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CounterPunch
October
23, 2002
Twilight (of the Idols) Zone
by ADAM ENGEL
FADE IN.
BLACK AND WHITE
EXTERIOR: Ground Zero, NYC. CLOSE ON:
The late Rod Serling, looking none too
shabby, calm, cool, omniscient, like it's 1962, and he's still
smoking!
SERLING
"Submitted for your approval: a
man barely alive, a man without thoughts or dreams, a man without
history or conscience, a man who works long hours for compensation
of decreasing value. You are about to meet a certain Mr. Strom
Bone, a typical American on a most atypical day, here, in the
Twilight (of the Idols) Zone..."
CUT TO:
INTERIOR. A one-bedroom Apartment in
NYC. STROM BONE, tall, lean, awkward. wearing a dark suit. Sweating,
panicked, pale and smoking, he sips a cup of coffee hurriedly,
flips through the NEW YORK TIMES and fondles THE MAID.
BONE
It was only days ago, though it seems
like centuries. Morning was regular enough. Woke up, read in
the New York Times about how Saddam was on the war path again,
kissed the maid good-bye -agency perk-- and went off to work
my usual long hours for devaluted comisery or whatever the hell
the guy in the black suit said.
CUT TO:
EXT. BUSY STREET. A STRANGER whips out
an automatic pistol and mows down several other STRANGERS.
BONE (VOICE OVER)
I am, or was, a fact checker for the
Homeland Security/TIPS Handbook and Weekly Guide. Yeah, I know.
I've heard all the jokes before, so don't knock yourself out
("Finding a fact at Homeland Security is like..." yadda
yadda badda boom). But you'd be surprised. There are serious
facts about securing The Homeland that most folks don't know.
Like this tip in the upcoming issue: "If you see a stranger
you don't know pull out a heretofore concealed handgun and 'light
up' several other strangers whom you do not know, it's probably
a SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY and should be reported to the TIPS hotline
IMMEDIATELY..." Now, if it had been a known and trusted
companion who smoked the strangers, or if the strangers weren't
strangers, but cherished friends, the incident would be a bummer,
definitely, maybe even a crime, depending on the shooter's objective,
motivation, such and such and so on, but it would not fall under
the category of SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY, warranting a call to the
Hotline and perhaps the services of Homeland Security. People
should know these things.
CUT TO:
INT. A CLUTTERED OFFICE.
BONE (VO)
Anyway, I was at the office when the
Aliens from Outer Space, The Kahunas, they called themselves,
crashed a big assembly meeting at the UN and broadcast themselves
on every TV and Computer screen on the whole damn planet.
CUT TO:
INT. THE UN ASSEMBLY. The KAHUNAS are
BEARDED and HUGE, real PAUL BUNYAN types in LUMBERJACK attire;
the women wear loose cotton PEASANT FROCKS and THICK-SOLED SANDALS
and are somewhat hirsute above the ankles.
BONE (VO)
Fidelio, the guy I share my office with
speaks like six different languages, everything but English,
which is probably why they put us together, so we couldn't share
info, poured over his paperwork and I mine when the Kahunas made
themselves known on the overhead monitors that poured news, sitcoms
and other suspicious activities into our office 24/7. Fidelio
was tuned to some Spanish or Korean Station, I couldn't tell,
while my monitor gushed regular Homeland TV.
CUT TO: INT. Bone's Office.
BONE (VO)
The Alien on Fidelio's screen spoke directly
to my head, in English, without moving his lips. Transmitted
his thoughts telepathically, and I imagine Fidelio 'heard' them
in French or Spanish or Swahili or whatever he was tuned into
at the time.
FIDELIO watches the screen and nods in
understanding.
BONE (VO)
These Kahunas had mojo alright. They
stimulated our endorphins and god know what other illicit chemicals
in our brains, took the war on drugs straight to the source.
Dirty fighting, but we fell for it. We had no choice. Every time
we tried to resist they made us feel...happy. Sneaky bastards.
CLOSE ON:
A THICK BOOK with strange letters on
the cover.
BONE (VO)
They left several copies of a book at
the UN but it was in some foreign Alien cockamamie language so
who the hell could read it? Finally in a joint effort by some
of NATO's top code crackers they puzzled out the large-print
title, "How to Save Man," which seemed innocuous enough,
too innocuous. I for one was suspicious. The crack code-crackers
moved on to the sub-title.
PULL BACK reveals SIX CRACK CODE CRACKERS
arguing over the book.
BONE (VO)
The Kahunas promised to show us their
world of clean plenty and peace and all that suspiciously commie-sounding
crap, but you had to sign up for a six-month "training course,"
to qualify for the trip.
EXT. MONTAGE of DESPERATE MASSES rushing
to board grade B movie-type FLYING SAUCERS.
BONE
Hell, you never saw such a run on all
those space ships they had parked like chartered buses in open
fields all over the world. They'd zip away and come back in a
few days for more "students." I wondered where the
hell their planet was anyway or what kind of technology they
were using to zip back and forth like that. When one of the newsmen
asked the Big Kahuna how they got around so fast, he said, or
rather, telepathed, "We harness the power of the stars."
"Nuclear?" asked the talking Head. "Light,"
said the Big Kahuna.
EXT. BIG KAHUNA giving interview to reporters.
BONE (VO)
After several thousand people worldwide
went off and more were lining up to take the trip to Kahuna U.
I got The Call from Headquarters. "Why me?" I asked.
I had an eye for detail, they claimed. And anyway, I wasn't particularly
important -- even the goddamn alien Kahunas could see that -
so I would arouse less suspicion than say, Tom Ridge. I asked,
"When?" Headquarters said, "Yesterday."
INT. BONE riding the C LOCAL in his suit,
and carrying his briefcase.
BONE (VO)
So I took the C Train to Yankee Stadium,
where the chartered flights to Kahuna were taking off hourly
(go figure). Man, you should have seen all the people in the
stands waiting their turn. Thermoses, knapsacks, sleeping bags...like
a friggin' Grateful Dead Concert.
EXT. YANKEE Stadium. The field is crowded
with people and FLYING SAUCERS. The stands are packed to capacity.
BONE (VO)
Of course I got to the head of the line
as a VIP "student," and was formally greeted by the
Kahuna's Manhattan Liaison.
EXT. SECOND BASE. A KAHUNA leads BONE
ahead of a long line of people and up the steps of a SAUCER.
BONE (VO)
I was just about on board when one of
those NATO code crackers I recognized from TV came running toward
the ship huffing and puffing.
EXT. THE INFIELD. A CODE CRACKER runs
frantically toward the SHIP parked on second base.
CODE CRACKER
Don't go! Get off the Ship! We deciphered
the subtitle. It's... it's..."An Environmental
Cookbook!"
The CODE CRACKER watches the automatic
doors of the FLYING SAUCER close.
CUT TO: INT. FLYING SAUCER. CLOSE ON
BONE, sweating, smoking, as he nervously completes his story.
BONE
But the doors had already begun to close;
we were trapped. Sure enough, the Kahunas on the ship explained
to me that the "course" I was to take was based on
the text of "How to Save Man: An Environmental Cookbook!"-
all about organic farming and diversified crops and renewable
energy sources and...good god...immediate and absolute renunciation
of fossil fuels...I always thought humans were about the worst
mistake of Creation but we had nothing on these Kahunas...
PULL BACK REVEALS
BONE on a bench sandwiched between GEORGE
W. BUSH and SADDAM HUSSEIN. All three men are GLUM. Bone snubs
out his cigarette and reaches for another. Saddam GRABS Bone's
hand.
SADDAM
Haven't we had enough, my friend? I believe
we have had enough smoke today.
DUBYA
Yeah. What're you tryin' to do, kill
us all?
ENTER SERLING smoking coolly, his back
to the three men.
SADDAM (Shaking his fist)
Put out the damn cigarette or I will
kill you!
DUBYA (Squaring his Chin)
I must concurrent. Unless you stop igniting
those Weapons of Mass Destruction, dour consequences will ensue!
BONE (nervous, to SERLING)
Better listen to 'em, Big Guy. These
freaks are facing some monster petroleum withdrawl.
They're liable to do anything.
SADDAM
Yes. We are going on the "natch."
DUBYA
Cold Turkey!
BONE
The horror. The horror.
SERLING flicks his butt insouciantly,
and grins.
SERLING
Strom Bone, a man who stepped off life's
treadmill to climb the stairway to Kahuna, is about to join
two most unlikely scholars in the age-old study of "How
to Save Man." Here, in that most prestigious of
Universities, "The Twilight (of the Idols) Zone."
MUSIC. FADE OUT.
Adam Engel
lives in NYC and communicates often with the late Rod Serling,
with whom he collaborated on this brief teleplay. He (and Serling)
welcome comments at asengel@attglobal.net.
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