‘Thunder Road Revisited’

      A (Partially) Adapted Screenplay

of Bob Dylan’s ‘Tweeter and the Monkey Man’

           By Cameron Luke Peters

FAM1000S

‘Scriptwriting Assignment’

6 October 2014

FADE IN: 

INT. VW BEETLE SPEEDING ON HIGHWAY 99- DAY

THE MONKEY MAN (‘MONK’ for short), 22 years old though

his demeanour could still pass for a teenager’s, wakes

up gradually on the back seat. He lifts his head from

his girlfriend JANUARY’s (‘JAN’s’) lap and peeks out

the rear window.

                              MONK

         Damnit, did I miss the turnpike again?

TWEETER, pink-wigged and ageless, is seen seated at

the wheel. She/He’s keeping an unconcealed pistol on

the passenger seat. We gradually hear the rising

chords of a piece of classical music that we assume is

non-diegetic. The road and the world continue to shake

by outside the windows.

                       TWEETER

          Mm-hmm, yeah. Though I never know

          why you care about it so… It’s

          not like it’s a fancy tourist-

          stop or anything.

                          MONK

          It’s the principle of passing it,

          Tweet. Like a milestone or a

          checkpoint…

MONK leans back into JAN’s lap again. She strokes his

hair while gazing out the window. He surreptitiously

starts to tickle her side and when she eventually

smiles we glimpse her in profile: newly 21, tufts of

red hair sticking out from a homemade beanie and the

morning sun streaked across her face.

                   MONK (CONT’D)

          Like the ‘Gates of Eden’… if you

          feel like bein’ poetically

          inclined. We make it just this

          far just in time and I figure it

          means we’re out of the frying-pan

          already.

                         JAN

                     (whispering)

          I think the phrase is ‘out of the

          woods’, honey.

                          MONK

                  (whispering back)

          I think it’s the same difference,

          dear.

TWEETER picks out a cigarette from a pack on the

dashboard, places it between his lips, lights it with

a Zippo and takes a full drag- all with his right

hand in one practiced motion. Only a slight tremble

in his fingers displays anything other than

confidence. The music reaches a high note and TWEETER

twists the stereo knob up rather than down.

                          MONK

          Tweetness and light, please tell

          me what crap is currently gracing

          our eardrums.

TWEETER takes out and examines a cassette box from

the glove compartment, all the while juggling the

wheel and his cigarette.

                       TWEETER

                (shouting a little)

          Schubert’s ‘Unfinished

          Symphony’, Number Eight. The

          radio’s busted and this happens

          to be the only tape in the

          vehicle.

          (Beat)

          Say what you will about

          ‘Herbie’ drivers, at least

          they’ve got Culture to go

          ‘round. Or, at least,

          pretension.

TWEETER tosses the box to the passenger seat and

starts to hum along to the woodwind section as the

piece winds down. MONK picks up and starts to

fondle a Ziploc bag full of faded dollars that must

have been lying under the passenger seat.

                      TWEETER (V.O. CONT’D)

           Know who Schubert was, by the

           way? Or why he was too lazy to

           finish this?

                         MONK

           Not a clue.

                       TWEETER

           Yeah, me neither.

MONK looks from the bag up to JAN’s eyes

and back again.

                MONK (To JAN) 

           Next time let’s lift a

           Cadillac instead. Wake me up

           again when we get to St.

           Louis.

She gently covers his eyes with her fingers

Cut to:

EXT.HIGHWAY 99- DAY

The navy blue BEETLE we’ve been traveling with

rockets past first a ‘Highway 99’ sign then one

saying, “You are now leaving New Jersey. Come back

and see us again whenever you can.” A skyline of

cardboard-like towers can be spied fading in the

distance. The Sun has fully risen and afternoon is

about to turn.

EXT. TURNOFF TO THUNDER ROAD- DAY

The speed of the BEETLE is unchanged as it turns in

to the slightly more dirt-strewn two-laner and the

car soon disappears into the mirage of the distance.

We are seemingly left in a breezy peace.

Momentarily, another car- a polished, ketchup-red

MUSTANG- comes along to take the turn-off, evidently

racing to catch up.

INT. VW BEETLE ON THUNDER ROAD- DAY

An instant of calm precedes the MUSTANG’s top-speed

overtaking. TWEETER nearly drops his lighter as the

screaming engine passes. As it is, he shakes his

head, with his second cigarette still unlit. MONK,

inevitably, is woken up. JAN pulls down her window

and strains for a second glance at the car.

EXT. SIDE OF THUNDER ROAD- DAY

She doesn’t have to wait long to get it. The MUSTANG

pulls over to the right-hand side of the road and a

MAN in a long black coat gets out, briskly and boots-

first, and strolls over to face back down his lane.

He pulls out a police-issue automatic firearm and

points it at the approaching BEETLE.

INT. VW BEETLE ON THUNDER ROAD- DAY

We see the MAN motioning the slowing BEETLE over to

the left-hand side. TWEETER obediently squeals the

car to a dead stop exactly opposite the MUSTANG.

EXT. THUNDER ROAD- DAY

Seemingly satisfied, the MAN – AUGUST (‘AUGIE’), mid-

twenties and already grizzled – takes his time

walking over. Still holding his gun steady, he uses

his other hand to remove and throw aside a realistic

blonde hairpiece and a fake nose before pulling out

his badge like a magician pulling out a dove.

                       AUGIE

           Welcome to the – quite

           literal – end of the road,

           everyone. As per the usual,

           extricate yourselves from the

           stolen vehicle with your

           hands held sky-high. Though

           please also do remember to

           hand over those counterfeit

           bills I paid you off with in

           the early hours of this very

           morning and I’m sure we can-

                     TWEETER

                  (cutting him off)

           There are three guns

           currently aimed at your head,

           your heart and your ass

           respectively, so if you don’t

           shut the fuck up right now,

           August, they’ll make you.

Indeed, TWEETER is now holding two pistols (the second one from the glove compartment) and MONK has pulled out the last. AUGIE starts to edge backwards to his car though his aim- now moved to MONK- remains true. 

                         AUGIE

           Come on, Tommy. Is the

           melodrama necessary? You all

           know what- or, I should say,

           who- I’m here for.

                          JAN

           Augie, you’re a terrible

           brother. Why would you think

           that now, of all times, I’d be

           better off with your

           protection?

                        AUGIE

           I don’t. I know you’re tough,

           January. But I’ve gotta take

           something personally sometime

           and I’m pretty sure now the

           moment’s come.

                        MONK

           We’ve escaped your

           jurisdiction, Augie. This is

           not fucking High School

           anymore.

The tarmac now forms a No Man’s Land between the

opposing cars and shooters. Their shadows are

lengthening by the second. A far-off car can be seen

emerging out of the mirage.

                       AUGIE

           And this is not a fucking

           Springsteen song, Robert.

           Freedom has never been waiting

           around any corner you could

           hope to reach.

(Beat) 

                        TWEETER

           Banter aside, your sister is

           the decider here. If she says

           stay, we let her go. If she

           says go, you let us leave.

                         AUGIE

           It’s not that simple.

                          MONK

           Yes, it is. Quick and simple,

           before we start attracting an

           audience.

                          JAN

           And I do say let us go, Augie.

           Tell Bill I had to escape to the

           Galapagos and tell Mom I’m dead.

                        AUGIE

           Now why would anyone be that

cruel, huh? 

The fast-approaching car causes every grip to

tighten. A few moments of silence and tension follow

like a Sergio Leone standoff.

Just after the car speeds by, AUGIE fires. But the

bullet misses everyone and only shatters a window as

it passes through the BEETLE.

TWEETER shoots in

return, grazing AUGIE’s arm and causing him to drop

his gun. AUGIE reaches down for it in desperation

while clasping his wound, but TWEETER takes the gap

to step on it and MONK has the presence of mind to

aim and shoot for AUGIE’s front tire.

AUGIE watches on his knees as the BEETLE makes its

escape. He grimaces a few times but never loses his

cool. After a beat he gets up, opens his door and

picks up his police-radio receiver to call for back-

up.

FADE OUT: