Jaws Vi 6: The Jawsening, a PCP Story

Enter Scene.

A limp body lies on the floor. Flashes of red streak across the ground like paint to canvas with gelatinous chunks of what could only be vital organs.Teeth marks tear through the flesh of his torso as the body thrashes from side to side uncontrollably. A gurgling gasp cuts through the violence. Then there is only silence… and after a moment, an audible sigh.

“CUT!” the shouts of a petulant man-baby ring in the ears of his co-stars. Pulling out of the visual cinematic shot we realize we’ve been watching the view of a nearby stationary camera. A man in a giant shark costume rushes onto the scene and tears off his hood, revealing the worn out and almost manic Director of PRIME, The D. His eyes bug out as he shouts at his crew members, most of whom are probably doing this project for Student credit. “Can any of you do anything right?!’

Another shark stands up from consuming the body prosthetic. Like the D, the hood comes down revealing a beautiful hispanic woman with hypnotic almond eyes. Her normally perfect hair disheveled and her face glossy from sweat and humidity. Elise Ares wipes off her face and shakes her hands, disgusted by her own bodily functions.

“D, did you not like the direction? I was going for more Great White and less Whale.”

The D’s demeanor softens as he reaches in and comforts Elise “C’mon, no notes. I was talking about all these poors. There’s so many of them, surrounding us, like a Zombie movie. Listen, you’re doing great. You’re always great. You’re the Leading Lady for a reason.” The D winks at her, and then turns back to the full crew. “ALRIGHT! Back to one. And for the love of God, don’t screw it up this time.”

The D awkwardly shuffles off camera and takes a seat on a Director’s chair. Well, there is an attempt, because his shark costume does not cooperate. The costume’s fin and awkward shape doesn’t allow the D to actually sit upon his soft fabric throne. He shifts a third time, trying to adjust and find a comfortable way to sit but he keeps sliding off. After about a minute of (hilarious) struggle, the D stands up, grabs the director’s chair, and Bobby Knights it across the set. He turns to Klein, awkwardly standing behind the camera, looking through the camera lens while still wearing his large Cardboard Box. “Listen, you’re supposed to be the Director here Klein. Can you, like, say something?”

Klein waves to the crowd of annoyed students and young upstarts looking for their big break. “I love you guys!”

Elise sighs “Suck up.”

The D slaps his forehead. “Whatever. ACTION!”

SCENE TWO.

The cinematic score crescendos as we move back to our victims. Standing on what amounts to seesaws, doing their best to mime surfing are two individuals who may or may not be for legal reasons Bowie Abrams and Bradlee Nelson, the two men PCP are set to face off against in their debut at Ultraviolence.

““Yo, this is so rad!”

““I know! I never get to say things like rad anymore!”

““That’s sad.”

““Oh man. Is that what I think it is?”

““A doobie?”

““No dude… it’s a sha--ahhhh!”

Rising through the water is a large mechanical shark snapping down into the actor’s midsection.

“Gnarly!” His surfer friend screams before he races off abandoning his partner.

Pan to Sharklise Ares devouring a now horribly fake corpse. She begins making these odd sounding, high pitched, almost bird-like chomping noises.. It’s… disconcerting. She then turns to the camera and flails her obviously human arms attempting to break the shot. This goes on for a good few seconds before…

“ALRIGHT CUT!” The D shouts, reaching over and slapping Klein’s stomach. “That’s supposed to be your job too.” The D turns to the poors. “Would somebody get me a damn chair I can sit in already!?” he shouts, grabbing a film slate (clapper to the less educated) from a nearby PA and clattering it across the ground.

Hesitantly, a young PA woman walks up with a Starbucks coffee and The D takes it. Smells it. Takes a sip, a moment to indulge, and then turns to the woman. “You. I like you. You’re okay. I’m going to call you Mary.” He then tosses the coffee over his shoulder, bouncing off the head of a grip who does a pratfall before being soaked in blonde roast. “I think we got it! Finally!”

“Nailed it.” Ares proclaims before unzipping her costume, “Per usual.”

Klein’s box tilts in confusion. The box begins to shake no before he realizes D is looking right at him, it immediately switches to a rapid nod.

“Alright break for lunch. We’ll be back in 45 to do the death scene of…” The D walks over and points to the surfer who ‘escaped’. “What’s your name?”

“Matthew.”

“No. Are none of you people method actors?” The D shouts to the room. “Your name is Bradlee.”

“If I’m Bradlee do I get paid?” the nervous actor asks.

“To do your job? No.” The D sighs with his shoulders slumped. “Why are you all not going to craftee!?”

The crew scatters like roaches to light as Ares approaches The D and Bradthew. Wearing a sports bra she has half a limp shark hanging from her waist, she quickly catches the ‘Express Bro’ with wandering eyes. She snaps her fingers to call him out.

“That means you too.” The D emphasizes to the actor before not-so-gently shoving him towards the exit.

“Wait, with this method acting, do I have to call her a real shark?”

“A real shark!”

The line repeats itself inside the mind of the Leading Lady as her eyes glaze over.

"A real shark, my ass." A man from the back of the crowd steps forth wearing a white shirt and sunglasses.

"What makes you so sure?"

"You know that fin you saw?" The man in white asked, everyone around him nodded.

"I put that fin on my brother myself. He's a scuba diver. That psycho girl paid him to look like a shark."

"So she jumped... a scuba diver?" A teenager responded. A group of people gasped in shock as another teenager felt an uncontrollable urge to tack on an extra exclamation.

"A REAL scuba diver!"

“...I just wanted people to like me, was that too much to ask?”

"No, I said I WANTED to jump a shark." She responded immediately, "The news told you I was jumping a shark. I couldn't find one. They said some crazy nonsense about it being a man-eating creature and it being unsafe for public welfare. Wanted some insanely large amount of cash for a permit along with some safety regulations. Screw that."

“I didn’t deserve to be set up to fail. I was alone with some huge guy I didn’t even know who barely spoke English. You were supposed to protect me. I was just a kid!”

"You're such a phony."

“What are you talking about?! Get her off of me!”

SCENE THREE.

Elise Ares pins Bradthew to the floor, a single tear streams down her face as looks down at her hands. Her jaw is clenched. Her heart beats out her chest. Finally she releases the breath she’s kept in her lungs for the past few moments.

The D just watches… “Let’s see how this plays out.” He smacks Klein in his chest. “Roll camera.”

Bradthew has a look of primal fear in his eyes before backpedaling his way out from under the much smaller South Beach Starlet. “This chick is nuts! I don’t care how much you pay me, I quit!”

The D, Klein, and several members of the production staff stare at Ares in complete silence as the “method actor” stumbles and runs off set. Elise wipes the tear away and gets back up to her feet. She tries to fix her hair and put on a fake smile and looks back at her stablemates.

“So… uh, does anyone care to tell me what just happened?”

The D turns to Klein. “You got that on tape, right? That’s our martini shot…”

Klein shakes his head from side to side. He starts to whistle as he briskly walks away without saying a word.

“God damnit Klein.” The D turns to Elise. “You just kind of went off and destroyed that poor. Scared most of the other poors. So I doubt we’ll have any future problems with the lot. Especially since we don’t have a Human Resources department.”

Klein adjusts his lanyard and flips over his “Director” label to now read “Human Resources.”

“Nevermind, we have a Human Resources department.” The D proclaims. “A man of many hats… or boxes. That’s why we keep you around. Are you ever going to tell me what’s with that box anyway?”

“Yeah…” Elise awkwardly shifts the conversation from her outburst, “Couldn’t you just use a mask or a visor to hide from the camera?”

Klein smiles under his box, before looking up to the rafters in the sound studio. He takes in a deep breath and stands with perfect posture. Arms on both sides of his hips like a Superhero. A melody plays as he drifts off, thinking back to a time when he was just a baby.

When Baby Klein was set down in his crib for the first time, or so he was told by his parents, he immediately began to cry. This was the cry of a man forsaken, at the end of his ropes, abandoned for the very first time. Klein rolled over onto his side as his parents gawked totally in Heaven with having their first baby boy. Klein found a small cardboard box that housed a stuffed animal lovingly selected the day his mom found out she was pregnant. Quickly, Klein scurried his soft head inside, and the sobbings stopped instantly. Baby Klein fell asleep. Content.

Klein’s flashback is broken by the D’s clap right in his face, jarring him from the moment. The D just looks at him impatiently. “Is that box rotting your brain? Are-Aren’t we going?”

SCENE FOUR.

A ripped sheet of notebook paper is scotch taped to a metal door with the letters “H.R.” hastily scribbled across it. The paper obscures a more permanent sign underneath that reads “Break Room.”

Inside the room, Klein sits in dead center in the tallest chair. He’s now changed into a button down shirt, khaki pants, and a business casual box. Thumbing through a stack of papers he then slaps the stack down on the conference room table before him. To his left three young individuals sit. One is a mousy haired brunette in a modest brown colored plaid skirt suit. The other two are both male. One white and one black, if you see color, and each is wearing a suit with dark ties. All of them stare ahead, looking incredibly serious across the room at their target.

The subject of this inquisition are the D and Elise, who blow off this seriousness like they would any other seriousness they’ve ever had to deal with.

“C’mon.” The D says. He takes a moment to come up with a better defense before correcting his previous statement with “C’mon!”

Klein takes a moment to consider his (lack of) defense and then crosses his arms. The other three sitting next to him follow suit like a computer program.

“Alright listen, Elise is definitely going through something here Klein, so as the head of Human resources, you sir, should be the one being extra sensitive!” The D stands, huffing and straightening out his Directorial Jacket. He turns to Elise. “C’mon Elise. You can open up here. Those three poors are actually deaf. See?” He covers his mouth with his hands and speaks normally, “We can kill them, if you need us to.” He lowers his hand. “See! None the wiser!”

“Is he being serious or is he just dumb?” The black man at the end addresses his peers.

“Listen p… BBYs… fellow guild members?” Ares interrupts in a fumbled attempt to address the group in a respectful manner, “I have a history with PRIME Wrestling and sharks that I probably should have attempted to bring up in therapy but that bitch is TOTES always judging me and telling me I should address my narcissism and daddy issues whatever THAT is supposed to mean, so I stopped going. BUT I can see this may have resulted in a temporary lapse in judgment that I will take full ownership of.”

“See, she’s sorry.” The D is quick to jump in.

“She didn’t say that.” The mousy woman quickly replies.

“Because I’m not.” Elise retorts, “I’ve spent my entire life dressing half-naked and jumping sharks and putting myself into completely ridiculous situations just for people to like me.”

“See, she’s not sorry. But it’s because of reasons.” The D confidently tries to assuage the HR representatives.

“Lindsay Troy came into MY house and openly mocked me for waiting for my opportunity to take what I still feel is rightfully mine and I’ll be damned if I step into hers and wait my turn.” Elise’s mouth begins rambling completely unrelated to the subject at hand, “I’m done trying to make people like me. I’m done ‘doing the right thing’ and waiting for my opportunity. If I’m coming back to PRIME I’m bringing the only people who matter along with me and doing what I should’ve been doing from the very beginning.”

Klein sighs because this has gone completely off the rails.

“I’m taking it back.” Elise announces.

The D stands and throws his fist in the air. “YEAH!”

“Then you’re all fired. This project is shut down.” The white man immediately retaliates.

“HEY! That’s retaliation against free speech!” the D shouts. “I’m going to get my lawyer!” He turns over to Klein and clears his throat.

Klein sighs, and pulls out a monocle from his jacket lapel. He affixes it to his boxhead, two little grooves/notches to hold it upright. Klein’s altar ego, Sir Reginald Boxington III, Esq, turns to the three HR representatives, and nods toward the D.

“We want 200,000 dollars or we’ll have Sir Reginald Boxington III, Esq here file paperwork to sue you for defamation, wrongful termination, and other legal mumbo jumbo nonsense we may or may not make up.” The D slams his hands down on the table on top of the paperwork. Then he picks up the paperwork, and slams it back down to make his point.

“Now that you’ve brought legal into the situation, we can make no further comments.” The black man comments, “You’re free to go.”

Klein stands up, accomplished. He shuffles the same set of papers as before, and shakes all three hands of the HR representatives.

The D stands up, ready to say something in defiance, but just relents. Elise, still wearing a sports bra and half a shark outfit, stands up and looks over at her director-in-arms.

“Hey BBY, to hell with these poors, let’s go Point Break some surfers.”

“I’ll play the Lana Del Ray song.”

End Scene.