Scene: Friday Convocation – Fine Arts Building Assembly Hall
INT. BACKSTAGE – FRIDAY AFTERNOON
JEFF (O.S.):The air backstage is thick with the nervous sweat of artistic ambition and the lingering scent of cheap coffee. LEONARD, his glasses perpetually threatening to slide down his nose, fidgets with his notes, a collection of barely legible scribbles on lined paper. Across the cramped space, GWEN, a young woman with intensely dramatic eye makeup, recounts her cinematic triumph to a bored-looking STAGEHAND.
GWEN: …and the juxtaposition of the flickering Super 8 footage of the abandoned amusement park with the mournful cello solo, it’s meant to evoke the ephemeral nature of joy, the inevitable decay of memory… a commentary on the post-industrial malaise that permeates… Well, everything, really.
LEONARD: (Interjecting, adjusting his glasses with a nervous twitch) The ephemeral nature of joy. Yes. Like finding a twenty-dollar bill in an old coat pocket, only to realize it’s counterfeit. A fleeting moment of optimism cruelly snatched away by the harsh realities of… fiscal irresponsibility. Did you consider the symbolism of the rust on the carousel horses? The slow erosion of… childhood dreams?
STAGEHAND: (Without looking at her) Just try not to trip over the dolly tracks.
Across the stage, BRENDAN, a young man sporting a pretentious scarf indoors, holds court with another student.
BRENDAN: My film is a deconstruction of narrative linearity. It unfolds backwards, each scene a fragmented memory leading to a primal, unspoken trauma. The graininess of the 16mm is deliberate, a visual representation of the unreliable nature of… consciousness.
LEONARD: (Nodding thoughtfully) The unreliable nature of consciousness. Indeed. Like trying to remember why you walked into a room in the first place. A profound mystery, really. Does your protagonist grapple with the inherent subjectivity of… reality? The unsettling notion that what we perceive as truth is merely a… flawed interpretation?
BRENDAN: Mostly, we just ran out of film and had to shoot the ending first.
A frazzled STAGE MANAGER claps his hands together wearily.
STAGE MANAGER: Leonard! You’re up! Try to keep it under ten minutes. My therapist charges by the hour.
Leonard gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a cork in a turbulent sea. He shuffles towards the stage entrance.
INT. ASSEMBLY HALL – CONTINUOUS
STANLEY leans forward dramatically towards MARVIN.
STANLEY: Leonard and the goldfish. This has the potential to be… Bergmanesque. Or perhaps early Fellini. Imagine! The silent suffering of a creature confined to a small, watery world! A metaphor for the human condition!
MARVIN: (Leafing through a dog-eared paperback) I’m picturing more of a wet pet.
DEBORAH: He’s actually quite bright. I’m sure he has a compelling vision. Maybe he’ll explore themes of isolation, the yearning for connection in a… well, a fish-eat-fish world. Figuratively speaking, of course.
CYNTHIA: (Exhaling an invisible cloud of smoke, a weary sigh escaping her lips) The yearning of a goldfish. Truly the stuff of epics.
STANLEY: But the exploding bagel! He mentioned it! It could be a brilliant surrealist touch! A sudden, jarring moment of… breakfast-related anarchy!
MARVIN: Maybe the fish eats it and… expands.
DEBORAH: Perhaps he’ll discuss the challenges of anthropomorphizing a creature with… limited facial expressions.
CYNTHIA: (A wry smile) The existential angst etched on a fish’s… face. I can hardly wait.
INT. BACKSTAGE – CONTINUOUS
ANOTHER STUDENT (on the verge of tears) …and then the lead actor quit halfway through filming because he said my artistic vision was “making him question his life choices.”
LEONARD: Questioning one’s life choices. A fundamental aspect of the human experience. Did you explore the actor’s… inner turmoil? The… the existential void that led to his… dramatic departure?
STAGE MANAGER: Leonard! Go! Before they all start requesting refunds.
Leonard stumbles onto the stage, blinking owlishly under the bright lights. He looks utterly alone and exposed.
INT. ASSEMBLY HALL – CONTINUOUS
LEONARD grips the microphone stand as if it’s a lifeline in a sea of expectant faces. He clears his throat, the sound echoing through the hall.
(Leonard stands on stage, blinking owlishly under the bright lights, nervously adjusting his glasses.)
Um, hello. So, the goldfish. My film. It’s… it’s about a goldfish. And, you know, they say goldfish have a memory of only three seconds. Which, if you think about it, is probably about the length of time most people will remember this presentation. Ha.
(Silence. A lone cough.)
Right. Well, the filming mostly took place in my sink. My roommate wasn’t entirely sympathetic to the artistic process involving… fish scales in the drain. But, you know, Bartholomew, the fish, he’s not just a fish. He’s a metaphor. For that feeling you get when you’re at a party and you don’t know anyone, and you just hover near the cheese platter, pretending to be deeply interested in the various textures of the brie.
(A few chuckles.)
But the real metaphor, you see, is for my crippling fear of pigeons. It’s not rational, I know. They’re just… feathered rats with tiny, dead eyes. But they’re always watching. Always. And what are they thinking? Are they plotting? Are they silently judging my inability to parallel park? Because, I have to be honest, I can’t. I’ve tried. I’ve seen people do it with such grace, like a ballet of spatial reasoning. I just end up doing this elaborate, three-point turn that ends with me on the curb, staring into the existential void that is a poorly parked Honda Civic.
(The audience is laughing now.)
And it’s all connected, you see. The fish, the pigeons, the parking. It all leads to my ongoing philosophical debate with myself about the proper way to pronounce “Nietzsche.” Is it “NEET-shuh”? “NEE-chee”? Or is it a silent “t,” like “Knee-uh-shuh”? The weight of this question… it’s an intellectual burden. It’s like trying to find the missing piece “A” when you’re assembling a bookshelf made in Sweden. It’s all just… a complete lack of intellectual curiosity. Or maybe a lot of intellectual curiosity that leads to… this.
(Leonard gestures vaguely at himself, and the audience erupts in laughter.)
I can’t quite decide.
JEFF (O.S.): And so, Leonard, the intellectual with the perpetually bewildered expression, had stumbled upon a universal truth. That sometimes, the most profound connections are made not through carefully crafted pronouncements, but through the messy, neurotic honesty of simply trying to make sense of a world that often makes no sense at all. Especially when you’re trying to make a film about a goldfish.
When Leonard finally stumbles to a conclusion, the applause is deafening. A standing ovation. Stanley, Marvin, Deborah, and Cynthia rise with the rest, clapping with a mixture of shock and genuine appreciation.
STANLEY: (Muttering) I… I don’t understand it. But I… I think I liked it?
MARVIN: (A slight shake of his head, a hint of a smile) Well. That was… something.
DEBORAH: He was… real. In a way none of us expected.
CYNTHIA: (Taking a deep, imaginary drag) Go figure.
Leonard, flushed with surprise and a dawning sense of bewildered triumph, takes a bow, his glasses askew. He spots Stanley, Marvin, Deborah, and Cynthia and waves, a goofy grin spreading across his face, before shuffling off stage. The four friends stare at each other, a silent, shared question hanging in the smoky air of the assembly hall.
STANLEY, MARVIN, DEBORAH, CYNTHIA (in unison, a bewildered whisper): What the hell just happened?
(BLACKOUT)
