My Battlestar Galactica Micro Spec
There are a couple of TV and film writers out there that maintain great blogs, but the best one that deals specifically with the Canadian television business is Dead Things On Sticks.
It was over on Denis McGrath’s blog that I first heard about the Banff Television Festival’s Global Television Writers Apprentice Award. From the Banff site:
The Writers Apprentice offers an emerging Canadian writer with the unprecedented opportunity to gain significant experience by completing a four-week internship in the story department of a prime-time series.
Sounds great right? I thought so and applied for the internship on the 20th. As part of the application, I submitted an original one page(ish) scene from one of my favourite TV shows.
Read my super-brief Battlestar Galactica spec script below the fold…
(Please excuse the formatting…)
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA (SPEC) “Marathon Man” 04/18/07 p.9
Starbuck leads a squad of Colonial Marines through the empty and eerily echoing ship. She pokes her head quickly around a bulkhead, staring intently down an impossibly long hallway.
STARBUCK
(speaking over comm)
Galactica, Starbuck: All clear on this level too. No toasters, no skinjobs, no nothing. This whole gods damned ship is deserted…
LEE ADAMA (O.S.)
(over comm)
Starbuck, Galactica: Slow and steady wins the race soldier. The Cylons went through a lot to hide this ship from us and we need to know why. Keep it top to bottom, inch-by-inch.
STARBUCK
(to Marines and over comm)
You heard the CAG boys, “Top to bottom, inch-by-inch”. Just like on his wedding night.
The Colonial Marines murmur in amusement as the search party moves down the hallway, weapons at the ready. On either side of the squad, jail-cell type walls open into small empty rooms. Starbuck drags her weapon absently across the bars.
STARBUCK
(over comm)
This section is some sort of detention wing. Bunch of little holding cells that are empty, empty, empt—
Starbuck abruptly comes face to face with a tall black man standing in the middle of his locked cell. The man’s hair and beard have grown out long and wild. He looks barely alive. The Colonial Marines bristle into position.
Thank the gods.
The Colonial Marines wait for instruction. Starbuck is off-balance. She recognizes the prisoner.
It has been so long. I had almost completely given up hope.
Starbuck slowly regains her composure. She seethes with a barely contained fury.
STARBUCK
Lucky you. Now you can throw that hope out of an airlock.
The Marathon Man looks confused.
STARBUCK (CON’T)
(over comm)
Galactica, Starbuck: Contact. We’ve got a Cylon down here. Simon model. Looks like they’ve put him in hack for some reason.
(to
What’d you do skinjob? Plug yourself into the wrong toaster?
LEE ADAMA (O.S.)
(over comm)
Starbuck, Galactica: Acknowledged. Good work. Reel it in for questioning.
STARBUCK
(to
You frak up an oil change or something you naughty little Cylon?
I’m not a Cylon.
STARBUCK
Nice try chrome bone.
Starbuck motions to the Marines to continue their sweep.
STARBUCK (CON’T)
(leaning in close to Marathon Man)
We’ve already met. You tried to scoop out my insides on Caprica, remember? Or didn’t you get that download yet?
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am a Tauron. A tylium miner. Our ship was taken. We’ve been here ever since. This is a medical research ship.
COLONIAL MARINE
(calling back to Starbuck)
You better take a look at this sir.
The Marine is standing in front of a cell. There appears to be a dead body inside.
The Cylons use us. Like rats. They’ve been experimenting on us for years…
Starbuck moves slowly away from the Marathon Man down the long hallway, looking around in horror. The rest of the cells are littered with bodies.
