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FROM DUBLIN, IN PARIS

by
JODIE KINNERSLEY

June 2007
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1. Int. Living room. Evening

Pan across a family photo of Mum, Dad, Brother, Sister,

Grandma and Dog. They have that anaemic look of the past
coupled with coloured clothes that clash and have faded
in the photograph. A voice-over plays. A man’s voice with
an Australian accent that grows in sophistication through
the monologue.

Dublin V/O
Dear Loved Ones, I find myself
in a busy part of the realm.
Nobody here but us visitors.
But, Oh, the carnival of scents!
Say hello to flat expanse and
horizon and sunshine for me. Say
hello to sneakers and holes in
the backyard. Missing you. Love
Dublin.

Brother is holding a postcard with the family gathered

around. They look vaguely concerned but also fascinated.

Father
That doesn’t sound like him.

Brother
(overlapping father’s statement)
Oh, that sounds just like him.

2. Ext. Streets of Beijing. Day

A dog(Dublin)is wandering through traffic and then

pedestrians.

Dublin V/O
(genially)
Seems they eat dogs around here.
How that makes me feel is
hounded. Gotta go before they
hang me by the hocks, still
yelping.
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3. Int. Bedroom. Night

Brother lies on bed with a scrap of a note. He laughs,

shocked.

4. Ext. Berlin. Day

Dublin sits on his haunches by a canal and watches ducks.

Dublin V/O
In Berlin, breathing history!
I’m watching these big old
apartment blocks. Never been in
one but I imagine them light and
airy with echoing chambers and
polished floorboards.

5. Ext. Berlin. Day

Dublin eats scraps behind a building site and wanders

towards a mangy looking plane tree and cocks his leg.

Dublin V/O (continued)

I have an idea for a sitcom
involving me, a poodle and a
budgerigar. Nobody would need to
know who owns us or why: we
would inhabit one of those big
old apartments together.

6. Int. Living/ Dining room. Dusk

Mother is hunched over a sewing machine preparing

Christmas presents. Brother and sister are silently
watching television. It’s playing advertisements.

Dublin V/O (continued)

Think it will sell? Write to me
about what you think of options
for social control in the city.
How far do you think we deserve
our government in our lives? Who
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voted for them anyway? I will

write again soon. Dublin.

7. Int. Dining room. Morning.

A stone sits on the table with other assorted debris of

family life. Mother picks it all up and dumps it on a
nearby shelf as the family sit for a rushed breakfast.

Dublin V/O
I’m writing by the lights of
Paris. It’s beautiful. Cocked my
leg on the Eiffel. (laughs)
Don’t tell anybody. Oh, There’s
a little package coming for you.
It’s a piece of the Berlin wall
some guy sold me. It just looks
like any other stone, but you’ll
know what I mean by it. A
bientot, Dublin.

8. Int. Living room. Day

Brother, Mother and sister are gathered looking at

encyclopedias, they are talking and joking, but this is
muted.

Dublin V/O
Took a bit of a detour for
Nepal. God: I am sick of rice
and lentil mash. I eat it until
I am so distended I can not
bend. And then, hungry for what
it lacks, I find myself eating
more!

9. Ext. Mountains of Nepal. Day

Dublin is shaking as snow falls around him. A female

mountaineer brings him some scraps.

Dublin V/O (continued)

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I’m coming to terms with wind;

with heights; with cold. My
companion, whose name escapes me
is thin and very brutish. I love
to look at her.

10 Int. Living room. Day

The family is still gathered, we can now hear their

discussion. They are all looking at the encyclopedias for
inspiration.

Brother
Why not a bull terrier?

Sister
Real dogs don’t fight.

Mother
This is the one. A Pharoah
hound.

The father walks in as the sister smiles and snaps shut

the book. They all rise.

Father
What’s going on here?

Mother kisses his cheek and grins as she walks past.

Father
This is from Dublin.
(holding letter)

11 Ext. Prague, Old quarter. Day

Dublin is limping and forlorn. He has a fever. He cringes

around a sea of tourists, occasionally barging against
them. They swear at him, usually in German. He is nearly
trampled by a pair of horses. He presses, panting with
his head bowed, against a stone wall as the hooves
clatter past at eye level.
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12 Ext. Backyard. Day

A grainy flashback from Dublin’s fever. He is on a chain

and is let off. He runs around the Father’s leg and then
round the side of the house. A car drives past and he
chases it.

13 Int. Living Room. Christmas Day

The family is gathered around the Christmas tree in

pyjamas with Grandma. Mother leads the Father to the
backyard. There is a new puppy on a chain.

Sister
(excited)
It’s a Pharoah hound!

Brother
We named him Cairo!

14 Ext. Backyard. Day

Cairo is on a chain and is let off. He runs around the

Father’s leg and then round the side of the house. A car
drives past and he chases it.

Dublin V/O
Seem to be recovering, although
sinuses are still blocked. Met
up with a fellow traveller
today. Bloke named Ryan. I gave
him my address (yours, I hope
you don’t mind) and said he
should drop by. Off to Amsterdam
tomorrow. Wish me well.

15 Int. Living Room. Day

The family is gathered around the Father who is reading a

letter, they all eventually begin to cry. Cairo is pawing
at the window, it is cold and wet outside. Some months
have passed.
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Dublin V/O
I have been thinking lately I am
not a dingo. I am not a wolf,
either, but my roots are surely
more here than back there. I am
one of those strange bastard
mixtures who end up salivating
over curry in railway station
restaurants.

16 Ext. Backyard. Day

Dublin is on a chain and is let off by the Father, he is

dressed in a suit and is smiling. He speaks to the dog as
though he has great wisdom.

Father
Dublin, go out and meet the
world head on.

Dublin runs around the Father’s leg and then round the
side of the house. A car drives past and he chases it.
Another car comes quickly around the bend and slams his
breaks. It is too late. Dublin is dead.

Dublin V/O (continued)

I have no home; no place. But
here, I have infinite
opportunity for becoming. Some
have never even heard of my
“country of origin”. They think
I’m Irish. You all called me
mongrel on more than one
occasion. You didn’t even bother
to check the number plate.

The End