SHORT FILM: Going to the Dentist [2002]

Going to the Dentist

FADE UP:

INT. HALLWAY - MID-MORNING

A middle-aged MUM shouts up the stairs.

MUM
Boys, you’d better get going if you want to get there for half-past...

SIMULTANEOUS VOICES
(offscreen, from separate rooms)
Right...

CUT TO:

EXT. SUBURBAN HOUSE - SECONDS LATER

Two brothers, ALEX (20) and TOM (17) emerge from the front door. They walk down the driveway and onto the street; the camera tracks backwards in front of them as they wander along.

Their dialogue is delivered with a laboured, sarcastic rapport audible only to us and them - all speech is sufficiently downplayed so that nobody they address hears them.

TOM
Who cares if I’m gonna be late for fucking Miller... getting me up at the crack o’ dawn...

ALEX
...Oh, Miller, you dismal, ginger-haired fuck... with your afro, and your face-mask, and your grizzled fucking ’tache...

TOM
...Poking round my fucking mouth with your scabby metal implements... with your “One, two, A, C”...

ALEX
...You don’t know what you’re talking about, you just learnt the alphabet last night...

TOM
...Did I ask to have my fucking teeth violated by you, no, I didn’t, so you can fuck off. With your NHS appointment, and your totty in the corner...

ALEX

...Doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing - she’s only there for decoration and a quick hand-job when he’s got a few spare minutes...

TOM
...While we’re left sitting there in the fucking waiting room, flicking through dog-eared copies of National Geographic and the Reader’s fucking Digest...

ALEX
...I’d rather be at home listening to Cryptopsy, ‘Orgiastic Disembowelment’...

TOM
(looking ahead)
...Oh, what’s this...

On the other side of the pavement is a YOUNG BOY wheeling himself about on a scooter.

ALEX
...You are going to fall off that fucking vehicle...

TOM
...You’re gonna crack your head on the kerb, then go crying to Mummy, who’s probably too busy screwing the landlord to notice...

ALEX
(observing KID as they pass)
...Don’t you look at me, you dismal scooting fuck...

By now they have reached the end of their street and are walking along a main road with houses on either side.

ALEX
(looking ahead)
Oh, who’s this motley crew...

Three YOUNG LADS of around 11 years of age are walking towards them holding skateboards.

TOM
(as they pass)
...Oh, you’re so cool...

ALEX
...What are you doing... you are ten and wearing a fucking hoodie...

TOM
...Do you think that makes you in some way good...

ALEX
...I’ve seen you, down the precinct, flipping off your board ’cos you haven’t got a fucking clue...

We cut forward a bit further down the road. In the distance behind them we hear the sound of a car horn.

ALEX
...Fuck you...

Another KID with buck teeth approaches them and walks past.

TOM
...You look like a fucking gopher...

Cut forward another few seconds. The pair approaches a side road which they have to cross in order to carry on their journey. Various work vehicles are scattered along the kerb, causing hold-ups to traffic. One ROADWORKER stands in the middle, halting and beckoning the various cars on each side.

ALEX
...Do you think that gives you any kind of status in life...

As they cross the road, a second ROADWORKER roughly drops cones around the side of his vehicle. The cones simply topple over upon hitting the ground.

TOM
...You see the bottom of that cone? It’s there to serve a purpose...

ALEX
...You couldn’t even a job under Hitler’s Ten-Year plan...

TOM
...And yet still you persist in dropping them, time after time...

ALEX
...When are you going to learn that two wrongs don’t make a Reich...

TOM
...You dismal, roadworking fuck.

Cut forward again a bit further on. They pass a CHILDREN’S PLAY AREA on their left. Wandering around inside smoking a cigarette and looking decidedly shifty is a gruff-looking MAN of about 50.

ALEX
...Oh, lock up your children, there’s a paedo in the playground...

TOM
...Having a toke, waiting for his next victim...


ALEX
...You dirty, arse-fiddling kiddie-fucker...

TOM
...Loitering round the climbing frame... parents looking on in horror as he wanks all over the equipment...

Ahead of them, a MALE DRIVER beeps long and hard at someone walking along the opposite side of the road. He holds his hand up in the side mirror as he passes, but the PEDESTRIAN is unable to establish his identity.

ALEX
...Oh, what the fuck are you doing... he can’t fucking see you... stop molesting my eardrums with your dismal fucking noise pollution...

The pair reaches another crossing-point marked by a set of traffic lights. TOM presses the button on the crossing and the lights change almost immediately. To their left, a middle-aged FEMALE DRIVER quickly and stops way behind the designated line.

TOM
(crossing road)
...Oh, what are you playing at, you dismal car-driving wench...

ALEX
...You see that line? It means you can drive right up to it, not loiter back the length of a fucking swimming pool...

As they reach the other side, the traffic begins to pull away again. One MALE DRIVER revs his engine loudly as he passes.

TOM
...Yes, you’re so fucking cool. I envy you and your large exhaust...

We cut to a brief shot of a pile of dog shit as the two brothers move to avoid it.

CUT TO:

EXT. CONVENIENCE STORE - MINUTES LATER

ALEX is stood milling around impatiently outside. He looks in through the window to see TOM at the counter. TOM glances at him with a look of contempt as the middle-aged FEMALE SHOP ASSISTANT fumbles with the till. Eventually he emerges back outside unwrapping a pack of cigarettes. The pair carries on walking.

TOM
...It doesn’t surprise me that you can’t work a fucking till, you dismal overpaid bitch...

ALEX
(observing debit card)
...Oh my God, you paid on Switch for your filthy fucking habit...

TOM screws up his receipt and throws it on the floor. We cut to a brief shot of the piece of litter before rejoining the two brothers further along the street. A tallish LAD of a few years older than Tom passes them wearing a shrunken denim jacket.

TOM
...He’s a fucking dick, he is... sits on the back of the bus to college and has wanking contests with all his mates. The winner’s the first one to cum on the window... all the while, they’re egging each other on by holding up a copy of the Sunday Sport and making woman noises...

ALEX
(beat)
...Here, d’you remember that time we went to the Optician’s and ended up at the wrong place?

TOM
Oh, what, when you went speeding off, like “We’re gonna be late!”, and next thing I know you’re rapping on the door of a fucking chartered accountant... “Sorry, son, it’s next door, there’s a great big fucking sign there, are you blind or something?”... Could’ve told you where it was if you’d have just waited five seconds, but no, instead it’s -

His pace quickens and he speeds away. As ALEX catches up with him, they pass a small CAR PARK on their left. Sitting in the corner is an upturned shopping trolley covered with rust.

ALEX
...How long has that been sat there...

TOM
...Oh look, someone’s set it on fire as well...

We cut to a brief shot of the burnt, decrepit piece of scrap before rejoining the pair. They stop at the edge of a small side road as a FEMALE DRIVER of 60 with unnaturally blonde hair pulls up to the T-junction. She looks both ways before driving off.

ALEX
...Oh, what is that, d’you think you’re still ten or something...

TOM
...You might think that a dye-job’s gonna cut it, but I assure it does nothing to detract from the sad fact that you are nothing more than an ageing, haggard, rinse-haired old bitch...

ALEX
(beat, looking at watch)
...Here, better hurry up...

TOM
Oh, what’re you talking about... we’ll only get there and have to wait 20 fucking minutes listening to his secretary clacking away on the fucking computer...

ALEX
I’ll tell you what, if Miller asks how I am, I’ll fucking chin him. “Are you alright?” - no, I’m on fucking antidepressants, my girlfriend just left me for my best mate, and I feel like I’ve got a brain tumour the size of fucking Canada.

They cross the road again and walk up to a white building, on the front of which is a brass placard engraved with the name: “Timothy D. Miller, D.D.S.”

TOM
(tutting)
...Miller...

CUT TO:

INT. DENTIST’S WAITING ROOM

ALEX pushes open the door, which triggers an electronic sound as they enter.

TOM
(disdainful)
...Christ...

ALEX walks over to the desk and addresses the female RECEPTIONIST.

ALEX
(politely)
Hi, Tom and Alex for half ten?

RECEPTIONIST
(studying diary)
...Yes, take a seat.

ALEX
Cheers.

TOM
(sitting down, muttering)
Yeah, I’ll take a fucking seat, you dismal rat-faced bitch...

Next to the last chair there is a small table. A pile of magazines sits on top amongst various back-issues of National Geographic and Reader’s Digest. TOM leans over ALEX, picks up a copy of “OK!” from the top of the pile and disdainfully surveys the cover.

TOM
(sneering)
...Calista Flockhart...

The RECEPTIONIST begins to tap on her computer keyboard. As he hears the sound, TOM ceases his disinterested magazine perusal and shakes his head, stone-faced. ALEX looks around him in bewilderment as a mechanical whirring noise suddenly appears from nowhere. He looks over to his left, where a bizarre muffled sound appears to be coming from behind a sealed doorway.

ALEX
(registering noise)
...What the fuck is that...

TOM chucks the magazine carelessly back on the table and watches as it slides across the top of the pile and over the other side. We cut to a brief shot of it lying on the floor. Then, a timid-looking middle-aged FEMALE PATIENT emerges from the surgery and wanders up to the reception desk.

FEMALE PATIENT
Hi, I’d like to make another appointment for sometime in the next couple of weeks.

TOM
...Yeah, I bet you fucking would... taking up everyone else’s time with your trivial complaints...

RECEPTIONIST
What was the name again, sorry?

FEMALE PATIENT
Er, Katherine Fitzgerald. I’d like to make two actually, if that’s possible. See, I normally have my daughter with me.

ALEX
...She has a daughter?!

TOM
...You’re having a fucking laugh...

ALEX
...Oh, look at you, with your 25p shopping bag for life...

TOM
...You wouldn’t know good parenting if it came up and smacked you in the face, which I’m quite inclined to do given that you’re nothing more than a dismal, housewife, Shepherd’s Pie-making wench...

The FEMALE PATIENT finishes arranging her appointment, picks up her carrier bags and leaves.

TOM
...Yeah, you’ll be missed... go back to your fucking hob...

ALEX looks over at the pile of old Reader’s Digests and notices that one has the words “Harold Shipman - Doctor of Death” printed on the cover. He picks it up and points out the title to TOM, who eagerly snatches it from him and begins leafing his way towards the article.

TOM
(snorting, off photo)
...Kathleen Grundy...

ALEX
(beat)
You brushed your teeth before we came out, right?

TOM
(blankly)
No, I ate a bag of fucking toffee.

At that moment, a large middle-aged woman [FEMALE PATIENT #2] emerges from the upstairs surgery and wanders past the pair up to the desk.

ALEX
...Not like this pie-quaffing bitch here...

TOM
...Oh, what’s the matter, did someone pump your veins full of fucking lard...

FEMALE PATIENT #2
(to RECEPTIONIST)
Hi, I’ve got to have some follow-up work done - can I arrange that now?

RECEPTIONIST
Yes, let me just check that for you...

TOM
...If you can, when you’re not chasing the Pied Piper of fucking Hamlin...

RECEPTIONIST
...Er, sorry, we haven’t got anything free until the end of May, can you do the 29th?

FEMALE PATIENT #2
(rummaging in handbag)
...Ooh, I’m not sure, just let me check...

TOM
...Oh, what... come on, love, it’s not fucking quantum physics...

FEMALE PATIENT
(off diary)
...I can if it’s in the afternoon...

RECEPTIONIST
(off computer screen)
...Ah, no, that’s not so good, what about the 31st?

FEMALE PATIENT #2
(reaching for diary again)
- Hang on a second...

TOM
...Oh, just make the fucking appointment... you haven’t got anything on...

FEMALE PATIENT #2
...Yes if it’s in the morning...

ALEX
...D’you want the fucking filling or not, love?!

The RECEPTIONIST looks hesitant again as she checks the schedule.

RECEPTIONIST
Could you possibly come at one?

FEMALE PATIENT #2
(thinking)
Ah... yes, I suppose I could do that. It only takes me quarter of an hour to get here, so yes.

ALEX
...Jesus Christ, it’s about fucking time...

RECEPTIONIST
(writing out card)
Okay, so that’s one o’clock on the 29th of May, alright?

FEMALE PATIENT
Yes that’s great, thanks. ’Bye.

RECEPTIONIST
’Bye now.

TOM
...Fucking hell...

Suddenly, the droning noise of the sealed doorway in the wall stops. ALEX registers the sound and looks over at TOM, nonplussed.

TOM
...What the fuck was that all about?

ALEX
All the power’s gonna cut out in a minute. Fucking hamster’s dropped dead in his wheel or something...

At that moment, the attractive young DENTIST’S ASSISTANT wanders into the room and breezily addresses the pair.

ASSISTANT
Tom and Alex?

ALEX
Yep.

ASSISTANT
Which one of you wants to go first?

TOM
(politely, to ASSISTANT)
I will.

ASSISTANT
D’you want to come through, then?

TOM
Cheers.

As he gets up, he sneers in disgust to ALEX.

TOM
(tutting)
...Miller...

We cut forward a few minutes. TOM emerges from the surgery holding his dental file. He mutters as he addresses ALEX.

TOM
...Your turn, you dismal bastard...
(shaking head, appalled)
...Fucking Miller...

ALEX gets up and walks out of the waiting room.

CUT TO:

INT. MILLER’S SURGERY

ALEX walks through the door and into the room, where a besmocked MILLER - an amiable man in his mid-40s with curly ginger hair and an outdated 70s moustache - is washing his hands in the sink. His ASSISTANT sits at a small desk in the corner, filling out a form.

ALEX
(observing MILLER, jovial)
Hi.

MILLER
Hi there.
(beat)
How are you?

ALEX
(grimacing)
Oh, not too bad. How you doing?

MILLER
Very well, thanks. Take a seat.

ALEX
Cheers...

MILLER adjusts the chair, pulls down his mask and selects the appropriate implements. ALEX opens his mouth as the overhead light is rudely shone in his face.

MILLER
(inspecting)
Okay... One-two-three... four, five, six...
(beat)
...Six, five, four... three, two... one.
(beat)
On the bottom... one-two-three-four-five... six... five-four-three... two... one.
(beat)
And at the back... A, B, C, D... A... B... C... and D.
(beat)
Right. That’s fine. Everything’s okay, I’ll see you again in six months.

ALEX
(surprised, taking file)
Oh, right, cheers. See you later.

MILLER
’Bye now.

CUT TO:

INT. WAITING ROOM

ALEX walks back in and up to the desk.

TOM
That was fucking quick...

RECEPTIONIST
(to ALEX)
Everything alright?

ALEX
Yeah, fine thanks.

RECEPTIONIST
(taking file, scanning cover)
...Right, that’s... £5.40, please.

ALEX
(thrown)
Oh, hang on, I’ve got a certificate here...

He pulls out his wallet and hands her an HC2 form.

RECEPTIONIST
Right, if I could just have a look at that a minute...

CUT TO:

EXT. SURGERY BUILDING - MINUTES LATER

TOM emerges through the front door, followed by ALEX.

ALEX
No I’m not paying five pounds for a wimpy ten-second pokeabout, you taxpayer-scrimping mare...

CUT TO:

INT. TOWN CENTRE - MINUTES LATER

The pedestrianised high street is relatively busy as the pair walks down the middle with the camera following behind them. On one side of them is a smartly dressed SALESWOMAN holding a clipboard; on the other stands a MAN holding a charity collection box. We cut to a side-angle as ALEX pretends not to notice either of them.

ALEX
...No, I’ve not had an accident in the last three years... and don’t you shake your fucking tub at me...
(beat, looking ahead)
...Oh, look at all these fucking pensioners...

TOM
...Is it a fucking day out or something...

ALEX
...What a disgrace...

CUT TO:

INT. NEWSAGENTS - MINUTES LATER

TOM is buying a lighter. He is being served by a reasonably young KID who can’t be more than 14.

EXT. NEWSAGENTS - SECONDS LATER

ALEX and TOM emerge onto the street. TOM lights up a cigarette as they walk towards the camera, which tracks backwards in front of them.

TOM
(dragging hard)
...There’s a fucking double standard for you...

ALEX
...You’re not even old enough to do a fucking paper round, and yet you’re serving cigarettes to middle-aged men in raincoats...

TOM
(same again)
...You’re only there because you’re the son of the guy who owns the shop...

ALEX
...No, sorry, make that the son of the son...
(beat)
...It wouldn’t surprise me, in this fucking town...

TOM takes one last drag from his cigarette and throws the butt down in front of him.

Cut to black.

End.

C.C. 29/3/02