ok my buddy Adam Kotowsky wrote this mini-story awhile ago and i was loooking to mkae it into a film, i was just wondering what it could use because we still havent worked out the kinks on it and i tinhk its missing sometihng. if you could just post your coments on what it needs or what needs to be changed let me know. I tihnk its a great story that has potetntial but i tihnk to turn it into a film it needs a little bit more. plus what do you tihnk would be a good title for it?

here it is.....



Sitting in this seminar room, I examine the other troubled souls with my distorted view of depression, I'm no psychologist, but according to one, i suffer from this rediculous disease. These seminars are useless, the equivalent of AA for drunks. Although some people swear by this group therapy, I dispise it, only attending so my wife doesn’t divorce me, walking away with millions. For all I care, she could divorce me; it’s the belongings I’m worried about. This therapy does **** all for me, I sit here and look at the others, the addicts who have nothing, the normal people who have nothing, the addicts who have something, and the normal people who have something, then there’s me: the ugly duckling, the odd man out. Unlike these people, I live a pretty good life. I have a beautiful daughter, a house you’ve only dreamt about, exotic cars, and am at the top of my job. So why am I depressed? The doctors say it’s hereditary... bull****. There’s no way my grandfather or dad were depressed, no way they felt this isolation and misery. I’ve tried the pills, Prozac, Lexapro, Celexa, Paxil, Zoloft; all they do is make me realize what a ***** I am. I’ve tried to kill myself numerous times, it has yet to work. Last year, I tried the carbon monoxide in the garage thing while my wife and daughter were gone on a trip, as I was losing consciousness the gas ran out, leaving me high as a kite and more than pissed. Earlier that year, I tried drowning myself in the tub. I lost consciousness, and came to with the tub empty. My wife came in and pulled the plug; I told her I fell asleep. Just two weeks ago, I tried the electrocution in the bath with a hair dryer trick. As I sat there, saying my final goodbyes and prayer, just miliseconds before I dropped it, the power went out. I’ve lived here for 27 years, my whole life, That’s approximately 9855 days, 236520 hours, 14 191 200 minutes, and the power has never gone out. Fate decided to **** with my head yet again, when she chose those 12 seconds outta the 851 472 000 I’ve been alive to turn the power out at the single most important moment of my life. I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter what I try, I’m gonna live, so I have to try and deal with this life, no matter how ****ty it is. Ive confessed to my wife about my depression, she seems to care less, as long as I bring in a pay cheque for her shopping sprees. She wants me to seek help so I don’t commit suicide, little does she know that suicide has ****ed me over three times now.
After an hour of this bull****, only my 5th meeting, I lose it. I know im depressed, I know the others are depressed, but are we really getting any better listening to each others sob stories? I get up and leave without saying anything. As I get out the front door of the apartment building, I notice a liquor store across the street. Now im not typically a drinker, only occasionally, maybe 3 times a year. But this angst that Im feeling will not be subdued by anything but a huge ****in bottle of rum. I grab the most expensive bottle of rum I can find and pay for it. I go to the back of the store and into the washroom. I sit on the toilet and stare at the bottle, I know ill feel like **** tomorrow, but quite frankly, I don’t give two ****s. I slowly twist off the cap, dreading the taste, desiring the effect. The cap is off, and I make sure not to breathe in, or ill start second guessing myself. Without smellin it, I tip the bottle upside down, and within a minute, 60 dollars worth of rum is gone. Before I reach the entrance to the liquor store, im out of it. I’m still pissed off at the rediculousness of the seminar, but decide to make another trip up there. They don’t exactly accept me back in there willingly, but after throwing one of the councilors down the stairs, they don’t question it again. I’m so wasted I can hardly stand, yet I haven’t felt this good in a long time. I hijack the meeting, passing out E, Coke and Weed to all the other people in the meeting. It’s probably not the best thing if their recovering drug addicts, but they wont feel like **** for at least an hour. After snorting an 8 ball of coke to myself, and smoking a couple joints with some pretty ****ed up people, I return to the liquor store. I feel amazing, and am not scared to spend some money. I buy 4 bottles of the most expensive champagne I can find, I think its called Crystale. By the time I cross the street and reach the door to the apartments, 2 of the 4 bottles are finished. The high of the coke is gone already, im burnt out from the weed, and passing out from all the alcohol, so I inhale another 8 ball, and take two ecstacy pills. Needless to say, im ****ed. The other people are either passed out, or having the greatest times of their lives, a few may even be dead, but im not too concerned, at this rate, ill be joining them. I can feel my heart begin to beat hard, you know that’s a bad sign when your this ****ed. I decide nows the time. I grab my phone, and after what seems like days, manage to dial the house number. My daughter picks up, ****. I ask her if mommy’s there, she says shes in her room, hold on. I hear her footsteps and knock on the door, and hear the squealing and moaning of my wife, and probably our electrician, ****in slut. My wife tells my daughter to keep talking to me, she can tell im not ok, but I talk to her like I normally would, and tell her I love her. She says moms here and she can talk, so I tell her to put her on the phone. I tell her Im sorry, I love you, but don’t do a ****in thing for your mom. The wife picks up, I say hey honey, she talks like she wasn’t just ****in my friend in my room. I tell her that im not feeling very good, like I might just die tonight, She sounds ecstatic. Remember when we signed that prenupt honey? How if something happens to us, each other’s accounts are going wherever our wills request. Well, ive come to the conclusion that you’re a useless twat, and im not leaving anything to you. She says how shes entitled to half, she must be ****ed up on something too, I remind her of the prenupt. The other line is silent. We must have been fairly loud in the apartment, because I hear sirens at the foot of the building. I tell my wife that our daughter is getting everything today, since it’s her 19th birthday, even the house, and considering you’ve beat her since she could stand, I don’t think she’ll be too devastated if you just **** off. At this point, cops are standing in the doorway, jaws dropped at the carnage in the seminar room, everybodies either passed out and sleeping, dead, or convulsing with OD’s. Im the only one still standing. They tell me to raise my hands, I keep talking. They yell at me to raise my hands, I finger them. AT this point, my wife is screaming and crying on the other end, realizing how truly ****ed she is. The cops now pull out their guns, I smash a bottle of crystale and charge, yelling “good riddance slut!” I expect to be shot, but am just disarmed and tazered, lying on the floor ****ting myself- are you ****in kidding me? When I come to, im in a jail cell, accused of the murders of the other depressed ****s, assault on the councilor, possession of narcotics, public drunkenness, civic disturbance, to name a few. I go to court without a judge, I no longer care. Im sentenced to death by electric chair. So im sitting here writing about the final 2 years of my life an hour before I’m sentenced to die. The wife’s still with the daughter, but after today, with the inheritance of my fortune, the daughter can and will kick that junkie ***** out. It’s taken way too long, but looking back at it, the past two years have been the most exciting of my life, and although im not leaving this world through suicide, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

anyone gonna answer this?

Well I just read it. Are you thinking of making this a feature or a short? It might help if you explained how you planned to structure/tell this story, etc.
What exactly did you want feedback on?

Well i was hopeing to make it into a short liek maybe 10-15 minutes long to enter in some festivals. I really just wanted feed back on like how to set it up like... i have ideas but should like i really get into the characters depression like zoom into his life before the seminars or what? also like do you tihnk the story is written well enough to like expand to a screen play? also like what do you tihnk of narraration in this story? my friend wrote it and tohught that if we did narraration it would be too much like fight club? i tihnk its good but i tinhk it needs some work.. liek maybe just a little bit about the events leading up to maybe the depression? i dunno... it could just open up right in the seminar room. and have flash backs of events and stuff? what does anyone tihnk?

quote:

my friend wrote it and tohught that if we did narraration it would be too much like fight club?

Yes, I was reminded a lot of Fight Club as I read it. I think its clear that your friend (perhaps sub-conciously) was very influenced by Edward Norton's character when writing this. And I think if you open the film in the seminar it will only further highlight the connection between the two (wasn't the opening scene of Fight Club in a seminar/group type of thing?)
Anyway, I think the main problem with this story is that the main character just wasn't likeable, and therefore I couldn't really enjoy the story, because I didn't really care for/sympathise with him at all. I have no idea who he is, what he does (he's is rich, but how?), why he got into drugs, why he married his wife in the first place, why he let his wife beat his daughter, etc. I think dyou definitely need to expand on him more than anything else.
The problem is though, if you make him too likeable, and the audience begins to sympathise with him, how will they then react when he ends up sentenced to death?
I don't know if that's been a help, but the thing is, the way it is written at the moment (a big slab of inner-dialogue) I really can't see much of a story.

yeah, thats what i thought, not enought information about the main character. thanks for the feedback.