A Man for All Problems, Act 1, Scene 1

a very very short short new filmscript by Eufemia Fantetti

Inspired by a true story

Cast of Characters:

Fifiji: A self-named Canadian spiritual aspirant. While her name does not carry the gravity or beauty of names like Muktidharma (path of liberation) or Bhakti (devotion), it suits her perfectly. (Fifiji= At one with the chocolate croissant) She is a chocoholic, which sometimes makes her feel depressed but then she pretends it's no big deal, and thanks the Heavens above that she's not an alcoholic or workaholic, because that would be detrimental to her health. Fifiji is has many concerns around being healthy.

Mr. Multitasking Bonesetter-Astrologer: (aka Bonehead) Owner of the Hotel where Fifiji currently resides. A portly fellow, often looks like he could use a shave and angioplasty. Often has a cranky expression on his face, and his regular speaking volume could be referred to as 'bellowing.' Mr. Bonehead's business card lists his impressive skillset: Cheopractor [sic], Faith Healer, Tradition Bonesetter, Astrologer.

Setting:

The entranceway of the Hotel, next to the Hanuman Shrine. Midday. Note: The scene could easily take place in the Hotel's All You Can Eat Buffet-Courtyard area, which is described as 'The Universal Gathering in a Venue which is close to nature and close to the truth'. This would be up to the Director to decide. (P.S: Mr. Spielberg, please put all future calls through to my agent, you're wasting my time and yours with all these casual chats about the weather. It's the desert, what did you think it would be like? Crikey!) Fifiji has decided this description of a "garden where no garden exists" is a lark, a sign of group delusion. The only closeness to nature is the new turtle that the Hotel owner purchased as a mascot/pet. The turtle and the German Shepard hound should not be shown as friendly or frolicking, because they don't at all. This would be a gross misrepresentation of the truth, and this story is after all, inspired by truthiness.

Fifiji enters from the Hotel courtyard, sees Bonehead and nods in recognition, out of politeness.

Fifiji: Namaskarji, Ap kaise hai? (Greetings Highly-Respectable Sir, How are you?)

Bonehead: Ah, blah blah blah blah blah blah ki blah blah blahji blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah?

Fifiji: (madly flipping through her Hindi phrasebook) Uhm, sorry. Kya? (What?)

Bonehead: Bah blah blah understand?

Fifiji: No. Nahee. Not one word except the one you used in English.

Bonehead: (indicating he needs to see Fifiji's palm) Energy! there is blah blah block blah blah blah tikka power blah blah blah shakti blah.

Fifiji: Kya? Say again?

Bonehead: Do you know what means energy?

Fifiji: Yes, I know what energy is, it's the power that shuts off every day from 11 a.m. to almost 5 p.m., and the reason everything runs by insanely loud generators, and the reason why I've lost emails when the batteries die at the internet.

Fifiji is particularly touchy about this last point, especially when the internet providers all say "Maybe you touched something? A wire?" "Nahee milega, not possible. I'm only touching the keyboard" is her usual reply. She would like to say, "If you don't think I know you're all bold-face lying to me, you are all touched in the head." But in the interest of keeping everybody happy, a struggle Fifiji has been through more lifetimes than she can count, she stays silent.

Bonehead: Nay, blah blah blah electric energy, blah blah blah, blah blahti ki blah.

Bonehead is adamantly trying to indicate Fifiji's palm, her core energy, possibly her joie de vie, her energetic body, which is subtler than the physical body, sometimes referred to as the gross body, how apropos. Fifiji has felt the gross body crumble under the weight of regular Yoga classes.

Fifiji is confused, but understands that while she has decided to stay at this hotel, meaning this hotel owner would be getting her repeat customer business for the next 5 weeks, he was still trying to give her the business.

Fifiji: I'm sorry, I don't understand you. I practice Yoga, that helps my energy.

Bonehead: Yoga? Where?

Fifiji: The other side of Pushkar Lake. With Swamiji.

Bonehead: Which Swami?

Fifiji gives Bonehead a look that says 'the one in orange, moron.'

Fifiji: Swami Shayam Lal

Bonehead: (shaking his head) Yoga is one thing, energy is another.

Fifiji: Yoga is very good for the health.

Bonehead: Energy also important.

Fifiji begins to feel an energetic chain reaction moving through her chakras, one similar to the one in which Bruce Banner must experience when he morphs into the Incredible Hulk , but Fifiji was never in a labratory during an experiment gone horribly wrong. No, never. Okay, yes, she nearly fainted from the smell of formaldehyde in Grade 12 Biology, and accepted a failing mark for the section rather than dissecting a rat, but that's as bad as Fifiji's lab life ever got.

Cue to swell the dramatic music here, author's suggestion: Wagner's The Ride of the Valkyries. Hey, it's just a suggestion.

Close up on Fifiji's face as we see the struggle for her to remain calm. Her nostrils flare a little. Her brow creases. Her internal thoughts might be: No! NO! Stay calm Fifiji! Be like Buddha, aware, calm, calm, tranquil. Be like a lotus in a pond. Fifiji is trying to avoid narrowing her eyes, so that her glare doesn't turn deadly like her mother's, the former Cyclops of Toronto.

Bonehead: Energy is important.

Bonehead sees this conversation is having no impact on Fifiji. Except, if he could truly read energy levels, he would back away slowly, with no sudden movements, as her heart rate has accelerated to a level one might describe as 'murderous' or 'muderess'. Wait for it. It's only a matter of time. He tries another tactic.

Bonehead: (accusingly) You learning Hindi. Why?

Fifiji: So I can understand what men are saying when I walk by. And so I can answer any questions they might be asking me about the weather, my homeland, and my sexual preferences.*

* I said inspired by the truth, didn't I? Not based on.

I mean, I wish I had said the second sentence, really, really wish I'd thought of it before I'd walked away. Dontcha hate those moments where later you've got the perfect reply? Perfect is pushing it, I know, but it made me laugh to think what his face might have registered, but it's best I didn't think of it, as he would have misunderstood me. That's an every day occurence here, even when I keep my head down, avoid eye contact, and say absolutely nothing. Sigh. As my hero Bugs Bunny used to say: Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out alive.

So, what do you think? Let's keep in mind, it's only a first draft, needs a bit of spit and polish.

Luckily for me, I'm in the horking and spitting capital of the world.