ISal: Beginnings; or A Better Title Escapes Me
Sept 8, 2014 15:56:33 GMT -5
Alex Richards, Kaz, and 1 more like this
Post by The EU on Sept 8, 2014 15:56:33 GMT -5
An Isaac Salinger Roleplay
THE DWEEZ (V.O.): (static-y) "There is an adage in sports: "Great teams do not rebuild; they reload." In the ever changing landscape of professional wrestling there is one constant: WCF. It will constantly be considered one of the elite - their longevity and track record speak for themselves, as do the ratings, gate receipts, and an evident summer expansion. In the span of a season, WCF has added to their ranks. The likes of ICE Berkman, Zombie McMorris, Chelsea Black Armstrong and Steve Orbit will now be joined by the likes of Jay Omega, Grayson Pierce, Bryan Worthy, Hyena, Michael Easton, and, seemingly to this poor wrestling fan, the most unlikely of signings, Isaac Salinger. We'll discuss this with the odd-man-out himself when we come back from the break."
FADE IN:
INT. KFXX 1080 AM STUDIOS - MONDAY AFTERNOON - #BLACK AND WHITE#
The camera crew has been with Isaac for two day and has yet seen a smile. They follow him from JFK to his hotel, out to eat, back to the hotel. The cameras running to gather as much stock footage as possible, the crew were certain that had a total of 10 seconds useable material. What a waste of time, they thought.
Isaac's brow was permanently knitted like the sun was always in his face. A man of few words in front of the WCF crew, he went about day and night thinking, talking quietly to himself, making a phone call, then returning to the cycle. When he speaks he seemed nice enough: cordial, polite. Oftentimes he would stare through the young men making them often wondered if the gray in his hair was an onset for blindness. The authentic grin and accompanying hug Salinger offered when stepping into the radio booth catches everyone off guard, except for the recipient, Stuart Dweezlemire.
Stuart and Isaac, as the crew learned listening in during the commercial breaks, were old friends of nearly 20 years. Isaac explained how he had been in Europe for the past four years running “the ole Seattle saunter” and he was ready to return to the States. Stuart, meanwhile, still writes a professional wrestling blog while hosting a syndicated wrestling talk show. When the topic of WCF came about Salinger evaded the questions with a wave of his hand or a canned response. Stuart wasn't put off, as the crew clearly thought he would be after having questions so dismissively swatted. He was more intrigued, a faint smirk belying the fact.
THE DWEEZ: Very well, Isaac. Have it your way. You're obviously here just to catch up with an old friend and have no reason, whatsoever, for these fine young gentlemen with WCF polos to follow you around.
Tell me, Sal, is WCF doing that poorly they have to hound has-beens out of retirement?
An irritated grimace passes over Salinger's face as he holds his hand up as if saying 'you caught me'. With a shake of his head he mumbles,
ISAAC SALINGER: No comment.
Dweezlemire laughs mirthfully.
CUT TO BLACK:
THE DWEEZ Welcome back, wrestling fans. For those of you old enough to remember my next guest you should be taking your glycerin tablets and getting ready for bed. My guest started his professional wrestling career in 1992. He wrestled for University of Washington leading him to ring tech and whipping boy at the most prestigious federation of the time, ACF, on into the wrestling world through several national tournaments, a litany of of promotions, until finally starting his own outfit in Seattle, Puget Sound Wrestling. From that sprang a career beyond the mat as an adviser and consultant to talent and company alike. If you can remember wrestling before the turn of the century, then you certain are as delighted as I am to hear from Isaac Salinger. Good afternoon, Isaac.
ISAAC SALINGER: Hello. There. Everyone.
THE DWEEZ: As elegant as always.
(silent beat)
THE DWEEZ: This is radio. A shrug doesn't translate.
(silent beat)
THE DWEEZ: Touche.
(silent beat)
THE DWEEZ: (sardonically) Riveting radio. That's Wrestling Radio With The Dweez. "Putting the Brains in the Brawn." We're here three times a week cracking the deeper meaning of wrestling and the world.
ISAAC SALINGER: I never miss it.
THE DWEEZ: (intrigued) I understand you've just arrived from Berlin. Did you hear my dulcet tones all the way over in Europe?
ISAAC SALINGER: No. I was just offering riveting radio.
THE DWEEZ: (soberly) What bring you Stateside, Isaac? And if you say a jet, so help me...
ISAAC SALINGER: And now comes the business, huh? No more playful banter?
THE DWEEZ: I.. uh... Isaac, are you headphones working? Do you not remember one minute ago? Not exactly winning me any Emmys here.
ISAAC SALINGER: (airily) I vaguely remember bits and pieces.
THE DWEEZ (mock irritation) Yes, business. Let's get into it, then, shall we? You see, fans, Isaac isn't alone with me in the booth...
ISAAC SALINGER: Alone with you?
THE DWEEZ: ... he has an entourage, a WCF film crew - a boom operator-slash-grip and a cameraman to be exact. Interesting, isn't it, fans? Especially since Isaac here was saying before this segment about... well, Isaac why don't you fill them in?
(quiet beat)
THE DWEEZ: If only looks could kill.
ISAAC SALINGER: (quietly) If only.
FADE TO:
EXREME CLOSE-UP -- ISAAC'S EYE #COLOR#
The switch flips for Isaac. His pupil contracts. The camera pulls back slowly. His sulky, scowling demeanor vanishes. A smile, very forced, splits his lips and he speaks in a confident, flowing manner.
On the outside Isaac is cool and calculated. His every enunciation is measured; his words are as exact as the fold of his dark suit. Inside he was a tumultous mess. This is the moment, the hardest moment of all, the moment he sreads over the entirety of the plan to return to the States and high profile wrestling: the first interview. Unless one knows the exact words to say and themes to touch on, the first public outings often comes off lacklustre and trite; impression are everything to a wrestler. At least the format suits Isaac. He chose The Dweez specifically for their intimacy and his radio time window. An 8 minute segment suits him just fine.
Bing-bang-boom. In and done.
Stuart's eyes flickers in delight from the shadows of his corner. "Business time", he thinks. [/b][/font][/i]
ISAAC SALINGER: As all of you who visit The Dweez's blog or follow him on twitter know by now... (sarcastically) thank you for the free unsoliciated pub, by the way... I have, in fact, I've signed a three month contract with WCF. That being the case, my friends here are with me to get some footage to debut. A simple formality really. That, my friend, is why they are here with me.
THE DWEEZ: Three months, though? Why bother? You're in your forties...
ISAAC SALINGER: 39.
THE DWEEZ: You walk with a limp...
ISAAC SALINGER: Barely noticable.
THE DWEEZ: You've not been in the ring in, three, maybe four years?
ISAAC SALINGER: Five, but true.
THE DWEEZ: So the biggest promotion in the world calls you up and offers a three month deal?
ISAAC SALINGER: The three months was my idea. They offered a year - rolling, joint options.
THE DWEEZ: I've seen a lot of wrestling in my life, and three months is barely enough time to get your feet wet much less diving into the deep end.
ISAAC SALINGER: O ye of little faith.
THE DWEEZ: Sorry, Isaac, but I just can't see that being a great deal. You want as much guaranteed as possible, especially with your, well... fluctuating financial statements.
ISAAC SALINGER: It's a rolling contract, with joint options. If things go well, it could be a year. If not, I have an escape clause.
THE DWEEZ: Or be completely embarrassed when WCF doesn't renew you contract.
Stuart's tangent is aggravating Isaac. His tone stiffens.
ISAAC SALINGER: Am I stupid? Have I ever not had a plan?
THE DWEEZ: Well, I've known you a long, long time...
The Dweez begins to back-pedal, thrown off by Isaac's change of tactics.
ISAAC SALINGER: In the last decade, then. Have I ever not had a plan?
THE DWEEZ: Well, no.
ISAAC SALINGER: Let's clear things up right now. I'm not wrestling. As you've alluded to and rightly shown, I'm in no shape to wrestling full time any more, much less at the level of WCF. But I've honed my wrestling mind during this century and I can offer thing to WCF that any brand worth their salt would want. Intelligence. Experience. Forethought. I've been all over this world and I've watch some fantastic wrestling, and triple that amount of pure hack garbage. I've worked with potential laden flops, perennial overachievers, and every degree of wrestler in between...
CUT TO:
INT. WCF HOUSE SHOW - MONDAY NIGHT
Isaac stands center of the right with microphone in hand. He's dressed in a smart black suit, white shirt, and black tie accompanied by a lime green pocket sqaure. His graying hair flows where it may as he addresses the crowd.
"...The hungry, the desperate, the potential-laden, the outcast looking for that one break. Those that would do ANYTHING in the world to please YOU... the fans... the whole reason this crooked mess started, exists, and endures. Without you, how would ol' Natty ICE's celebration sound in an empty arena? Or any celebration in this ring, for that matter? As hollow as their devotion to those that put them in their ivory tower.
"I'm Isaac Salinger, and I've come to this great federation to change your perspectives, change the way you look at this very sport..."
The crowd murmurs with dissatisfaction. Salinger reacts with a smile. He holds up a placating hand.
"I know. I know..."
The groans get louder.
"I know, right?"
And even loud, transforming into some boos and whistles.
"I understand completely. Listen. I do. I truly do.
"How many times can you hear it said? Under these same circumstances, in this very same ring. People like me, fresh from the who knows where, deriding and bashing your champions. Or the tired rhetoric like 'I'm the new man in town and I'm going to take it over, piece by piece, reforming it into my own image!' And that's exactly my point!
"You see, I could sit here and tell you of my many accomplishment and endeavors across the great big globe, heralding my greatness, announcing my arrival, my... entrance onto the grand stage that is WCF. I could go on and on about myself. My three, count 'em, three King of the Death Match participatory medals - with one win, by the way -, three heavyweight championships in three separate federations...
"I even own my own promotion!
"Yeah.... dream come try, that effin' money pit!"
Now the crowd is mixed. Some are seeing his point of view. Others still jeer him for the derisive jabs at fan favorites and federation legends.
"As you see, I could prattle endlessly about my bravado. Woo the lady folk with my machismo. I could, because I can, I have, and I do... But I won't..."
The crowd reacts heavily, a mixture of cheers and jeers.
"I won't!
"That's the problem... the paradigm shift... the uninspected life that I'm hear to expose. In this great nation with freedom of choice, you chose over a decade ago to support this blossoming federation. You chose to pay the tickets prices, to buy the merchandise, to support the wrestlers at fanfests. You could have taken your hard earned money elsewhere, but you didn't. You stayed. Right here. That's a beautiful thing... as was this federation then. "
Isaac pauses a moment. He let's his words sink in to the perceptive ones. The rest let out some indistinct yells.
"Here's the rub: you no longer are free. Perhaps you're driven by boredom, lack of choices, drawn to its familiarity, or held in place by apathy and routine. Why choose a sports entertainment show that lacks the vital essence of the genre: entertainment?
"You no longer have entertainment around here. It's all muddled into one vat of selfishness stirred by the stick of self-denial. You have hybrids and sociopaths. You have washed outs and never-weres. You have unstable, self-serving people acting out their sick fantasies as you fine people out there... you hard working, blue-collar, salt of the earth people bound by comfort and habit - are forced to watch a heartless encounter as egomanics sweat on and punch each other for their own selfish gains.
"Raging alcoholism and antisocial behavior seem to infest this federation. That is not a way to be a role model to the children who watch the shows week in and week out. It's a sad state of affairs in the WCF when you have such a spotlight upon people who are so fragile and broken. They're exploited for their brokenness. Twisted and screwed and placed against each other all the while seeing only what's put before them, not what is around them
"It'll be folly for me or any of my associates to come out here and declare that the times of changed. The new champion is in town. It would be an unforgivable form of arrogant and flat-out foolhardy to say that an impact is inevitable. Say with certainty that a new era is upon us. That things will change.
"All that I can proclaim is that from here forth the best interest of the people will be looked after. The collective will be nurtured, not the individual. Your voice will be heard and a champion will come forth. When he stands triumphant over this company extolling all the virtues you good people hold dear, then will we be united in entertainment. Then, we will get our wrestling. Then, and only then, will this whole absurdity of professional wrestling will be worth what we pay."
Salinger takes a breath. The crowd is not white-hot, but there is a portion of the fans that remember Isaac or support his message; they are energetic and positive.
"So, tonight, love your favorite wrestler. I have mine favorites. Cheer them. Encourage them. Jeer their opponent. But keep in mind who you SHOULD cheer for and why. Thinking for yourseld could make all the difference.
"Thank you."
He drops the microphone mid-ring and exits through the ropes as Modest Mouse's "Stars Are Projectors" plays over the PA system. A group of fans near the entrance ramp rush to the aisle getting some high-fives and a couple signatures from Isaac Salinger.