From Cody Weathers: Last night, Eric Rorem and I saw a preview for the new "Plunkett and MacLeane" and Eric commented that "this movie has the most misleading title." I agreed, and suggested that it sounded more like a Burt Reynolds (MacLeane) and Dom Deluise (Plunkett) revival.
So here's the contest:
Write a scene from the new Burt Reynolds/Dom Deluise buddy comedy/adventure entitled "Plunkett & MacLeane." Feel free (in fact be encouraged) to deviate from the "Robin Hood" theme of the real movie. At the beginning of your scene, please give us an indication of the theme you have chosen (i.e. "Burt Reynolds and Dom Deluise as gentleman bank robbers")
Let's have them by Monday, October 11th.
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CODY'S ENTRY
DOM DELUISE as PLUNKETT
BURT REYNOLDS as MACLEANE
Burt Reynolds and Dom Deluise as cosmonauts sent to investigate mysterious goings-on aboard space research station "Solaris," in orbit around the Secret Planet, home of a perplexing super-intelligent ocean.
INTERIOR SOLARIS, MACLEANE'S CHAMBERS, NIGHT. MACLEANE reads a magazine among the heaps of shiny aluminum detritus. PLUNKETT bursts in.
PLUNKETT: It's true, JJ! The Solaristics do not lie! The ocean is alive and it's trying to communicate with us!
MACLEANE: Don't you knock?
PLUNKETT: I thought this was very important, JJ.
MACLEANE: You know, this is a space station. Just men. What if I was whacking off with this magazine? What then?
PLUNKETT: Oh, JJ, don't whack off with that magazine.
MACLEANE: Well, a different magazine, then.
PLUNKETT: Oh, JJ, don't whack off with any magazines. The ocean....
MACLEANE: What are you talking about?
PLUNKETT: The ocean. It knows our dreams. It's creating apparitions all over the station. It wants to communicate.
[ENTER TACO BELL CHIHUAHUA]
CHIHUAHUA: Mama mia!
MACLEANE: What's that?
PLUNKETT: Oh, JJ, can we keep him?
MACLEANE: What is that?
PLUNKETT: He's a little dog, just like I always wanted. I dreamed him. Can we keep him?
MACLEANE: Absolutely not!
PLUNKETT: Oh, JJ, you're so unfair!
CHIHUAHUA: Yo quiero las senoritas!
MACLEANE: Plunkett, I order you to eat that dog on the double!
PLUNKETT: JJ, I can't eat him, he's so cute!
MACLEANE: Plunkett, are you disobeying a direct order?!
PLUNKETT: (sobbing mightily) No, sir, but can't you just rescind the order, just this once?
MACLEANE: Absolutely not! Devour him, I command you!
[Plunkett CONSUMES Chihuahua]
MACLEANE(con't): Now, out of my quarters, I need to whack off.
PLUNKETT: No, sir, don't do it! The ocean!
MACLEANE: Shoo!
PLUNKETT: This wouldn't happen, sir, if him were here.
MACLEANE: Who?
PLUNKETT: Him, sir. (turning away, then back in cape and mask) Dun-dun-dah! Captain Incredible!
MACLEANE: Plunkett.
PLUNKETT: Defender of all that is meek and without protection!
MACLEANE: Plunkett.
PLUNKETT: With his trusty sidekick, JJ, Captain Incredible will communicate with the ocean and save the hapless crew of the entire Space Station! Come along, JJ!
MACLEANE: Right behind you.
[EXIT PLUNKETT, MACLEANE sees him out, then closes and LOCKS the door behind him]
MACLEANE: So let's see what we have over here in the sweater drawer....
[KNOCKING]
MACLEANE: Who is it?
PLUNKETT: JJ, it's Captain Incredible. You've forgotten to accompany me....
[MacLeane opens drawer and retrieves copy of Space Honeys magazine, flips through and PAUSES on page 48]
MACLEANE: (whistles low) Now that is worth the price of admission. (shouting) I'll meet you there. Just go ahead on. Save me a seat or something.
PLUNKETT: JJ, open this door!
[MacLeane flips on switch for closed-circuit door-cam, we see CAPTAIN INCREDIBLE from above in a fisheye lens. As CAPTAIN INCREDIBLE continues to knock, MacLeane flips another switch, activating the DEADLY NERVE GAS, SARIN, which is sprayed from jets, killing CAPTAIN INCREDIBLE. MacLeane switches off the display and retires to his SPACE LOUNGE CHAIR]
MACLEANE: Come on, baby, show me what you've got.... [unbuckles SPACE BELT, puts hand down pants and GROPES SELF]
MACLEANE(con't): That's it, that's it....
[ENTER HEATHER GRAHAM, naked on ROLLERSKATES]
HEATHER: You know, that looks really ridiculous.
MACLEANE: (stopping) What?
HEATHER: Male masturbation --particularly yours-- is entirely unerotic.
MACLEANE: How did you get in here?
HEATHER: Well don't stop! Go back to what you were doing. Here, I'll watch and maybe give you some pointers on how you can make it more interesting. The first thing I'm going to suggest is that you slow down. Try it --go on....
MACLEANE: Maybe you'd like to come over here and show me what you mean....
HEATHER: No, no. You really need to learn to do this for yourself. You may resume.
MACLEANE: If it's all the same to you, I have been doing this for a while, and I think I'm going to pass on the lessons unless you're a hands-on instructor.
HEATHER: Now don't tell me you've gone soft. I mean, I'm wearing rollerskates.... I mean just look how their awkwardness emphasizes the uneven motion of my labia majora. Oh, I can see that did the trick.
MACLEANE: Who are you, anyway?
HEATHER: Oh, I think you know. Slowly!
MACLEANE: Hey, this is not being done for your benefit, cupcake.
HEATHER: Exactly. Look, what is it with the pants? It looks like you're picking your ass. Off. Take them off.
MACLEANE: You know, in the spirit of this little exercise, maybe I could help you, too.
HEATHER: Whatever, gramps. Look, there's a time for yanking and there's a time for rubbing. Rub. Wet the glans with your finger. Slowly.
MACLEANE: You're giving this entirely too much thought.
HEATHER: Stop! You're clenching your ass. Look at it. Look at what you're doing with your ass! You're getting ready to come, and it's not time yet. And you keep yanking, despite what I told you. It looks stupid.
[ENTER SALLY FIELD, wearing only PEANUT BUTTER]
SALLY: I'll say. It's like you're humping her leg. Be slow and purposeful. Deliberate motions with passionate strength. Patience. Do you think Clark Gable plays his dick like a bicycle pump?
HEATHER: Absolutely not. That's a great point. I keep telling him slowly, and now it seems he's changed fantasies mid-stream, too, and that's just going to spoil his concentration.
MACLEANE: Wait, I know you two from somewhere....
HEATHER: Well, duh!
SALLY: Do you mind if I take a look at the problem?
HEATHER: Please. He's all yours.
SALLY: OK, honey. Show me what you've been doing. Do you mind if I sit here? Yes, Heather, I see what you were talking about.
HEATHER: Yanking.
SALLY: Yes, there is far too much yanking. You know, for a change of pace, you might try touching yourself elsewhere with your other hand. This technique is called associative eroticization, and it's something you should try next time you're with a woman. But for now, try this: cradle your testicles. Eroticize them by squeezing them a little bit.
MACLEANE: This is preposterous. [Stops fondling]
SALLY: Hey. No, you were doing good. Don't stop. Cradle. Just try it --you might like it.
HEATHER: It really is a good suggestion.
SALLY: Thank you.
MACLEANE: Look this is about the ocean, isn't it....
HEATHER: Of course. You fantasized us and here we are, trying to help you, but you keep stopping. Pay attention. She really has some fresh insights into your whole problem.
MACLEANE: As my fantasies, I command you to get it on.
HEATHER: That's not really how it works.
SALLY: And I think it's pretty insulting that you aren't following my instructions.
HEATHER: Ditto. If you only knew how many cocks I've watched waxed in the same frantic manner. I don't see how you guys can stand it. The chaffing! And all your scripts are the same! "Oh, baby! Come on me! I'm coming!" I mean, give me something to say, something to do besides bite my lip and pant like an idiot, begging for your ejaculation.
SALLY: Although I must say it's typical.
MACLEANE: What's that supposed to mean?
SALLY: I mean, it's typical of you. I mean, Burt, you and I both know that you just want to see me in peanut butter. There won't be any licking it off. I'm expected to just lie there and smell like peanut butter while you sweat on me. I mean, I can't even get myself off later because --well, come on-- I'm covered in yucky sweaty peanut butter. What am I supposed to get out of this?
MACLEANE: Did you just call me Burt?
HEATHER: So sad, and with just a little guidance, you could be so much more acceptable. And here we are, trying to help you, taking time out of our busy schedules to lead you by the hand, as it were. I mean, what's it going to take?
[ENTER DEMI MOORE, dressed only in constricting LEATHER STRAPS]
DEMI: Would you like me to be the man? I could show him a thing or two. Did anyone bring a strap-on?
MACLEANE: You know, for fantasies, you guys are pretty uninteresting.
SALLY: Maybe that's because you made us so ridiculous. Can't you get an erection without some silly gorilla costume?
HEATHER: Exactly. I mean, what ever happened to thinking about kissing and porch swings and sunsets and rollicking waves on a secluded beach? Whatever happened to real human longing and passion? Are gynecological texts and Space Honeys magazines the only skiffs on the entire shallowing river of sexual desire?
MACLEANE: What sort of beach has a porch swing?
DEMI: What kind of girl wears peanut butter?
SALLY: Yucky, sweaty peanut butter.
HEATHER: I'm totally serious. Your sexuality exists only at the surface. You've got to --to borrow from what Sally was saying earlier-- you've got to eroticize emotions by association. And it all starts with changing your technique. You've got to prolong the act to force your brain to get involved. You must make an effort to extract yourself from these stupid pro-wrestling fantasies or you'll never be able to really connect with a woman. That's why you wander --you're too pornographic for the subtlety and evenness of reality.
[ENTER ANDRE THE GIANT in an EXECUTIONER'S MASK, sporting a GIANT FIST-THICK ERECTION]
SALLY: Why are you here?
ANDRE: Oh, he sent me to plunder you up the ass. You know, he's feeling a little powerless, so he's having mild rape fantasies. I think maybe you guys are getting to him. Definitely don't let up now.
DEMI: Ooh, I'm so scared --a giant cock....
MACLEANE: What kind of hyper-intelligent ocean are you? I mean, sending made-to-order belligerent unsexy naked people to my quarters doesn't seem like the sort of endeavour worthy of a super-consciousness, you know?
HEATHER: Oh, we're not the ocean itself. The ocean just made us out of neutrinos.
SALLY: But we are your own thoughts, Burt.
MACLEANE: OK, cut! That's twice you've called me Burt. I mean once is cute and all, kind of Leaving Las Vegas, but this is just sloppy. Cut!
HEATHER: This isn't a movie. The ocean made it real.
DEMI: And if I might add, Burt, this is very serious. You had better put that thing away before anyone else gets hurt.
[ENTER GEORGE CLOONEY, fully clothed]
CLOONEY: Audiences don't like you any more Burt.
[ENTER JOHN TRAVOLTA, dressed in his Pulp Fiction Vincent costume]
TRAVOLTA: And let's face it, you're not going to be the next me.
SALLY: And then, on top of that, you've thrown your personal happiness away on frivolous sexual indulgences.
[ENTER LONI ANDERSON, naked on a pogo stick]
LONI: I wasn't going to participate, but what she says is true. First you threw away Sally, your only true love, then me, the mother of your children, over tits and slits. Pathetic, Burt.
HEATHER: Even though I'm just made of neutrinos, I think you've lost any hope of reinstating affection as your primary desire. I really do feel it in my unnatural gut that you're too far gone. I mean, after all this discussion you bring out the mother of your children on a pogo stick….
LONI: A yucky, sweaty pogo stick at that!
MACLEANE: If what you say is true, then you know what I really want.
HEATHER: Only if you know it yourself.
MACLEANE: Well, we'll see in just a second.
THE APPARITIONS surround MACLEANE and --using deadly Amish karate ("shunning")-- shame him to death.
FIN
*********
GARY GUNTER'S ENTRY
They are Con-Men dressed to the nines during prohibition Chicago.
They are about to pull off the Con of the Century. Dom Deluise and Burt
Reynolds are
PLUNKETT AND MACLEANE!
Somewhere in the middle of screenplay, deep inside the gambling rooms of
Sally Field’s speak-easy. We see Plunkett and Macleane in double-breasted
suits and Fedoras around a poker table with about 6 assorted mob bosses who
are similarly dressed.
PLUNKETT (Deluise): I can assure you gentlemen, that the game is fixed.
There is no way you can lose at the roullette table later this evening. And
you and I will walk away with millions.
MACLEANE (Reynolds): That is not a small hunk of change, my friends. That
can score you enough bribe money to secure your liquor delivery lines with
every crooked cop east of the Mississippi.
GUIDO (Crime boss #1): What’s in it for you?
M: Your trust. And a small percentage of your winnings tonight.
GUIDO: Why don’t you all just bet everything you have? Ya get rich
quicker.
P: Yeah, but, we also get sniffed out if we keep winn’n all the time. We
need a large group to make it look like different people are winning.
LORENZO (Crime boss #2) : I believe, gentlemen, that our new found friends
are on the level. I propose a toast. To Plunkett and Macleane!
ALL: To Plunkett and MacLeane!
Plunkett and MacLeane share a smug look.
LORENZO: The only thing that remains is a little detail.
M: Well, we can work out the details after we drink.
LORENZO: I think we need to work this out now.
M: What’s the hurry…
P: Hey, you can put those pea-shooters away, boys. Hey, watch it, I’m
portly…
M: What’s the big idea, fellas?
GUIDO: (Pointing his gun at P and M) We just need one thing.
P: He just needs one thing MacLeane.
M: What would that be?
P: Yes, what would that be? That, um, one thing?
GUIDO: The number. Give us the roulette number.
P: Oh, that little thing. Yes. Well. Why don’t you give him the number?
M: Sure. The number. The sure thing. We wouldn’t have forgotten the
number, would we, Plunkett?
P: No No No No No. No, not us. We’re P….P….Plunkett.
M: And MacLeane.
P: Plunkett an d MacLeane. And we, uh…
LORENZO: THE NUMBER!!
Plunkett says "45" and Macleane says "86" at the same time. They stare at
each other and start to sweat. Then Plunkett says "86" and MacLeane says
"45" at the same time.
M: Don’t pay attention to him. He’s brain-damaged.
P: I…Hey!
LORENZO: You’re about to be damaged all over.
P: Fine! Shoot me full of holes! But know that Guido’s been shtupping
your girl Carly since the express train outta New York!
LORENZO: Why you little…( Throws a punch at Guido. Guido throws a punch
at Lorenzo. Guido’s Men and Lorenzo’s men go at each other in a no
holds-barred fight.
P: (whispering) MacLeane! How we gonna get outta this? They’re blocking
the exit!
M: Grab that red cord. (Points at red cord hanging from ceiling. It is
hanging next to a blue cord)
P: This cord?
M: Pull it.
Plunkett pulls cord. A loud bell is rung and Sally Fields in lingerie comes
crashing through the door with 5 other speak- easy prostitutes. They are
all holding pistols.
SALLY: Allright, twinkletoes. You have until the count of five to get the
hell outta here. I got the Windy Cindy’s Best and Brightest in Blue in the
next room over. They would just love to finally get their hands on Lorenzo
the Eye and Guido Grifter over there. MOVE IT!!!
GUIDO: We ain’t goin’ nowhere till we get the money we put up for
roulette.
M: Give ‘em the money, Plunkett.
Plunkett desperately signals for MacLeane to shut up.
M: Give ‘em the money, Plunkett!
P: (Whispering) I don’t have the money.
M: Look, numbskull, we don’t have time for this. Where did you put the
money?
P: I left it on the train.
M: You what?
P: I think I left it on the train.
M: I’m about to shoot you myself.
P: Sorry! Sorry, Sally!
SALLY: Better think of something boys, before we all get a little jumpy
here…
M: Pull the blue cord.
P: The blue cord?
M: Yes, the blue cord.
Plunkett pulls the blue cord. A trap door opens and Plunkett and MacLeane
fall through the floor onto a slide that takes them down three floors and
into the alley in the street, crashing into garbage. There is a loud sound
of a storm of bullets, ricocheting through the tunnel and barely missing
them.
Plunkett and MacLeane pick themselves up and start running.
P: MacLeane?
M: Don’t say it.
P: MacLeane, I really…
M: Don’t say it.
P: I really love it that even though I’m fat and stupid, we stick together.
M: Pick up the pace, Plunkett. We have a train to catch.
END OF SCENE
**************************
JOHN O'MEARA'S ENTRY
Setting: Back of a limosine. Plunkett and MacLeane are both in tuxedos,
Plunkett's cumberbun is chartreux.
Macleane[M, in heavy Scottish/italian accent]: Ey. Eeh dooh nuut
understahnd wahy she mayd yuu wahr dat culuur.
Plunkett[P]: It's chartreux, and she's soon to be my wife, so she gets
what she wants.
M: Aye, buut it luuks like a giant kat vumited in yar lap, laddy.
P: I happen to find it engaging and neuveaux (secretly, Burt Renolds is
thinking 'much like my career').
M: Tha uunly thing engahging aboot kat yak is tha stench.
P: Why i picked you for my best man is beyond me.
M: Aye....I think it's caus oof me fuukin 'er and all.
P: What?!? (A look of consternation, no...make that fear...soon
supplanted by disgust)
M: Aye...I fuuked 'er. I told ya boot this last night.
P: At the bachelor party?
M: Aye. In batween tha times ye were suklin that strippers tit and..
P: What? Strippers tit?
M: Aye, thah wer luuvely, like pillahs of fleshy jouy, and uuuuuh, they
were ah jigglen...
P: There were no strippers, and certainly no tit suckings.
M: Aye laddy, there war. Yuuh must have been pissed drunk noot to ahve
nuuticed yar sucklin on casabas! (Laughs in the decidedly un-scottish Dom
Deloise laugh from 'Cannonball Run'
**********************
CODY'S NEW ENTRY, IN THE STYLE OF JOH3N O'MEARA'S UNINTELLIGIBLE ULTRA-SCOTTISH RANT
[please note, as per Joh3n's piece, I will be reversing the roles from the original contest, such that PLUNKETT is Burt Reynolds and MACLEANE is Dom DeLuise]
P: MacLeane!
M: Aack!
P: When on Earth did you fuck my darling Clementine?
M: Aye, I see hoo yer givin me that dulcer eye 'o yuurs. Yuur noggin sez "Aye, Plunkett, t'was on the Mass a Seint Michael, aye 'twer whan that grand fat jelly of a lad clocked me o'er the bean dish with the flat of hi' ma'sive cleemorre and I ha' to go 'roond to 'opital ferra naht." But yuur wrong…. twer earlier than tha'….
(CUT TO fifteen years earlier, PLUNKETT and MACLEANE as student filmmakers in the woods near Burkittsville, MD, accompanied by CLEMENTINE [Sally Field], their director)
EXTERIOR-WOODS, DUSK, MacLeane roasts haggis and marshmallows over an open fire, using a spooky sticks-and-twine OMEN as a spit. PLUNKETT and CLEMENTINE gaze haggardly at the surrounding clearing.
M: Aye, yuu tuu! Quit yer loveseck starrrgazin' and goon fetch us a tender ducklin'. 'Twer a pond no' huundrred yerrds tha' wee! Goon naw get!
C: Maybe you should go, mister "I kicked the map into the river and now we're lost."
M: Luuk here, Lassie! Whan I were a boy, grooin in the Narth 'a Scotland, I uused to plee a leetle geem whan I needed ta' think aboot somethin' tough. Perhaps yuu've herd tell of it, 'a? 'Twer a leetle geem what were called "Kickin' this 'n that doon inta the rriver ferr noo guud raisin'." So, noo ya' c'n uunderstan' may raisin' ferr doon the kickin'. It went an' helped me to think of thes plan right heer. Aack, yuu wanna heer may plann, Lassie?
C: What's your plan?
M: Aack. May plann is semple…. YUU TUU GOON FETCH US A TENDER DUCKLIN' FRUUM YON POND THA'!!!!
P: Enough. Clementine, MacLeane. We can't turn on each other like this. I'll go.
C: No, don't go.
M: Goo!
C: No, don't go.
P: I'm going.
C: Plunkett?
P: Yes, darling?
C: Take the camera.
M: Aye, but leave the video….
P: What? Why?
M: Aye, why indayd…. 'Tis just tha' it needs fixin'. All duu tha' whall yuu fetch us a duckie, aye?
P: All right. I'm off to get the duck. (pauses) I love you guys.
C: Plunkett, don't go.
M: Aack! Goo!
[PLUNKETT EXITS]
C: MacLeane, what are we going to do? It's getting dark again. I just want to go home.
M: Ah, lassie, donna cree, nu. Ha', why duun't ya come o'er here n'I'll shoo ya' hoo ta rayd the coompass. Wha'? Tha's foony!
C: What is it?
M: The needle is pointin' right acha, lassie….
[CUT BACK to present, back of limo, MACLEANE laughs uncontrollably]
P: Oh, please, don't say it.
M: Ah shooed her the Narth Pool if ya' folla….
P: That's it! Driver, pick up the pace and steer this thing to Texarkana! We've got a thirsty party in Atlanta that needs a beer run!
M: Aye, tha's my lad!
END OF SCENE