Screen Beth Emery Extract from The Conch Republic
ext. small island, the florida keys
– day
Sparkling blue sea, stretches of pale sand beaches, palm trees. Everything is quiet, peaceful. It’s a tropical paradise. There are the odd few sunbathers, a couple of swimmers bobbing around in the gentle waves, and a fisherman with skin hardened by decades in the sun waiting patiently for a bite. super: the florida keys, april 1982
Quietly at first, but growing more and more insistent, early 80s pop music disturbs the moment. The sunbathers stir, swimmers tread water and the fisherman, pissed, loses his chance of a catch. All look around for the source of the noise. ext. us route
1, northbound – day
The music is obnoxiously loud. It contrasts sharply with the aggressive red car that’s playing it. So shiny, its reflection is as blinding as the sun, but there’s rusting around the wheel arches and the engine sounds knackered as it strains to accelerate. It whizzes along, momentarily disturbing people going about their business as it passes. 156
beth emery
