Detroit Rock City

FADE IN:

INT. MRS. BRUCE'S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Decorated in Carol Brady chic. When it's not gaudy, tacky,

and loud, it's blander than toast. Colors like lime green

and sunshine orange should be reserved for popsicles only.

MRS. BRUCE, late 30's, enters looking exhausted. She carries

a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other, Erma

Bombeck's The Grass Is Always Greener Over The Septic Tank.

HUMMING "We've Only Just Begun," Mrs. Bruce crouches next to

her wildly-ancient entertainment center complete with 8-track.

She flips the first record forward on her Ronco Record Mate.

Album after album flaps forward. Olivia Newton-John, Neil

Diamond, the Osmond Brothers. She stops on the Carpenters

and sighs at the serene cover art. Just what the doctor

ordered.

Placing the vinyl on the turntable, she CLICKS the dustcover

closed and FLICKS "Play." Reclining in her Lazyboy, she sips

her wine, opens the book and awaits the mellow tones of Karen

Carpenter.

Suddenly, her eardrums are hammered by machine gun GUITAR.

Caustic ROCK 'N' ROLL assaults her senses. She jumps, spilling

her wine all over herself. This isn't the Carpenters...

IT'S KISS!

Racing to the entertainment center, she turns the volume

control knob so violently, it comes off in her hand. The

music is even louder now.

Flustered by the awful noise, she tries lifting the dustcover.

It's stuck. She screams and covers her ears. This is Hell.

Running to the rear of the huge console, she stretches to

reach the plug, but can't. Fingertips millimeters away.

As the cacophony POUNDS she shakes the entire stereo with

all her frantic might.

SCREEEEEECH! The needle scrapes across the vinyl with a

shrill, finally coming to a stop. Whew, silence!

Then, POP, the dustcover opens unceremoniously. Shaken, she

grabs the record with trembling hands and reads the label...

KISS - LOVE GUN, SIDE TWO

Mrs. Bruce's blood boils.

MRS. BRUCE

KISS! The devil's music!

EXT. LEX'S HOUSE - NIGHT

A small, two-story house amid a suburban neighborhood of

other two-story houses. Uninspired architecture. Spindly

trees.

Two-car garage.

A faint yellow glow emanates from a cellar window across

which shadows frantically dart. Over the CRICKETS, we hear

MUFFLED, BADLY-RENDERED ROCK 'N' ROLL. SCRATCHY, GUTTURAL,

inhuman.

CAMERA MOVES to the cellar window. Inside we see four TEENAGE

BOYS who are to blame for the racket. Band practice.

INT. LEX'S BASEMENT/BEDROOM - NIGHT

An inner-sanctum of KISS devotion. Faux-wood paneling is

plastered with countless KISS posters, pictures, fold-outs.

The ceiling is wallpapered with more KISS posters. KISS dolls,

magazines, records, comic books clutter the shag-carpeted

floor. Fast food wrappers heap over the KISS garbage pail.

The four high schoolers rock their hearts out as they blast

a familiar tune offensively off-key.

BOYS SINGING:

"I wanna rock 'n' roll all night and

party every day!"

They stink, but they sure are trying hard. Meet the band

"Mystery." Concert tee-shirts, holey jeans, total burn-outs.

HAWK, a scraggily-haired, disenchanted youth, strains his

vocal chords on the microphone as he SCRATCHES at his rhythm

guitar. Hawk is sort of the brains of this operation, but

knowing the others, that doesn't say much.

LEX POUNDS a bass with earnest determination. Lanky with bad

posture, Lex is already sporting worry lines. He takes

everything way-too-seriously.

TRIP STRUMS lead guitar like he's hammering nails. All id,

Trip is slightly out of his mind. But, is it the chemicals

or just his chemistry. He always wears a knit cap.

JAM, a sensitive kid (but no wuss), BASHES on his drums like

a madman making the bass drum pulsate like a spastic heart.

The big drum bears the word "Mystery" painted on its skin

with a lightning "S" just like the KISS logo.

They bring the classic tune to a shrieking conclusion and

thrust their hands over their heads in the KISS symbol.

Hawk screams into the mike at their imaginary audience.

HAWK:

Thank you, Cleveland! You're a great

crowd. But after three and a half

hours of kick-ass rock and seven

encores on top of that, I'm sorry to

say that this time we really gotta

get back to our hotel rooms and f***

some groupies.

Behind him, Trip grabs Lex's bass and swings it by the neck

at an amp pretending to bash it over and over again. Lex

quickly yanks it away from him.

LEX:

What the f***, Trip? That's my bass!

Jam emerges from behind the pile of drums smiling.

JAM:

That was curly!

TRIP:

Just one more day of school to get

through, girls, before tomorrow

night... Live!

(getting excited)

COBO Hall! Detroit, Michigan!

(like an announcer)

You wanted the best!

ALL FOUR BOYS:

You got the best! The hottest band

in the world... KISS!!

They all make that BREATH SOUND that mimics a screaming crowd.

Suddenly, headlights swing by in the window above them like

a spotlight. Lex hops onto the unmade bed and looks out the

cellar window.

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