Scenes From an Imaginary Movie
In August of 2003, there
arose one particularly bizarre story that really caught my attention,
locked on to it like a rabid Pit Bull. It still sticks with me today, even
though there have been no real developments since day one. Some of these
cases will do that, if you’re the kind that follows the crime beat. The
innocence factor, that’s what always sucks me in.
Not
much ever happens to resolve most cases unless they’ve got a good hook. Cash
helps to move things along, but if you want to capture the TV Eye, it never
hurts to have a kid or two in the story. Or maybe a pretty, pregnant victim
- good looks won’t do it by themselves anymore. Of course, the celebrity
factor is a sure-fire angle, though the smart money tells you that the fame
card may be getting a bit overplayed these days. Lifetime Channel fodder,
maybe Court TV. Bottom line is, without the right twist, no matter how
spectacular the crime, the story just don’t have the longevity you need for
a feature film or good documentary. Maybe you can pull a splash of interest,
and then the world spins on, leaving justice dependent on luck.
The
media could never really find a good hook with Brian Douglas Wells, in spite
of the fact that his demise was spectacular enough to make for an edge of
your seat movie. Sure, a film like that would probably have to go through
some extensive rewrite, but what else is new? You’d definitely want to be
able to accommodate a younger star, maybe even change the lead to a female.
The good part is that, except for the end, you’d have all the leeway you
could ever dream of.
You
probably don’t even remember the name, do you? Well, I can change all that
with just two words – pizza bomb. Go ahead, Google it. You’ll be
reading for a long time.
Context wise, one thing you can say for pizza delivery is that aside from
the poor pay, it is one hell of a risky business. The Bureau of Labor
Statistics puts out a little document that they like to call the Most
Dangerous Jobs Report, and in the number five slot, right below structural
metal workers, is ‘driver-sales workers’. Yeah, that would be your Dominos,
your Pizza Hut, and all the countless local variations, the folks who get to
take your abuse after speeding through the rain with your pie, the ones who
pray they get to keep the change. Real life people. Spend a little time over
at the Association of Pizza Delivery Drivers web site, and browse a while
through their crime archives. Stabbings, shootings, baseball bats, acid to
the eyes… And it’s not all about the Benjamins, either. Sometimes you’ll
find scumbags who are willing to seriously fuck you up just for your pizza.
There are thousands of pizza horror stories from naked cities all cross this
great land, but the most unforgettable, if not the most macabre, is the tale
of Brian Wells, a driver for Mama Mia’s Pizza-Ria in Erie, Pennsylvania.
Here we have a guy who was literally blown up, sitting cross-legged on the
pavement, surrounded by police uncertain whether they were being hoaxed, and
unable to help even if they were in the know. What a climax! Wells was
murdered in a twisted puzzle rife with details, but unknown in motive. Maybe
you could say it’s all beyond meaning, but in this picture, you can take
away what you need to believe.
It’s that innocence angle that reeled me in. Like I say, I’m a sucker for
that sort of thing. See, Brian Wells seemed to have been a genuinely simple
man. Not simple in the sense of being dumb, but simple in the sense of
contentedly leading an ascetic life, simple because that’s the path he
chose. He was forty-six years old and into the Zen of pizza delivery. Good
at it, and with no interest in moving on to bigger things. He lived alone in
a little white cottage furnished with a chair, a mattress, a television. He
had three cats, each of which he just called kitty. His best friend was his
mother, who lived short miles away. The two of them would frequently watch
rented movies at night, and then Brian would take his leave and drive back
on home. The guy just didn’t dig materialism. He must have slipped through
the system. Brian even took the hubcaps off his little delivery car, a Geo
Metro, because he thought they were too flashy.
The
film starts here. Early on the afternoon of August 28th, a call comes into
Mama Mia’s, Wells steady employer for the past ten years. In an oddly
mechanical voice, the caller asks for two small sausage pizzas to be
delivered to a nearby construction site. The manager smiles and good
naturedly shakes his head at Brian, who is sitting in a small booth with a
red checkered tablecloth, absorbed in a crossword. This is a favorite
pastime of his while in between orders, and the manager will hold the puzzle
behind the counter for him until he returns.
At
exactly 1:37, Brian takes the pizzas and heads off in his immaculate Metro.
He is whistling a song which he does not know the name of. The asphalt soon
gives way to a bumpy dirt road, and the houses begin to thin out, eventually
disappearing. Soon he arrives at a clearing atop a hill, and the road
abruptly ends. This must be the place. There is a row of satellite dishes,
and seventy yards away there is an antenna tower, which in the soundtrack
will buzz and crackle. This does not stir Brian’s suspicion, as he is often
summoned to areas where construction or utility work is being done.
<flashback rapid cuts of previous deliveries>. Little does he know that in
this case, authorities <inset later> will find no reports of workers in the
area.
What to make of it? This is surely the scene of the crime, our mysterious
big bang, the part of the movie where we are free to take any and all
liberties. Someone or some group is there to meet Brian, and send him off on
a frantic trip to eternity. Perhaps it is Willem Dafoe. We can fabricate a
sadistic criminal mastermind with a taste for voyeurism, an urban terrorist
setting a trap for the dreaded Eerie police force, a gang of redneck gamers
having their way with a local misfit. All these and more have been
suggested, and all can be rendered quite effectively. Wells had his own bits
to add, but his information was a bit rushed, and will only be seen in
flashbacks.
Those who knew Wells describe him as the sort of man who would not have put
up very much of a fight if put into a threatening situation. And this is
without a doubt a most threatening situation, although investigating
authorities spent several months floating the possibility that he was a
willing participant. This is an intriguing element which we may want to
introduce subliminally through a series of flash cuts, and of course,
dialogue between individual police officers, as we build to the climax. (For
the sake of narrative, however, Brian should be endowed with enough cunning
to stretch this dark sequence out effectively, with at least one harrowing
escape attempt.)
We
see Wells being fit into a collar bomb, the same device that has been used
by Colombian rebels in extortion schemes. We may allude to that, depending
on the choice of antagonist. It is an ugly metal restraint that locks around
the neck, wired to the explosive portion which is fused to the bottom of the
device. Even the most experienced Hazardous Device Technicians find this
type of bomb a nightmarish device to disarm, as we shall stress. (Note:
given the time frame of events, the part of ‘the expert’ is a cameo, at
best. Contact Mickey Rourke.)
We
next see Wells sitting in his car outside a branch of the PNC bank just
south of Eerie. (There should be an ironic message on the front door poster
– will provide on next draft.) He is franticly reading through several pages
of handwritten notes, written in crude, black, block print. "Quietly give
the following demand notes to a receptionist or a Bank Manager," the
instructions tell him. <Focus on hands>. Wells removes four pages and stuffs
them in his pocket. He gets out of his car and tries to walk calmly into the
bank, but his face has changed. We noticed the tightness of his lips and the
fear in his eyes. <tight close up>. He is carrying what looks like a walking
stick, but which we know, (via flashback), is a devilishly clever gun that
has been shaped to look like a cane. [Can we get Giger to do some prototype
props?]
Wells slips the note, with its request for a quarter million to the teller.
He tells her that he has a bomb, and her eyes widen. He doesn’t mention that
the bomb is locked around his neck and that he doesn’t have a key. He only
whispers “Hurry”. (We may want to flash a counter on the screen periodically
from this time out.) He plays it low key, just like he’s been told, but is
visibly shaken up as he turns around with his garbage bag of cash. <Cut to
the teller’s hand reach towards the silent alarm.> (For a tension breaking
moment of humor, as soon as Wells walks out the door, everybody in the bank
pulls out a cell phone.)
All
in all, there are nine pages of notes, filled with threats, directions, and
even little drawings of landmarks for his journey. We pan over these, slowly
revealing the horror of his situation. He is on a treasure hunt, the prize
being the keys which could disarm and unlock the explosive metal collar.
Brian has to play this game – somebody is watching. <pan notes> "MOST
IMPORTANT RULE: DO NOT RADIO, PHONE OR CONTACT ANYONE. ALERTING AUTHORITIES,
YOUR COMPANY OR ANYONE ELSE WILL BRING YOUR DEATH. IF WE SPOT POLICE
VEHICLES OR AIRCRAFT, YOU WILL BE KILLED..." We watch Wells re-enter his car
from above, the fiend’s point of view.
The
next step on this journey is a very short one, and Wells stops in the
parking lot of Eyeglasses World to refer to his notes. “EXIT THE BANK AND GO
TO THE MCDONALDS RESTAURANT. GET OUT OF CAR AND GO TO THE SMALL SIGN
READING-DRIVE THRU/OPEN 24 HR. IN THE FLOWER BED BY THE SIGN THERE IS A ROCK
TAPED TO THE BOTTOM. IT HAS YOUR NEXT INSTRUCTIONS”. Beside these words is a
small picture of the golden arches and the sign, with a rectangle labeled as
‘rock’. The artist has even added a few blades of grass.
We
realize now that Wells is still in the neighborhood, parked just a few yards
away from McDonalds. We pan down four city blocks and see that we are only
moments away from the robbery, where the police have already arrived, and
now stand talking to the agitated teller. Time is running out and Wells
still has busy work to do. His next step is to tie a length of orange tape
(conveniently located on his explosive device) to a fire hydrant in the
parking lot, as a signal to the mastermind that he has successfully pulled
the heist.
The
cops must be on their way by now. Wells stumbles out of his car, looks at
the hydrant, and decides to go for the next instructions instead. There’s
just no time for anything else. After McDonalds, he would have less than
thirty minutes remaining to make three more stops. And then maybe… He spots
the sign, the flower bed, the rock. We hear a trigger cock, and view Wells
through a telescopic lens.
Bingo. The cops are on him like flies on shit, right as he approaches the
hiding place. <Quick shot of a hand placing a silver dollar under the
stone.> <Cut to Wells being thrown to the ground by a burly police officer.>
The blood drains from his face. <Cue Nine Inch Nails, or a knock-off if
Trent is busy.> The camera crew from WJET-TV arrives and the film starts
rolling. Wells grunts as the cuffs are slapped on. <Cut to bulge under
t-shirt.> <Cut to cop pulling garbage bag from car.> “Somebody put a bomb on
me”. <Cut to gathering crowd.> “Somebody put it there”. <Cut to sensitive
cop kneeling by Wells.> He pulls down the collar of Wells t-shirt. “It’s
going to go off soon”. <Cut to cameraman dropping cigarette.> <Pan row of
cops faces.> “What the hell is that thing?” They sit him upright on the
pavement and cautiously back away, mentally calculating a safe distance.
Training didn’t cover this. This is insane. <Cut to cop on radio calling
bomb squad.> Wells struggles to alleviate the weight on his chest. <Cut to
sniper POV.> <Pan perimeter in vicinity of Wells. It is empty.> <Cut to
Wells close-up. He appears crushed, defeated, a man falling over a ledge.>
"I don't have much time." <Cut to camera crew, backing away.> <Switch to
videotape POV.> “It’s going to go off”. Left leg jerks spastically. "I'm not
lying. Did you call my boss?" <Extreme close up.> "Why is nobody trying to
come get this thing off me?" <Kill sound.> The camera slowly pulls back
until Wells is seen at a distance. He is sitting cross legged on the ground.
He has stopped struggling. Wells looks briefly around, then lowers his head.
<Sound up, but there is only street noise.>
No
one is near the man. He barely moves. And then, suddenly he is gone. There
is an explosion, but we don't see Wells. The force of the blast has slammed
him flat to the ground, out of camera range. It is more like a magicians
trick than a snuff film, debris flying through the air, while the performer
has vanished.
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