I think I’ve spent the past three or four days on one stupid scene that’s really not even that important. Because it involves a bunch of dialogue about convincing the Governor to send soldiers to help defend a town.
And it’s just boorrrinnngggg…..
But action scenes, that’s where it’s at.
Here are two examples. The first is just dialogue. Bleh. The second is dialogue… with ACTION!
“Hey Jan,” Michael said with a smile as he tossed his laptop bag on the coffee table.
“Hey yourself, how was work?” She asked as she closed the refrigerator door and opened the freezer.
“It was work. I got a 1% raise today.”
“Oh that’s nice honey.” He could tell she wasn’t really paying attention as she moved the frozen tater tots and chicken nuggets aside. “Hey, where is the Chunky Monkey ice cream?”
“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep last night and I finished it off.” He reached around her with a pen and wrote ice cream in bad cursive on the grocery list notepad that was stuck on the front of the refrigerator door.
“But, it’s my favorite!” She pouted.
[“All Aboard the Murder Train” from How I Met Your Mother blares in the background]
Michael kicked the door open and dove inside, avoiding the fatal front as his arch nemesis blew a chunk out of the door frame. He heard her pump the shotgun as she ducked back behind the wall and into the other room.
“Look, I’m sorry!” He screamed as he simultaneously tried to press himself flat against the wall and peek around the corner at the same time. It wasn’t really working well. He couldn’t see anything but a pile of dirty laundry still in it’s basket.
“It was mine! And you took it from me!” She yelled in return.
He dunked instinctively as a basketball size hole suddenly appeared above his head, showering him with sheet rock dust and bits of insulation as she guessed where he was.
Spinning onto his back, he used his steel toed Wolverine size 15 boots to push himself backwards. As he slid away on the cold linoleum, he drew the massive Ruger Super Redhawk revolver from it’s holster across his chest and thumbed back the hammer. Grimacing at the recoil he was about to feel, he sighted between his raised knees, and pulled the trigger.
The boom was deafening as the 400 grain .454 Casull DoubleTap bullet slammed through the Sheetrock wall, snapping the 2×4 stud in half, and leaving a fist sized hole as it blasted through the house leaving a trail of destruction and onward to never-never land. Or the neighbors house, whichever. Jim still hadn’t returned the rake he borrowed anyways.
His ears rang as he cocked the pistol again and tried to peer through the gun holes in the wall. He coughed as the dust from the destruction found its way into his lungs.
“Honey? Are you okay?”
BOOM! Cha-Chunk! BOOM!
The first slug hit the floor beside him and punched through and into his man cave downstairs as he scrambled to get behind the kitchen island. A shotgun pump later and the second shot was higher this time, blowing pictures and magnets off the refrigerator door as she wrongly assumed he had taken cover there.
“It was just ice cream! There was barely any left!”
He pushed himself to his knees and rested the butt of the pistol on top of a cutting board covered with half sliced carrots and a tomato while carefully lining up the iron sights. The round door knobs on the cabinet doors dug into his chest as he braced himself.
“You try working customer service and see how HANGRY YOU GET FOR CHUNKY MONKEY!” She screeched in a murderous rage.
Looks like take out tonight. He pulled the trigger back, watching the cylinder rotate until a fresh cartridge was under the firing pin. Slowly he began incrementally adding pressure as he focused on the front sight, until suddenly the trigger broke clean and the hammer dropped.
The muzzle blast flung the plastic salad bowl across the room and bits of romaine lettuce and spinach rained down from the heavens around him.
“I’ll buy you more!”
“I don’t WANT MORE! I want want you ATE! I’m going to rip it out of your intestines with my BARE HANDS!”
He shuddered and carefully sized up the window above the sink, trying to gauge if he could fit through it. Because sleeping on the couch tonight suddenly didn’t feel very safe.
See? Action = Cool.
Dialogue = Only cool in action.
Otherwise it’s lame-o.
(EDIT – Dick Casull, who invented the .454 Casull round died two weeks ago. So I figured I would use that round just for kicks and giggles.)