INT. LECTURE HALL – DAY (SEPTEMBER 1977)

The lecture hall is old, the kind with tiered seating and creaky wooden desks. A flickering fluorescent light casts a sickly yellow glow. Students trickle in, a mix of bell-bottoms and flannel shirts. JEFF’S (V.O.) voice, dry and slightly world-weary, begins.

JEFF (V.O.) Nineteen seventy-seven. Disco was king, though nobody I knew actually liked it. Disillusionment was the prevailing intellectual fashion, even amongst those of us who hadn’t yet accomplished anything to be disillusioned about. And in the hallowed, or perhaps just humid, halls of the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee, a new kind of delusion was brewing: the belief that we could make movies.

PROFESSOR SHELDON SILVERMAN (50s, tweed jacket, perpetually distracted) stands at the front, adjusting his notes. He clears his throat.

PROFESSOR SILVERMAN Alright, settle down, settle down. Welcome to Film History 101. A journey, if you will, through the celluloid dreams that have… well, that have been projected onto screens for the better part of a century.

LEONARD (20, hunched, thick glasses perpetually sliding down his nose) shuffles in, followed by STANLEY (20, slicked-back hair, wearing a too-tight leisure suit).

STANLEY (Whispering loudly) Film History. Sounds… epic. Like the history of empires, but with more close-ups.

LEONARD (Adjusting his glasses) More likely a litany of forgotten filmmakers and the socio-political subtext of early nitrate stock. Riveting.

MARVIN (20, longish hair, wearing a band t-shirt two sizes too big) ambles in, a look of profound boredom etched on his face. DEBORAH (20, bright-eyed, carrying a stack of film theory books) enters next, trying to appear organized. CYNTHIA (20, pale, perpetually inhaling and exhaling, though no cigarette is visible) trails behind.

They find seats in the middle, clustering together almost instinctively.

PROFESSOR SILVERMAN (Continuing) Today, we begin with the Lumière brothers. Pioneers! Thinkers! Men with a… a vision for capturing reality. Though their reality, I suspect, was considerably less… anxiety-ridden than our own.

LEONARD (Muttering) Try dealing with existential dread and a faulty camera, Professor. Then talk to me about anxiety.

STANLEY (Scoffs) The Lumières? Amateurs. They were making glorified home movies. Where’s the glamour? The sweeping scores? The love triangles?

MARVIN (Deadpan) Maybe the love triangle was between the camera, the tripod, and the roll of film.

Cynthia lets out a dry, silent laugh, a puff of imaginary smoke escaping her lips. Deborah nudges Stanley.

DEBORAH Stanley, be serious. This is foundational stuff. We need to understand the basics before we can, you know… revolutionize cinema.

STANLEY Revolutionize? Debbie, darling, we’re going to Hollywoodize cinema! Think big! Think spectacle! Think… my agent calling Spielberg!

A hand shoots up in the front row.

STUDENT 1 Professor Silverman, will we be discussing the Marxist interpretations of The Great Train Robbery?

Leonard groans softly.

LEONARD Oh, God. Here we go.

MARVIN (Under his breath) I’d rather discuss the actual robbery of a great train. At least that has some narrative drive.

PROFESSOR SILVERMAN (Adjusting his tie) Well, yes, we can certainly touch upon the… socio-economic implications of early narrative film. Though I find the lens of Freudian analysis equally… perplexing.

Another hand goes up.

STUDENT 2 Will there be extra credit opportunities? I’m already feeling a bit overwhelmed by the syllabus.

CYNTHIA (To herself, exhaling) Overwhelmed? Honey, you haven’t even lived yet. Try a lifetime of vague disappointment. That’s overwhelming.

Leonard snorts, trying to stifle a laugh. Stanley beams, sensing an audience.

STANLEY Extra credit? The only extra credit in this business is when your film makes a billion dollars! Then everyone wants a piece of your… genius.

Deborah sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

DEBORAH Can we just focus on the lecture? Please?

Professor Silverman drones on, oblivious to the miniature theatre of the absurd unfolding in the middle of the hall. Leonard catches Cynthia’s eye, a small smile playing on his lips. Marvin subtly nods in agreement with one of Leonard’s muttered sarcastic remarks. A shared sense of bewildered amusement begins to weave its way through the group.

The loud RING of the class bell echoes through the hall. Students begin to pack their bags.

PROFESSOR SILVERMAN Alright, that’s all for today. Next week, we delve into the groundbreaking… uh… techniques of D.W. Griffith. Don’t forget the reading! It’s… illuminating. In a dusty sort of way.

The five hapless souls rise, their movements still slightly awkward and uncertain, but a subtle shift has occurred.

DEBORAH: So, anyone want to grab some coffee? The Union should be… less depressing than this.

STANLEY Coffee? Excellent! We can discuss my ideas for a gritty, neo-realist musical set in a Milwaukee brewery! It’s got… passion. And polka.

LEONARD (Dryly) Sounds… plausible.

MARVIN As long as the coffee is strong enough to erase the last fifty minutes from my memory, I’m in.

Cynthia nods in agreement, taking a long, satisfying drag on her invisible cigarette. They walk out of the lecture hall together, a budding, unlikely camaraderie forming in the stale air.

JEFF (V.O.) And so it began. Five strangers, united by a shared delusion and a profound lack of direction. Little did they know, their journey into the world of filmmaking would be less about glamorous premieres and artistic triumphs, and more about lukewarm coffee, endless arguments, and the persistent feeling that they were all in way over their heads. But for now, there was coffee. And the faint, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t quite so alone in their haplessness.

EXT. UNIVERSITY HALLWAY – CONTINUOUS

The group walks down the crowded hallway, their voices blending with the general student noise.

FADE OUT.