The Hellborn Spawn of the MLA Swamp Monster: A Horror Film in Five Acts

TEASER

[We see a montage of several young, conventionally attractive, and tastefully semi-clothed men and women, all seated at trendy desks in front of expensive laptops—Mac Airs, perhaps. They are nibbling biscotti, sipping Starbucks lattes, and otherwise snacking on pricey but trendy goodies. There are no papers, books, or other signs of intellectual life to be seen.

The montage has been taped with a single handheld camera.

As the montage proceeds, ominous music swells in the background.]

TIMOTHY: OooOOOOOhh, deepest and darkest spirit, hark unto my plea! I bring thee the dripping heart of the fifth student of the fifth hour of the fifth day of the fifth class. [Holds aforementioned dripping heart above the keyboard]

CHRISTINA: If thou fulfillest my request, I pledge you the blood of my firstborn son! [Crosses fingers behind her back.]

SUSANNAH: Take this token of my earnest vow, to do thy bidding throughout all eternity! [Slashes hand with a knife and lets the blood drip over the keyboard.]

JONATHAN: I give you this surety of my eternal debt. [Tosses DVD of There Will Be Blood into what looks like a ritual lamp.]

DORIAN: I, like, will give you, like, anything. Like, my soul, and stuff.

[The music amplifies to a shriek, as we see…]

CREDITS

THE HELLBORN SPAWN OF THE MLA SWAMP MONSTER

[As the credits roll, we see a closeup of the laptop screen. On the screen is the MLA Job Information List, but it’s a JIL like we’ve never seen before: not only is it red characters on a black background, but also it is ornamented with pentagrams and other vaguely demonic-looking symbols. A weird chanting sound emerges from the laptop speakers. The screen slowly degrades into what looks like a smear of unknown bodily fluids, while blood slowly drips out of the laptop. Fade to black.]

ACT I

[SUBTITLE: Three months later…]

[We see our five protagonists gathered in a swanky bar in an upscale hotel. All of them are wearing expensive (if somewhat tight-fitting) suits, carrying leather briefcases, and sipping expensive wines. To their left and facing away from them is what looks like a LITTLE PROFESSOR, reading a book.]

JONATHAN: I’ve got eighteen interviews, including a senior position at Harvard. They’re ready to offer me tenure when I haven’t published a single article! I killed.

SUSANNAH: And I’ve got twelve interviews, even though I haven’t actually finished my Ph.D. I’m guessing that the committees are going to slaughter each other to get their hands on me and my wicked brain.

CHRISTINA: Both Yale and Stanford are dying to hire me for Comparative Literature.

TIMOTHY: Kids, I’ve got half-a-dozen department chairs with their blood up, ready to duel to the death for the privilege—the privilege, I tell you—of offering me the richest startup packages in the business.

DORIAN: Wow, dudes. I’m, uh, like, still waiting to hear from, like, that college near the desert. You know? The one fifty miles from the closest village.

[Everyone, except DORIAN, clinks their glasses in celebration.]

WOODEN VOICE FROM THEIR LEFT: Those who live by the JIL of the deepest and darkest circles of Hell, die by the JIL of the deepest and darkest circles of Hell.

[They turn, and see that what at first appeared to be a LITTLE PROFESSOR is actually…a VENTRILOQUIST’S DUMMY in the shape of a LITTLE PROFESSOR.]

LP VENTRILOQUIST’S DUMMY: The demon Blweizkswqxz is waiting to eat the hearts of those who fail to obtain jobs at this year’s MLA convention. Your pledges of blood were insufficient for his cavernous maw. Now your doom hastens upon you! Bewaaare! Bewaaaare!

[The LP VENTRILOQUIST’S DUMMY shatters into tiny pieces. Nobody else at the bar appears to notice.]

DORIAN: Uh…guys? Isn’t that, like, a bad sign? Like, maybe, a prophecy from Hell, or something?

[The others share a glance, then shrug.]

TIMOTHY: Nah, just some Charlie McCarthy wannabe.

[A janitor comes along and sweeps up the pieces. An eye winks at DORIAN from the dustpan.]

ACT II

[Cut to an equally upscale hotel room. Several mini liquor bottles are littered around the room. TIMOTHY and CHRISTINA are disporting themselves on the bed.]

CHRISTINA: Oooh. Oooh. Oooh.

TIMOTHY: Ahh. Ahh. Ahh.

[Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.]

CHRISTINA: Timmy—Timmy darling--I don’t know why, but tonight, I just had to engage in the pleasures of the flesh.

TIMOTHY: Chrissie, I felt exactly the same way. It’s like…somehow…there was a plot, or something, forcing us together at this very moment in time and space. Because it can't be this dialogue, which is just awful.

CHRISTINA: Oooh. Oooh. Oooh.

TIMOTHY: Ahh. Ahh. Ahh.

[Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.]

A WEIRD VOICE FROM THE CLOSET: Of course you had to have sex, you idiots. Didn’t you do the reading in “Introduction to Genre Theory”?

[As TIMOTHY and CHRISTINA jump out of bed, shrieking, a MAN IN A HOCKEY MASK emerges from the closet.]

MAN IN A HOCKEY MASK: Look, scumbags, it’s a horror movie. You have sex, you die.

[The MAN IN A HOCKEY MASK brandishes a reasonably realistic axe. The handheld camera shakes uncontrollably.]

TIMOTHY: No! Wait! We’re subverting the horror genre! We’re a sex-positive horror film! Let me talk to your agent—

CHRISTINA [talking over him]: Seriously, that master narrative? No longer in play. This was supposed to be a deconstructive moment. A play on embodiment and disembodiment—

MAN IN A HOCKEY MASK: Hon, let’s talk about disembodiment, shall we?

[Fake blood spills in a number of inventive ways.]

ACT III

[We’re in the lobby of our upscale hotel. DORIAN, SUSANNAH, and JONATHAN are relaxing in leather armchairs, sipping their morning cappuccinos. They are wearing expensive suits, but not last night’s expensive suits.]

JONATHAN: Have any of you seen Tim and Chrissie? What could have happened to them?

[Fake blood drips from the ceiling behind them. Nobody notices.]

SUSANNAH [getting up]: I’m off to my first interview. With the University of Chicago. I tell you, they’re going to eat me up.

[She exits, wearing a pair of extremely impractical stiletto heels.]

DORIAN: Man, my only interview is, like, on the last day of the conference. Totally uncool.

[Suddenly, JONATHAN and DORIAN catch sight of two unusually ratty-looking men—for this film, anyway--one elderly, one bearded. The two men approach.]

PROPHET #1 [speaking unintelligibly] Blah blah BLAH blah BLAAAH blah blah.

PROPHET #2 [rather more intelligibly]: "Therrrre is a warrrr going on between angels of light and darrrrk, overrr yourrr soul…"

JONATHAN: At the MLA? Dudes, you have got to be kidding me. Binary oppositions are so passé now; we’re all about the indeterminacy.

[DORIAN, baffled, heads to the nearest coffee shop for another cappuccino. Meanwhile, from the other side of the lobby approaches a white-faced demon with pins stuck all over his head, carrying a script.]

PINHEAD: Yo, Prophets! Check the script! This is a horror film, not a send-up of the Christian apocalyptic genre. Get with the program.

PROPHET #1: Blah blah blah blah?

PROPHET #2: Rrrreally? Huh. [They huddle around the script.] You’rrre rrright. We must have taken a wrrrrong turrrn at the last exit from limbo. [Shrugs.] Come to think of it, I’m supposed to change costumes and appearrr in some English professorrr’s Starrr Trrrek parrrody, anyway.

[They disappear in a puff of rather dirty smoke.]

PINHEAD: Now, as for you…aren’t you the guy working on the Marquis de Sade?

JONATHAN [flattered]: Why, yes; I’ve got an article in circulation on the relationship between the logics of Foucauldian power-knowledge and the practice of body modification in Justine…

PINHEAD: The Hell’s Journal of Agonizing Eternal Torment has accepted your article, and awarded you this really nifty puzzle box in token of their appreciation of your scholarship. [Hands JONATHAN the box.]

JONATHAN: Wow, this is…huh, let me see if I can solve it…I think I’ve got it…There! Cool!

[A moment later, JONATHAN realizes that solving the puzzle was perhaps not as cool as he first thought. As the handheld camera shakes, more fake blood flows.]

ACT IV

[We are in CHRISTINA’S and TIMOTHY’S hotel room, still dripping with fake blood. SUSANNAH is seated on an uncomfortable chair, facing a very strange-looking SEARCH COMMITTEE.]

SUSANNAH [uncertainly]: Am I in the wrong room? I thought this was the interview for the University of Chicago position in postmodern Gothic literature.

DRACULA (GARY OLDMAN VERSION): Actually, this is the Gothic interview, not the interview for a position in Gothic literature. [Politely] Here, let me get you a drink. [Hands her a glass of something red.]

SUSANNAH: Please tell me that this is V-8.

DRACULA (BELA LUGOSI VERSION): Not at all. This is a particularly fine vintage of blood—1306 AD, as a matter of fact—decanted from the throat of a virgin by the light of the full moon. Extremely prized by blood connoisseurs, I assure you; a hint of chocolate in the nose…

[SUSANNAH, understandably, looks a little queasy. Nevertheless, she needs the job—but reminds herself to write a letter of complaint to this school’s HRC, wherever it may be.]

COUNT ORLOK (MAX SHRECK): [Gestures silently while eerie music plays.]

DRACULA (GEORGE HAMILTON VERSION): What Orlok means to say is that we’re a very diverse institution. [Hands SUSANNAH a slimy-looking packet.] In addition to a variety of vampires, succubi, and incubi, our student body includes several zombies, a large population of banshees, and numerous poltergeists.

DRACULA (FRANK LANGELLA VERSION): We also have an excellent benefits package, including velvet-lined coffins and anti-stake armor, plus free garlic repellent after three hundred years of service.

SUSANNAH: Er…I’m not sure you understand. I study contemporary vampire erotics; I’m not a vampire myself. [Looks at the blood on the bed] Didn’t anybody ask to have this room cleaned up before the interview?

DRACULA (BL): Not a vampire? [They check her CV.] That’s odd. I could have sworn…Damn, we’ll have to impale the administrative assistant who made this appointment.

SUSANNAH: [inching towards the door] If you don’t mind, I think…I’ll be going now. Another interview, you know. With live interviewers. [She makes a run for the door, but trips and falls, thanks to the stiletto heels.]

COUNT ORLOK (MS): [Gestures silently while eerie music plays.]

DRACULA (GO): Yes, Orlok, you’re right! I believe that now would be a good time for a light snack.

[Fake blood spills as the handheld camera does loop-the-loops.]

ACT V

[We’re back in the swanky bar. DORIAN sits by himself, drinking beer and reading the latest issue of PMLA. As the handheld camera pans to the right, we see that the LP VENTRILOQUIST’S DUMMY is sitting at the next table. How it got itself together again is not explained.]

DORIAN: Dude, you, like, said that the last time you were on.

LP VENTRILOQUIST’S DUMMY [checking the script]: Damn, you’re right. Let me try that again. [Beat] Blweizkswqxz awaits thee below! Thy time on earth hast ended! Prepare for all the torments of Hell! Bewaare! Bewaa—oh, man, I’m repeating myself again. Who wrote this script, anyway?

DORIAN: Speaking of the script…where’s the hellborn spawn of the swamp monster? I mean, it says right there in the opening credits that there’s going to be spawn. Don’t you guys believe in, like, truth in advertising?

LP VENTRILOQUIST’S DUMMY: Budget cuts. [Sighing] You wouldn’t believe how hard it is these days to fund really good spawn; the NEH used to have grants to support them, but the scrutiny they give monster applications these days is just insane! [More sternly] Now, speaking of grants and budgets, that blood you pledged…

DORIAN: Look, that contract the others signed? I didn’t complete it. [Shrugging] Seriously, I’m afraid of blood. Makes me faint, like, every time. They used Blweizkswqxz’s JIL from Hell, not me. No way am I under this curse.

LP VENTRILOQUIST’S DUMMY: Well…darn, how unfair can you get? Everybody else got to off somebody. [Sulking] How am I supposed to show my face at the annual Hell’s Halloween Ball if I don’t personally bring you face to face with Blweizkswqxz?

DORIAN [earnestly]: Look, dude, I don’t mean to pry, but…have you ever seriously considered trying another genre? Like, maybe, comedy? I’ve been thinking of chucking this whole academia thing and going into ventriloquism. I mean, my dissertation was just, like, repeating what thirty other people had said, anyway.

LP VENTRILOQUIST’S DUMMY: That is an idea. [Brightening up a bit] You know, there’s this great little club in Hell’s Kitchen…

[Fade to black as the credits roll.]