University of Cape Town – FAM2011S

8 September 2015

The Girl Can Help It

An embodiment exercise concerning the lived-in experience and intimate reception of tourette’s syndrome.

FADE IN:

EXT. BOTANICAL GARDENS – DAY.

An idyllic ’fenced nature’ scene. Smoothly paved paths snake around miniature hillocks, past autumnal trees and down to a painfully artificial lake surrounded by kaleidoscopic
flowerbeds. Scattered people mill about indifferently while the afternoon dies away without a struggle.
A halting if determined voice begins reading:

SANDRA (O.S.)                                                                                                             “I depart as air, I shake my …
white locks at the runaway sun, I
effuse my flesh in eddies, and …
drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath
myself to the dirt to grow from the
grass I love, …”

All the while, a BEGGAR leaning on the grass surveys the world, small turtles peek their heads above the shallows, a mild wind ruffles the trees’ upper branches, two swans start an argument on the water etc.

SANDRA (O.S. CONT’D)
“If you want me again look for me
under … your boot-soles. You will
hardly … know who I am or what I
mean, But I shall be good health to
you … nevertheless, And filter
and fibre your blood.”

At a postcard distance SANDRA (26) – pretty, with cropped black hair, wearing a weathered purple jersey – lies with LOUIS (23) – dressed for a summer in Death Valley, pouches under his eyes, seemingly unaware he’s no longer a student – on a picnic blanket beneath the shade of a baobab.

SANDRA
(CONT’D)
“Failing to fetch me at … first
keep encouraged, Missing me one
place search a- … -nother,”

Sandra’s face is flushed. Each short ellipsis in her reading of Whitman’s ’Song of Myself’ is the result of a separate tic; a facial contortion, a neck swivel, her hand stretching out beside her.

SANDRA
(CONT’D)
“I stop somewhere waiting … for
you.”

She closes LEAVES OF GRASS, puts it aside, and leans her head on her hand, looking at Louis’ face.

He takes a beat in contemplation before returning her look with a knowing grin.

LOUIS
(Aged English Professor)
Yes, well, that’s all very well and
good but what does it mean to you,
my dear?

SANDRA
(Overenthusiastic Teenage
Poet)
Absolutely Everything, Sir, what
can I say? Well, … no, seriously,
just that it’s kind of picturesque.
I mean here, in this context …
And understandable, as a piece, or
at least relatively so.

LOUIS
I get that, sure. It’s your poem,
your real thing.

SANDRA
I hope so … At least, I mean,
it’s Whitman’s lines, but they’re
my feelings. They don’t belong to
me, but I have to say … I’ve
always felt like I belonged to them
somehow, y’know? That does sound
cheap, sorry.

LOUIS
No, I’d say, I was thinking
actually, it almost sounds better
with your pauses. Your … delivery
makes it very personal to you.

SANDRA
(Just a little flustered)
I don’t think that has … all that
much to do with it.

LOUIS
I just had that impression. I mean
if you only heard your recital, it
would sound like you were doing
them intentionally. And reading the
whole thing really well, too.

SANDRA
(Sardonic, covering
insecurity)
But my face would turn anyone off
it, you’re saying?

LOUIS
Did I say that? I thought I just
meant your tics aren’t obvious,
really, or not as much as you might
think, or fear, they are-

SANDRA
Then why take exception to them? I
get the feeling you just said I’m
… better heard than seen.

LOUIS
No, you’ve made the wrong jump. I’m
saying you cover them well. You
perform well. Surely you wouldn’t
want them to be overly obvious?
Sandra looks away, as if inspecting the horizon.

LOUIS
(CONTINUED)
I’m sorry. We just haven’t talked
about it yet. And I don’t know how
you feel, and I want to know… You
know that I don’t have a problem
with it, don’t you?

SANDRA
I do, sure. But you assume I would
want to get over them, or over
myself, or anything … I’ve lived
with my lack of control forever.
I’m not trying to suppress them
anymore …

LOUIS
I appreciate that. Can I give my
reading though?

After a beat, she nods in assent.

LOUIS
(CONTINUED)
I think… I think this is a test.
I know you love that poem, but you
do love what it represents more
than what it is. I mean, most
people do that anyway. But you’ve
staged this appreciation moment for
me. You want to show yourself
transcending your tics, but since
you think you can’t, you’d rather
show yourself failing at it. And
I’m trying to comment that when I
hear you reading, I try to take
your tourette’s out of the
situation, and I think you’d rather
keep it in it because it makes you
seem more… heroic to do so.

She smiles and sighs in quick weariness.

SANDRA
That’s also such an assumption.

LOUIS
When we started going out I told
you I wouldn’t bullshit you. It’s
not always likable but I’m really
only ever honest out of love.

SANDRA
I love you too, but that is a
really bullshit theory to make …
even if it were right.

LOUIS
I’m sorry. Please correct me.

He edges closer to her, leaning in to become intimate. She isn’t repelled, but her expression does become more
downcast.

SANDRA
I don’t know. I’d like to say it
doesn’t matter to me … I don’t
know … how my life would be
better without … And I constantly
try not to care …

Her tics become more frequent, and suddenly she’s just at the point of tears.

SANDRA
(CONTINUED)
Can we … Can we just shut up,
Louis? Just for a moment … Give
me a moment.

She turns away on her side, taking a deep, dark breath, her eyes closely shut. Louis considers, then pulls up her hand to kiss it.

On the opposite bank, the aforementioned BEGGAR is now
sitting up, watching the scene with a look of inert concern.

A SECURITY GUARD has snuck up behind him.

GUARD
Roger, how are you inside again?

ROGER
I’m doing nothing, officer. I’m
just looking at people, not
accosting them. See that girl for
instance?

He points to SANDRA.

ROGER
(CONTINUED)
Can you imagine being her, Sir?
She’s finding it difficult, I know
I would too, I’m sure.

GUARD
She’s not my problem right now,
Roger.

ROGER
(Disappointed)
Okay, alright, you don’t have to be
brusque.

He gets up to exit the park, the Guard following him on his way.

The light of the afternoon fades further.

FADE OUT: