann, what would you say to
those critics who maintain that the
Ministry Of Information has become
too large and unwieldy... ?
David... in a free society information
is the name of the game. You can't
win the game if you're a man short.
Fur bedecked shoppers pass in front of what appears to be
banks of snow but as we pan along with them the "snow" turns
out to be fire-fighting foam. It oozes out of a shop front
that is a charred twisted mass of metal frames.
WORKMEN are busily sealing the opening with plywood sheets,
SHOPPERS pay no attention to this. Xmas carols are being
played by a Salvation Army style band calling themselves
Consumers For Christ. Santa Claus's grotto is busy, all is
well with the world.
And the cost of it all, Deputy
Minister? Seven percent of the gross
I understand this concern on behalf
of the tax-payers. People want value
for money and a cost-effective
INT. OFFICE - NIGHT
CUT TO TV screen with Helpmann still talking.
That is why we always insist on the
principle of Information Retrieval
Charges. These terrorists are not
pulling their weight, and it's
absolutely right and fair that those
found guilty should pay for their
periods of detention and the
Information Retrieval Procedures
used in their interrogation.
PULL BACK to reveal a rather clinical office. The TV rests
on a desk. A WHITE COATED TECHNICIAN is sorting out his in-
tray. Several Christmas cards are amongst he paperwork. He
comes upon a Christmassy package which he rips open, to
discover a shiny, metal "executive toy".
Droning up near the ceiling.
The Technician is disturbed by the buzz of the BEETLE as it
whirrs around the fluorescent light. He rolls up some paper
and forms and gets up to swat the insect.
INT. OFFICE - NIGHT
The Technician gets up and balances a chair on top of his
desk. He climbs up onto it attempting to swat the Beetle
still buzzing about the room just out of reach. Beneath him
an automatic type-writing machine rattles away compiling a
typed list of names under the heading "Information Retrieval,
Subjects For Detention & Interview". The machine is being
fed from a spool of paper which is being rhythmically chopped
by an automatic guillotine which neatly leaves each name on
a separate sheet, with the title above each name, each sheet
following its predecessor into a holding basket. In CLOSEUP
we see the names on the sheets of paper building up in the
holding basket: "TONSTED, Simon... TOPPER, Martin F...
TROLLOPE, Benjamin G... TURB, William K... TURNER, John D..."
Every name begins with T.
Do you think that the government is
winning the battle against terrorists?
On yes. Our morale is much higher
than theirs, we're fielding all their
strokes, running a lot of them out,
and pretty consistently knocking
them for six. I'd say they're nearly
out of the game.
The Technician is tottering on one leg on the chair on the
desk as he strains to swat the Beetle. Swish, swash, oops,
But the bombing campaign is now in
its thirteenth year...
The Beetle's career comes to a halt... squashed flat on the
brilliantly clean ceiling... or has it? As the Technician
clambers down from the rickety heights, the Beetle's carcass
comes unstuck from the ceiling and drops silently into the
typewriting machine which hiccoughs, hesitates and then types
the letter "B" and hesitates and then continues so that the
next name is Buttle, Archibald.
The Technician fails to notice this and the machine continues
smoothly "TUTWOOD, Thomas T... TUZCZLOW, Peter..."
Thank you very much, Deputy Minister.
Thank you, David... and a very merry
Christmas to you all.
"There's a story there...somewhere"