Searching through the dark corners of my google drive, I found the script for an absurdist deconstruction of the rom-com genre called The Smart Money. I think the basic idea of a movie where a man literally falls in love with an enormous pile of money and it’s all treated like a legitimate romance is actually pretty decent (if a little on-the-nose), but thirteen-year-old John went overboard with the absurd humor and it turned out practically unreadable. Still, here are the first two scenes anyway. I'm not sure if the randomly capitalized verbs are some kind of obscure joke or if I actually thought that was how you wrote scripts.
1. INT. APARTMENT. NIGHT.
A New York Apartment, messily organized, with posters askew and dishes piling up in the washing machine. There is disturbingly little money on the money pile. GREG and LINDA are having a loud conversation, both are obviously distressed.
GREG: Linda! I just need more time!
LINDA: No, Greg! I have been you girlfriend for eight months, so you know that I am an open-minded woman. But there are certain things I will not sacrifice my dignity for, and chief among them is dating a poor!
GREG: Linda, you know that I’m not a poor! Look at how much of my grandfather’s inheritance is still left. (He motions to the money pile)
LINDA: There isn’t enough, not enough to make me happy. You’ve fooled me for too long, Greg, and I know that before long that money will be gone and you’ll be out on the street, practicing law or writing novels or doing something else that no rational person would ever do!
GREG: No, Linda, don’t leave!
LINDA: I’m sorry, it’s too late for me. I’ll only come back if in 23 days your money pile is twice the size it is now.
LINDA EXITS
GREG TURNS, SITS on his sofa
GREG: Oh God, why did you have to bring me into this world if I weren’t good with money? Why can’t you magically make my money pile bigger?
From behind him, glitter FALLS on the money pile and harp music PLAYS. Little streams of smoke RISE from the money pile, FORMING OLIVIA'S GHOST.
GREG LOOKS at his messy table, PICKs UP a piece of paper.
GREG: Wait a minute, it says here that if I take this to the bank before midnight, I’ll get a million dollars! Wowzers! But midnight is in ten minutes!
GREG RUNS out of his apartment, down the stairs, into the New York street. The song “The Final Countdown” begins PLAYING.
GREG continues to RUN through the streets, through dark alleys with broken windows and graffiti and gang members sniffing foam.
DISGRUNTLED LUNATIC #1 STEPS in front of GREG, POINTS a gun at him. “The Final Countdown” begins fading out.
DISGRUNTLED LUNATIC #1: Give me all your money, GREG!
GREG: Never, DISGRUNTLED LUNATIC #1!
GREG keeps on RUNNING. “The Final Countdown” begins playing again, louder than before.
GREG RUNS up to the bank.
GREG: Hi, can I turn this paper in to get my million dollars?
BANK MAN: Sorry, Greg, it’s past midnight.
GREG: Oh no!
GREG’S ARROGANT RIVAL #1: Hi, bank man! Can I turn in my paper?
BANK MAN: Sure, Greg’s Arrogant Rival #1, but only because you’re my son!
GREG’S ARROGANT RIVAL #1: Thanks, dad!
BANK MAN: Here’s your million dollars.
BANK MAN hands GREG’s ARROGANT RIVAL #1 a million dollars.
GREG WALKS dejectedly out of the bank. “The Final Countdown” fades out.
CRIMINAL approaches GREG.
CRIMINAL: Hey, GREG, I could give you a million dollars, if you’d help me out with some stuff.
GREG: No! I’d never stoop to criminal activity!
CRIMINAL: Jesus Christ, why would you think I’d want your help with criminal stuff just because I’m a criminal? Talk about offensive generalizations!
GREG: I’m sorry.
GREG continues to WALK dejectedly.
2. INT. APARTMENT. NIGHT.
“The Final Countdown” continues playing, but softer and in a minor key.
GREG: Well, I guess there’s only one thing to do.
GREG POURS gasoline all over his money pile.
GREG: I’ll have to set fire to my money pile and commit insurance fraud.
GREG LIGHTS the lighter. A single tear DRIPS down his cheek and LANDS in the gasoline.
THE GHOST OF OLIVIA (Invisible): Stop! Wait! Don’t burn me!
GREG: What? Who said that! Was it you, God?
T.G.O.O: No, Greg. It’s me, the spirit of your money.
T.G.O.O. FLOATS up from the money pile, LOOKS down at GREG.
GREG: Jinkers! Am I going nuts?
T.G.O.O.: No, Greg.
GREG: How do you know my name?
T.G.O.O.: I’ve been watching you for a long time. I’ve seen good in your soul, but also great sadness and breaking up with Linda. I’d like to help you with your money problems.
GREG: Would you really do that, spirit of my money?
T.G.O.O.: Yes, I would.
GREG: Is all money haunted?
T.G.O.O.: Ummm, yes. Yes it is. All money is haunted. That’s all there is to it.
GREG: Sounds bonkers! Well, what do I do to fix this money conundrum of mine?
T.G.O.O.: Go to the stock market and invest me! Don’t worry about what happens next. It’s very confusing and probably not worth learning about.
GREG: Okay. Then I guess I’d better be going to bed.
GREG GLANCES over to his bedroom but SEES it filled with trash and paper.
GREG: Or maybe I should just sleep in here.
GREG COLLAPSES on the gas-soaked money pile and closes his eyes. T.G.O.O. STARES down at him for a moment, SMILES, then DISSIPATES.
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