Deaf Spots

A Single-shot Short Film (Without dialogue either)

PTRCAM004

FAM4040F

May 2017

EXT. CAPE TOWN CBD INTERSECTION – DAY

A relatively quiet Summer’s afternoon in the center of the

city.

The sharp light’s just starting to slant across the sparse

traffic. Besides distant honks, only the ambient presence of

the metropole fulls up the soundtrack.

Across the street, MAXWELL – 25, skinny, wearing

purposefully ragged jeans and a rock band t-shirt, immersed

in a daydream – is leaning against the pole by the zebra

crossing with his finger held on the walk button.

He glances to either end of the just-too-busy road.

As the robot finally changes, he takes out a pair of

heavy-duty wireless headphones from his pocket and puts them

on.

As he strolls across he sets Belle and Sebastian’s ’Heaven

in the Afternoon’ to play and with its opening horns the

song blots out the rest of the diegesis.

He smiles at the sweetness of the singer’s voice and a light

spring is added to his step.

He even mouths the words a little after reaching the other

side.

A little while down the pavement the robot switches back

behind him and the cars rush across.

A speeding car trying to run the red is smashed into by a

complementary driver trying to rush the green.

Maxwell has no reaction.

The fender-bender ends with both cars spun out at obtuse

angles.

The traffic halts completely.

Both drivers – a middle-aged WHITE MAN and a

twenty-something BLACK WOMAN – clamber out of their

vehicles, hold their heads, hang onto their doors and start

shouting at each other inaudibly, with all the requisite

hand gestures.

A number of DRIVERS around them similarly emerge from their

cars but mostly shake their heads, with a couple eventually

moving to intercede as referees or supporters.

(CONTINUED) 

CONTINUED: 2. 

This imbroglio only accelerates as it recedes into the

distance and Maxwell continues to show no sign of realizing

his fortunate avoidance of its chaos.

The song goes on too and when he comes to another crossing

he doesn’t even look both ways this time.

A teenage BEGGAR appeals to him in the middle of the road

but Maxwell brushes him off without looking in his eyes or

ceasing lip-synching.

The Beggar stares daggers into his back as Maxwell leaves

him behind.

He puts his hand in his pocket.

A twenty-something WOMAN, busy scrolling on her phone,

passes by on the pavement walking in the opposite direction.

As she reaches the crossing she is similarly accosted by the

Beggar.

But this time he’s surreptitiously pulled out a small knife

with which he then threatens her after her initial

near-identical brush-off.

She quickly hands over the phone and rushes across the

street away from him.

He in turn makes his escape along the perpendicular street.

Maxwell carries on his stroll utterly regardless.

He closes his eyes and nods his head each time the horn

section returns.

He reaches yet another intersection.

This time a massive STUDENT PROTEST has only just started

marching across his path and down the perpendicular street.

This is a sizable but anarchic group of politicos, SRC

leaders and members, supporting workers and occasional

middle-class voyeurs, all decked out in ironic or

over-sincere t-shirts and brandishing countless illegible

signs.

And with all the visual indices of chants, screams, rumbling

feet and pervasive chatter, the headphones’ soundproofing is

proving its excellence.

(CONTINUED) 

CONTINUED: 3. 

This time he simply follows his own counter-march through

the crowd, crossing the street with the minimum of fuss,

minding the PROTESTORS like a subway commuter minding the

gap.

The song finally winds down just as he reaches the other

side.

And also just as the crowd comes up against a defensive

battalion of armoured police vehicles on the other side.

He sighs as the song eventually finishes.

The crowd tenses as it halts before the line of armed

OFFICERS.

He stops for a moment on the corner to shuffle through his

music library.

After a pause he sets Beach House’s ’Walk in the Park’ to

play and then, seeing as the traffic’s seemingly been

brought to a permanent stop, crosses the street to the

parallel side, still with a slight skip in his step.

The PROTESTORS form a boundary that sets a no-man’s land

avenue between them and the Law.

Through it the distant aftermath of the accident can be

seen.

And after that the mountain watches over everything with an

indifferent, banal splendour.

The new song fades away along with the image.