Lost Cause: An Impromptu Talk With God.

Impossibile aggiungere al carrello

Puoi avere soltanto 50 titoli nel carrello per il checkout.

Riprova più tardi

Rimozione dalla Lista desideri non riuscita.

Riprova più tardi

Non è stato possibile aggiungere il titolo alla Libreria

Per favore riprova

Non è stato possibile seguire il Podcast

Per favore riprova

Esecuzione del comando Non seguire più non riuscita

Lost Cause: An Impromptu Talk With God.

Ascolta gratuitamente

Vedi i dettagli del titolo

Offerte di stagione | 0,99 €/mese per i primi 3 mesi

A seguire 9,99 €/mese – si applicano condizioni. Puoi disdire mensilmente.

Excerpt - The Chronicles of WTFINT. MODERN ESTATE - LIVING ROOM - DAYA cavernous architectural expanse of cast concrete and austere luxury.CHARACTER NOTE: C.C. (played by Meryl Streep) is an ageless deity and primordial mystic disguised in mortal refinement. Across parallel timelines and cosmic shifts she assumes myriad forms, but in this realm she embodies Old Hollywood royalty—silver-screen elegance, supreme poise, and the chilling authority of an ancient power disguised in tailored silk.C.C. sits ensconced behind a sprawling low marble table. She remains entirely absorbed in her manuscripts, pen poised, an imperious sovereign whose authority requires neither volume nor effort.Her ASSISTANT (20s, hyper-attentive, subtly overwhelmed) hovers near the entry.C.C. (without looking up) Go into my glass case.ASSISTANT Which one?C.C. In the den.ASSISTANT The trophy room?C.C. In the den.INT. DEN / TROPHY GALLERY - CONTINUOUSDIRECTOR’S NOTE: The camera tracks slowly behind the Assistant into an intimidating, high-ceilinged rotunda lined with a curved panoramic window overlooking the precipitous canyon drops outside.Opposite the glass horizon stands an immense, built-in vitrine: tier upon tier of polished bronze, silver, crystalline monoliths, engraved medallions, and soaring statuary celebrating an exhaustive lifetime of prestige.The Assistant lingers framed in the threshold, utterly paralyzed by the overwhelming labyrinth of accolades.She blinks, exhales, and pivots back toward the living room.INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUSC.C. remains motionless over her documents, pen scratching steadily against parchment.ASSISTANT What did you need?C.C. Oh. Go into my glass case.ASSISTANT Okay?C.C. And get my trophy.The Assistant squints, bewildered by the sheer logistical impossibility.ASSISTANT Which one?C.C. The pretty one.A tense pause. The silence is broken only by the rhythmic scrawl of C.C.'s fountain pen.ASSISTANT Which one?C.C. You’ll know it when you see it.The Assistant swallows hard, nods submissively, and turns back.INT. DEN / TROPHY GALLERY - CONTINUOUSCLOSE UP - SHELVESThe Assistant paces slowly down the length of the illuminated glass cases. Gleaming brass wings, faceted quartz prisms, heavy gold wreaths. All of them possess an ornate, detached elegance.She arrives at the farthest alcove.ANGLE ON A LOWER SHELFTucked between two towering obelisks sits a solid bronze figurine: a sculpted, unclothed MAN. He carries a distinct boyishness—youthful features, an open, unassuming expression, and a magnetic grace.There is no engraved placard. No commemorative laurel.The Assistant slides the glass panel aside. The mechanism glides with a muffled hum.She lifts the figurine. It has noticeable density. She turns it over in her hands, searching for markings. Blank.She glances up at the sweeping glass window overlooking the sunlit abyss of the canyons, then down at the statue again.INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUSThe Assistant appears in the archway, holding the bronze figurine gingerly with both hands.C.C. lifts her eyes from her papers for the first time. A faint, knowing flicker in her gaze.C.C. Oh good, you’ve got it.The Assistant hesitates, disarmed by the sudden validation. She steps briskly to the low marble table and bends to set the statuette down.C.C. (CONT'D) (firm) No, not there.The Assistant snaps upright as if struck by a current.C.C. studies the space for a fraction of a second, then gestures dismissively toward the kitchen.C.C. (CONT'D) There. On the island.ASSISTANT Mmhmm.The Assistant complies, setting the bronze figure squarely on the pristine quartz island counter.C.C. Could you get me a water? And whatever you want.ASSISTANT Sure.INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUSThe Assistant pulls open the stainless steel refrigerator door. The heavy door obscures the hallway alcove directly behind it.She retrieves a chilled glass bottle of sparkling water and a mineral water carafe from the interior shelf.REVEAL SHOTShe swings the refrigerator door shut.Standing directly where the open door had masked the view is a completely NAKED MAN (early 20s, olive Irish complexion dusted with light freckles, soft pink lips, and dark brown eyes brimming with a wide-eyed, boyish innocence—evoking a young, fresh-faced Jimmy Fallon).The Assistant drops both bottles. They strike the hardwood floor with a deafening rattle; one rolls wildly under the lower cabinets.ASSISTANT Oh!Flushed crimson, the Assistant drops instinctively to her knees, averting her eyes while scrambling to trap the spinning bottle.The naked man remains motionless, standing on the polished floorboards like a recently unpacked museum relic, his face completely serene and unblemished.C.C. (O.S.) (calm, flat, from the other room) There’s a towel.Scrambling on all fours, shielding her peripheral vision with an upturned forearm, the Assistant blindly reaches for a linen dishcloth hanging off the oven handle.Without looking directly at him, she extends the small ...

Ancora nessuna recensione