Get on Up Page #2

INSURANCE SALESMAN

Don’t shoot.

JAMES:

I ain’t gone shoot nobody, son.

Then, as if told by God, James spins around and locks eyeswith the woman who used his bathroom. He approaches her.

JAMES (CONT’D)

Ma’am, it was you wasn’t it? Youtook a break in my bathroom, didn’tyou?

She shakes her head and begins to cry.

FEMALE SALESWOMAN

Yes sir, Mister Brown.

JAMES:

Yes you did. Now, don’t cry. It’sgone be okay.

James lowers the gun to the floor. As he tries to console

the woman.

JAMES (CONT’D)

You had to use the toilet. You saw

an opportunity and you took it.

Yeah, I got mad but, Lady, you didright by yourself. I’ve spent mywhole life doing right by myself.

I’m James Brown and I made a

difference.

JAMES LOOKS TO CAMERA AND TALKS DIRECTLY TO US:

JAMES (CONT’D)

You cats may not own my records but

you can bet every record you have

got a piece of me in ‘em. Ain’t

nobody singing today that ain’t

been touched by James Brown.

James turns back to the woman.

JAMES (CONT’D)

So, Lady, you did right by

yourself. And there ain’t no other

way to live. You understand me?

The woman nods. James turns back to us.

JAMES (CONT’D)

You understand me?

Police sirens are heard in the distance. James turns to his

truck outside the window.

9 EXT. COUNTRY ROAD. DAY. 9

SUDDENLY - a pickup truck passes at a hundred MPH. FOLLOWED A

MOMENT LATER by two city cop cars.

10 INT. PICKUP TRUCK. DAY. 10

James rocks in his seat. Odd guttural sounds. In therearview. The two cop cars close upon him. Hits the gas,

hard.

11 HELICOPTER SHOT: EXT. ON RAMP - I-20. DAY 11

The pickup truck skids onto the interstate where two citycars are now joined by two Highway Patrol cars.

11A EXT. STREET LEVEL 11A

A police car pulls up next to him, the officer aiming aweapon and flagging the car down. James sees him andflinches.

JAMES:

Don’t hurt me. Don’t stop me. Don’t

stop me.

He rams the cop car. It retreats.

12 EXT. I-20. DAY 12 EXT. I-20. DAY 12

Three prowlers and a highway patrol RV form a road block. Ahigh engine note pierces the air. The police take up firingpositions.

13 INT. PICKUP TRUCK. DAY 13

James sees the roadblock ahead.

JAMES:

Don’t stop me. Don’t stop me.

He smashes through road block. The windscreen is blown outwith gunfire showering James with glass.

He glances in the mirror as wind whips around the truck:

Up ahead another police car sits in the middle of the road. Apoliceman steps out from the car firing his pistol at thepickup truck.

James makes a hard right down a dirt road.

14 INT/EXT. PICKUP TRUCK. GRAVEL PITTS, DAY 14

James’s front tires are blown out. James struggles to controlthe skidding vehicle.

JAMES:

C’mon. C’mon.

15 EXT. GRAVEL PITTS, DAY 15

The pickup truck rolls to a stop. Five various police carsfrom different jurisdictions enter the Pitts from fivedifferent entrances and take up positions blocking exitroutes.

16 INT. PICKUP TRUCK. DAY. 16

James sits staring straight ahead. Breathing hard. A loudhailer off screen: “EXIT THE VEHICLE WITH YOUR HANDS ABOVE

YOUR HEAD.” James opens the door scattering glass onto theground.

Around the perimeter armed police tense. Safety’s off.

Keeping James in their sights. A young officer sweatsnervously.

9

James stands next to the bullet riddled wreckage of hispickup, hands above his head. He leans back and sings to thesky.

JAMES:

“I Don’t Feel Noways Tired”.

17 EXT. AUGUSTA COUNTRY CLUB. NIGHT. 1942 JAMES 9 YRS 17

A wide, opulent looking club has taken residence in a hugeantebellum home with wrap around porches.

A crowd of Deep Southern white folk, in cocktail attire, fillboth levels of the porches and spill out onto the lawnsurrounding a BOXING RING.

A GROUP OF SIX BLACK MUSICIANS FORM A DIXIELAND BAND. Without

inspiration they play methodically to the all white crowd.

A FAT, SWEATING ANNOUNCER, walks into the ring, grasps adangling mic.

ANNOUNCER:

Aaannd now folks, before the main

event, the Augusta Country club is

proud to present to y’all it’s

Annual Charity ex-travagaaanza..!

(Drum-roll)

Ladies and gentlemen..The Battle...

Royale!

Music. HALF A DOZEN BLACK BOYS enter the ring. Hyped. A gloveis pulled onto one hand. The other tied behind their backs.

They are blind-folded.

A WHITE MAN with a BUCKET OF WHITE PAINT daubs a number onto

each boy’s chest.

DING! DING! The boys stagger out, blindly swinging. The crowd

roars, bangs the tables as they stumble, lurch, in the bayingdin.

The smallest of the boys stands stiff. He struggles to throwmuch less land a punch. The number “One” is painted on hischest.

A much bigger boy, “Number Six” punches “One” in the gut.

“One” goes down but then slowly rises.

10

The dixieland band watches the exploitation with both horrorand intrigue as they can’t help but wonder who will be leftstanding.

The band’s sound begins to change. It becomes as energizedas the match before them. They sink into the rhythm, and theeffect is one of heightened energy.

The drummer begins to pull the beat and the bass playerinstantly follows suit finding the new pocket. The drummerand bass player share a glance.

This inspired pocket soars across the lawn and into the earsof boy “Number One”.

We are now transported into the mind of “Number One”.

Complete silence except for the sound of the band. Then oneby one all other instruments fade away leaving only the drumand bass.

James turns to the band and lowers his blindfold from over

one eye. He catches eyes with the drummer and bass player.

The drummer nods at James and smiles.

James nods back and closes his eye. The sound morphs again as“Number One” begins to arrange the music in his head to hisown liking.

James opens his one eye and sees only the drummer and bassplayer on the stage. They are now playing what we and Jamesare hearing in his head.

James covers his eye again with the blindfold and forms aslight smile. His stance becomes more relaxed. His bodybegins to swing and morph like rubber.

He throws a punch. IT LANDS.

ALL AT ONCE “Number One” dances forward, dips, swings andsweetly CONNECTS to “Number Four”. As the vanquished headhits the canvas, the victor, “Number One”, bloodied, pantingin the waves of laughter and summer heat, stands alone.

As the boys hit the deck and are deemed “out” they are pulledoff the mat and carried to the bed of a parked truck.

“Three” goes down. Then “Two” and “Five”. A ringside punterTHUMPS the canvas with a fistful of dollars, berating him.

People screaming with laughter. Only “One” and “Six” remain.

Panicky, jerky, they stalk one another. Listening.

“Number One” connects with lighting speed. “Six” removes hisblindfold, jumps off the ring and runs across the lawndisappearing into the nearby woods.

11

“Number One” stands victorious. The crowd goes wild. “NumberOne” absorbs the admiration as he slowly pushes up theblindfold and looks toward the bandstand.

All the band members have returned to the stand as in realitythey always were. They clap wildly as the beat and rhythm ofthis budding continues in his head.

Rate this script:4.0 / 2 votes