u/DevilsRefugee

Title: Logline

Logline: A bitter, out of work screenwriter discovers he can curse his loglines and sets about exacting revenge on Hollywood gatekeepers who wronged him, until the curse gets out of his control and starts to rewrite the loglines for itself.

Budget: Cheap af

Genre: Horror, Dark Fantasy - think Death Note for Hollywood

Writer compensation (dollar amount): $0 (collaboration project)

Early stage concept with some direction set, needs honing; already thinking transmedia opportunity into manga or graphic novels. If you're a comic artist, this could be an interesting chat.

Any takers?

It’s quieter now.

There was a time when these places pulsed with life. Crowded pubs that were as
loud as the dawn chorus in a rainforest, clubs that vibrated with the bass of human
heartbeats, filled with bodies brushing against each other like leaves in an autumnal
breeze. The brief caress of a passing stranger, filled with intent, trying to make their way
through a crowd.

You could walk into a bar, and the noise, the laughter, the desperation, it was
palpable. It was loud.
Delicious.
A vast menu, each body a unique vintage.

But now?

People hide behind screens, swiping through life as though they were just another
commodity to be placed in someone else’s shopping cart. They're cautious, isolated,
insulated, and afraid.

Afraid of me?

You can sense their hunger, but it's sterile, digital, and inaccessible.
A different kind of hunger.
Different from mine.

Still, the lucky ones who venture outside are met with the warmth of conversation, a
connection that isn’t found at the end of an IP address, they wander into places like this
where I wait for them, hesitant at first, eyes darting nervously across the room.

That's how I recognise them.

The hopeful yet lonely. I’m their connection. I’m whatever they need me to be;
harmless, pleasant company, someone who listens and understands, a gentle smile, a
knowing nod. Sometimes they want normal. Sometimes they want to be thrilled. I am
utterly ordinary. I am an enigma. I give them what they secretly want me to be.
And when they're close enough, when they trust just enough, that's when the real
conversation begins.

Tonight, I am Emily. Tonight, she is Katie.
Last night I was William.
Tomorrow?

Katie is plain. She is new and unsure. She is unsure of me. She is unsure of herself.
She talks, and I listen intently. I flirt with just enough confidence to let her know I don’t
do this often. Her hair has a soft sheen, her features are sharp, and they are a contrasting
aesthetic that isn’t lost on me but is of no real interest. They might be to the man
standing three feet away who keeps staring at her, who will always be one drink away
from true bravery to interject and save her.

But tonight is not his lucky night.
Or Katie’s.
It is mine.

The hunger grows. It’s insatiable. It needs to be fed.

I intently touch her arm by accident, her skin is smooth, warm, I can feel it goose
under my fingers as they slide to her hand and rest there. She freezes, and I can almost
taste every heartbeat as it drums faster. She doesn’t withdraw, and our eyes lock. She
sees me, and I see her. There is no one else in the room with us now, not even the man
three feet from us who is now one drink beyond true bravery.

She is no longer unsure of herself.

She is intoxicated but not by alcohol.

Tonight, I am both her bartender and her drink. Here to serve and be served. We
leave together one convinced of this evening’s serendipity, a chance encounter that will
lead to her discovery and pleasure. A taxi arrives as we lock in an embrace, sharing our
lips, and she is slow to pull away.

I have her.

The trips back to my nest are always the same. The flirting turns to frenzy. The
drivers pretend not to notice, to look straight at the road ahead but I catch their eyes in
the mirror every time. They want the spectacle. They want the show they never have to
pay for.

When we arrive, I lead Katie up to the door by hand. She has regressed, cooing the
name I chose tonight for my attention, she wants to feed her own hunger before we step
inside. I oblige. These acts are like an appetiser to me. Like the midnight air has
triggered a primal need within her to take what she can, when she can, at every chance
she can.

She doesn’t know primal hunger.
Not like mine.
She will.

We enter and head straight to the bedroom. There is never delay. The act is drawing
to a close now. She removes her clothing, standing naked before me as I remove mine.
Our eyes seek out all the familiar shapes, they are our hands to begin with, and I can
feel her mentally caress me with them.

Her lust soaks the room in pheromones.
This is my alcohol.

She walks backwards towards the bed, her eyes are locked on me, but they don’t
meet with mine. She crawls onto the bed, her eyes never leaving the spot she’s eager
for, waiting for me to join her.

To join her.
To join with her.

You humans have a curious expression - pressing the flesh - I always found it odd
that you attribute it to the shaking of hands.

If only you knew.

Katie and I are pressing the flesh now. We’re entwined, there isn’t an inch I won’t
explore soon, in my own way. I give her what she needs, what she came here for, what
she thought she was unsure of when we first met. I give her what she wants at this
moment. The connection. She wanted normal. She wanted to be thrilled. She wanted
ordinary. She wanted the enigma.

“You’re insatiable”, she breathes.

I am all these things for her.
And now I am not.
They never notice until it’s too late.
I rise and kneel before her, surveying her body in full glory. She leans her head back
and closes her eyes, expecting more from me that I can no longer give.

My chest splits. The pain is unbearable. The hunger within is desperate. I am
insatiable, my dearest Katie. I can hear her screaming beyond the fog of agony, trying to
pull herself away from me, from what I am becoming. The ragged tear spreads
downwards like the line on a crumpled road map, and I am no longer Emily.

I am a maw.

I collapse on her, my new mouth enveloping her in one go. Her flesh no longer tastes
of the sweet cinnamon it did moments before. Her screams are muffled as she enters me
in a way she did not expect tonight. Our flesh is more than pressed now. More than
entwined.

We are becoming one as I slowly digest her.

Tonight, I am Emily.

Tomorrow I will be someone else.

Who do you want me to be when we meet?

All those things you want from me, I take from you. That which lives within each of
you. The secrets, fears, dreams, loneliness, and sadness that you all hide even from yourselves.

I savour these, the essence of them flows through me as I consume, making me whole
as all that you are becomes all that you were.

I take it all.
Every last drop.

It’s quieter now.

There was a time when these places pulsed with life. Crowded pubs that were as
loud as the dawn chorus in a rainforest, clubs that vibrated with the bass of human
heartbeats, filled with bodies brushing against each other like leaves in an autumnal
breeze. The brief caress of a passing stranger, filled with intent, trying to make their way
through a crowd.

You could walk into a bar, and the noise, the laughter, the desperation, it was
palpable. It was loud.
Delicious.
A vast menu, each body a unique vintage.

But now?

People hide behind screens, swiping through life as though they were just another
commodity to be placed in someone else’s shopping cart. They're cautious, isolated,
insulated, and afraid.

Afraid of me?

You can sense their hunger, but it's sterile, digital, and inaccessible.
A different kind of hunger.
Different from mine.

Still, the lucky ones who venture outside are met with the warmth of conversation, a
connection that isn’t found at the end of an IP address, they wander into places like this
where I wait for them, hesitant at first, eyes darting nervously across the room.

That's how I recognise them.

The hopeful yet lonely. I’m their connection. I’m whatever they need me to be;
harmless, pleasant company, someone who listens and understands, a gentle smile, a
knowing nod. Sometimes they want normal. Sometimes they want to be thrilled. I am
utterly ordinary. I am an enigma. I give them what they secretly want me to be.
And when they're close enough, when they trust just enough, that's when the real
conversation begins.

Tonight, I am Emily. Tonight, she is Katie.
Last night I was William.
Tomorrow?

Katie is plain. She is new and unsure. She is unsure of me. She is unsure of herself.
She talks, and I listen intently. I flirt with just enough confidence to let her know I don’t
do this often. Her hair has a soft sheen, her features are sharp, and they are a contrasting
aesthetic that isn’t lost on me but is of no real interest. They might be to the man
standing three feet away who keeps staring at her, who will always be one drink away
from true bravery to interject and save her.

But tonight is not his lucky night.
Or Katie’s.
It is mine.

The hunger grows. It’s insatiable. It needs to be fed.

I intently touch her arm by accident, her skin is smooth, warm, I can feel it goose
under my fingers as they slide to her hand and rest there. She freezes, and I can almost
taste every heartbeat as it drums faster. She doesn’t withdraw, and our eyes lock. She
sees me, and I see her. There is no one else in the room with us now, not even the man
three feet from us who is now one drink beyond true bravery.

She is no longer unsure of herself.

She is intoxicated but not by alcohol.

Tonight, I am both her bartender and her drink. Here to serve and be served. We
leave together one convinced of this evening’s serendipity, a chance encounter that will
lead to her discovery and pleasure. A taxi arrives as we lock in an embrace, sharing our
lips, and she is slow to pull away.

I have her.

The trips back to my nest are always the same. The flirting turns to frenzy. The
drivers pretend not to notice, to look straight at the road ahead but I catch their eyes in
the mirror every time. They want the spectacle. They want the show they never have to
pay for.

When we arrive, I lead Katie up to the door by hand. She has regressed, cooing the
name I chose tonight for my attention, she wants to feed her own hunger before we step
inside. I oblige. These acts are like an appetiser to me. Like the midnight air has
triggered a primal need within her to take what she can, when she can, at every chance
she can.

She doesn’t know primal hunger.
Not like mine.
She will.

We enter and head straight to the bedroom. There is never delay. The act is drawing
to a close now. She removes her clothing, standing naked before me as I remove mine.
Our eyes seek out all the familiar shapes, they are our hands to begin with, and I can
feel her mentally caress me with them.

Her lust soaks the room in pheromones.
This is my alcohol.

She walks backwards towards the bed, her eyes are locked on me, but they don’t
meet with mine. She crawls onto the bed, her eyes never leaving the spot she’s eager
for, waiting for me to join her.

To join her.
To join with her.

You humans have a curious expression - pressing the flesh - I always found it odd
that you attribute it to the shaking of hands.

If only you knew.

Katie and I are pressing the flesh now. We’re entwined, there isn’t an inch I won’t
explore soon, in my own way. I give her what she needs, what she came here for, what
she thought she was unsure of when we first met. I give her what she wants at this
moment. The connection. She wanted normal. She wanted to be thrilled. She wanted
ordinary. She wanted the enigma.

“You’re insatiable”, she breathes.

I am all these things for her.
And now I am not.
They never notice until it’s too late.
I rise and kneel before her, surveying her body in full glory. She leans her head back
and closes her eyes, expecting more from me that I can no longer give.

My chest splits. The pain is unbearable. The hunger within is desperate. I am
insatiable, my dearest Katie. I can hear her screaming beyond the fog of agony, trying to
pull herself away from me, from what I am becoming. The ragged tear spreads
downwards like the line on a crumpled road map, and I am no longer Emily.

I am a maw.

I collapse on her, my new mouth enveloping her in one go. Her flesh no longer tastes
of the sweet cinnamon it did moments before. Her screams are muffled as she enters me
in a way she did not expect tonight. Our flesh is more than pressed now. More than
entwined.

We are becoming one as I slowly digest her.

Tonight, I am Emily.

Tomorrow I will be someone else.

Who do you want me to be when we meet?

All those things you want from me, I take from you. That which lives within each of
you. The secrets, fears, dreams, loneliness, and sadness that you all hide even from yourselves.

I savour these, the essence of them flows through me as I consume, making me whole
as all that you are becomes all that you were.

I take it all.
Every last drop.

I am seeking a producer for my original feature-length screenplay, or rep to shop this script.

I have a found footage, single cast/ single location psychological folk horror script, it's 55 pages presently but max. time would be a 1hr 20m feature tops.

Budget: $300k or less

Genre: folk horror, found footage, reality tv

Cast: one main cast member, male, 30s. VO actors, some 'news anchor' style footage, other 'contestants' for opening shots, actor to play folklore cryptids, makeup, minimal VFX work (as would prefer prosthetics for realism)

ONE MUST SURVIVE

Logline:

Stranded alone in the Alaskan wilderness for a reality TV show, a man with multiple personalities must decide which parts of himself to sacrifice when something from indigenous folklore begins hunting them - one by one.

I have a pitch and scripts ready for a 6-part, short feature anthology series.

Logline: LIMINAL STATE is a character-driven anthology that follows individuals thrust into extraordinary situations on the boundary between reality and surrealism.

Genre: psychological/ existential horror - a messed up Twilight Zone style series of shorts

Each episode is a small-budget, 20-minute short. They can be split off as standalone shorts however if a Producer wants to make one over another. I do have a favourite ("Every Last Drop") which I'd love to see come to life first.

If anyone is interested, lmk.