The screenplay TIMELY presents a compelling narrative that intertwines themes of mortality, redemption, and the complexities of human relationships. The character arcs, particularly that of Brad Eckhart, are well-developed, showcasing a journey from superficiality to a deeper understanding of life and love. The screenplay effectively balances humor and drama. Overall, it is a strong piece that resonates with audiences seeking both entertainment and emotional depth.

The writer’s voice is a blend of gritty realism, wry humor, and a keen understanding of human vulnerability. The dialogue is sharp, witty, and often laced with cynicism, reflecting the characters’ struggles with fame, mortality, and the search for connection. The narrative weaves between the mundane and the extraordinary, creating a world that feels both familiar and unsettling. The direction, while not explicitly detailed, suggests a visual style that is both stark and intimate, emphasizing the emotional and physical landscapes of the characters’ lives

INT. LOBBY, OFFICE OF VITAL RECORDS

Plain. Ordinary. Except for the passageway that leads to the back room: looks like a full body scanner, the kind you pass through at airport security. Strange.

CHICO O.S.: First rule a’ the street: get the other guy ‘fore he gets you.
ASHLEY: My gosh, you had some life.

BACK ROOM.

Cramped. Musty. Ancient computers and filing cabinets. A dusty clock on the wall reads 1:11. Tick-tick-tick.

CHICO O.S.: Made some changes.
ASHLEY O.S.: I’ll say.

Two workers slouch at their desks, scarfing down lunch boxes of fried chicken: ASHLEY (20s), a shapely Southern belle, and CHICO (50s), a wiry, reformed street hustler.

CHICO: What about you?
ASHLEY: Nothing like that, I mean… I dunno… reckon I wasn’t always the most faithful girlfriend.

On the wall, one of those glass IN CASE OF EMERGENCY boxes. Instead of an ax, though, there’s an aged, black book inside. Something’s very odd about this place.

CHICO: Ah, you’re young.
ASHLEY (softly): Was.

Instantly, a chill strangles the air.

CHICO: Should prob’ly get back to work.

Goes to wipe his hands, but there’s no napkins, so he licks his greasy fingers. Glimpses Ashley’s sexy legs- she’s wearing a flowery summer dress- as he clicks the mouse.

CHICO: Don’t wanna upset the big man.
ASHLEY: ‘Specially my first day.

The printer whirs as Ashley collects her trash. Chico grabs the document from the printer. On the way to the trash can, Ashley drops her plastic fork. Bends over to pick it up… Chico ogles her creamy thighs as he stuffs the letter into a manila envelope, smudging it with his greasy fingers. The envelope’s addressed to BRADLEY ECKHART.

Title: LOS ANGELES

EXT. AMERICAN SPORTS NETWORK (ASN), CENTURY CITY

Sunlight shimmers off the sleek building.

INT. BRAD’S OFFICE, ASN

BRAD ECKHART (33), the Marlboro man with an LA makeover, studies his handsome face in a compact mirror, checking out the cut on his lip. He’s on speakerphone with his agent, MAX.

BRAD: It was good, right?

A video on his iPhone shows him baiting a lanky NFL quarterback during an interview, leading to a fistfight.

MAX V.O.: Kidding? Fantastic.

Plaques and awards and autographed jerseys cover the walls. The centerpiece is a large, glass frame containing six crumpled cocktail napkins, words scribbled all over ‘em.

BRAD: Tell ya, man, I was pumped. I was feeling it.

Struts around the room, towel around his neck like a boxer.

MAX V.O.: Two million hits.
BRAD: Wish I woulda got a shot in.
MAX V.O.: Ah.
BRAD: Happened so fast.
MAX V.O.: Don’t want a lawsuit, believe me.
BRAD: Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.
MAX V.O.: How does Kimmel sound? Wanna do Kimmel?

Brad plunks down in his plush leather chair.

BRAD: What’s up with Paris?
MAX V.O.: That all you think about?
BRAD: Aside from firing you? Yes.
MAX V.O.: Told ya, I’m taking care of it.
BRAD: Not waiting four years.
MAX V.O.: Wheels are in motion, believe me.
BRAD: Lampley was thir-
MAX V.O.: Just take care of your passport.
BRAD: Hmph.
MAX V.O.: I’ll take care of the rest.
BRAD (grumbles): Need my birth certificate first.
MAX V.O.: Birth certificate?
BRAD: Ah, couldn’t find it. Had to send for a new one.
MAX V.O.: … Jesus…
BRAD: Like six weeks ago.
MAX V.O.: Fucking bureaucrats.
BRAD (big): Can’t miss Paris, Max.

Knock on the door. MELANIE MCFEELY (26), the show’s producer, peeks her head in. A slim brunette with Midwest morality, there’s beauty lurking behind those glasses and pantsuit.

MELANIE: Your mom’s on line two.
BRAD: Great.
MELANIE: Want me to…
BRAD:… Prob’ly gonna ream me out…
MELANIE: … Tell her you’re in a meeting?
BRAD: You’re the best.
MELANIE: That’s why I get minimum wage adjacent.
BRAD: Know whatcha need, don’tcha?
MELANIE: Um…
BRAD: Max.
MAX V.O.: That’s the nicest thing-
BRAD: Still here? Go on, get outta here. Earn your five percent.
MAX V.O.: Ten-

Brad hangs up on him. Melanie steps inside.

MELANIE: Talked to the Records Department. They mailed your birth certificate.
BRAD: Hmph. ‘Bout time. (beat) Whadda I got tonight?
MELANIE: Really need an assistant.
BRAD: You’re the only one I trust.

She scans her phone.

MELANIE: Let’s see, uh… dinner with Lori.
BRAD: Lori?
MELANIE: Podiatrist from Playa.
BRAD: Say that five times fast.
MELANIE: Podi-
BRAD: Mel?

She abruptly stops, blushing.

BRAD: I was kidding.
MELANIE: Oh.
BRAD: Sure it’s not Lisa?
MELANIE: Dentist from Redondo.
BRAD: Ah. Right.

She strides out of the office. Brad gazes at her cute ass.