Frig It! Screenplay for a not-yet-produced short film by Joanne C. Hillhouse
A photo of Joanne C. Hillhouse holding two copies of her book, The Boy from Willow Bend
Photo by Annetta Jackson, Intersect Antigua-Barbuda
BLACK
FADE IN:
EXT. SMALL CARIBBEAN ISLAND — DAY
Several HAMMERS pound out a kind of rhythm. The island prepares for the storm. The leaves of a breadfruit, mango, and various tropical trees droop. The air is unnaturally still.
INT. IRMA’S APARTMENT — DAY
SMALL UNATTACHED STUDIO APARTMENT alongside a bigger house. IRMA (30s), a Black woman, rushes around. She puts precious papers into plastic bags, then pulls in the shutters.
A baby lies on the bed. CRESILLA (9), Irma’s daughter, sits nearby, supposedly minding her baby brother while she draws a superhero battling a hurricane monster. The super has a red chest and wears a black cape. Its face resembles a boy, Dalso, from Cresilla’s class.
A cell phone plugged into a socket near the foot of the bed charges while tuned in to a local station playing the weather forecast. Neither Irma nor Cresilla is fully listening.
REPORTER (V.O.)
(Audio goes in and out)
Impressive…eye well-defined…powerful system…maximum sustained winds 185 miles per hour…history-making hurricane…climate change…increasing…intensity and frequency…stronger and stronger…the Caribbean is a highway for these super storms…What can be done?...batten dung…pressure politicians… real action on climate change…now…
IRMA
…Now, Cresilla!
CRESILLA
Huh?
IRMA
Huh, what? I say help me push the bed up against the door.
CRESILLA
(Moving, but not fast enough)
But, Mammy, the door open out, not in.
IRMA
(Agitated, already pushing)
You hear me say mikkayse come help me? Mek yuhself useful. Push!
The baby giggles as they move the bed.
EXT. THE ISLAND — TWILIGHT
The storm blows in. It rains. Wind batters the shuttered houses.
CUT TO:
The sea is wild as light fades to dark.
TRANSITION TO:
INT. IRMA’S APARTMENT — NIGHT
Rising water sloshes around the bed. It is dark except for a single flashlight. The wind wails. A loose shutter bangs. Cresilla, Irma, and the baby inside Irma’s hoodie are on the bed, fully dressed. Irma’s sneakers are on Cresilla’s drawing. Cresilla is too spooked to notice. The baby is unbothered.
The wind grows fiercer. It SHATTERS the glass window near the door. Cresilla SHRIEKS and FLINCHES. The baby SCREAMS. Irma breathes heavily.
Irma swings the flashlight toward the gap where the door and window used to be.
Water gushes through both openings. A TEARING metallic sound. Irma swings the flashlight toward the roof. Another part of the GALVANIZE roof rips away. Cresilla’s scream cuts off when she looks up and glimpses a red-chested figure with black cape.
CRESILLA
(In wonder, voice carrying in excitement)
Frig it!
IRMA
(Rough but distracted)
Stop that cursing.
Irma zips up her hoodie, tucking the baby tighter. She grasps Cresilla’s arm.
IRMA
Le we go.
Cresilla is still looking up.
Begin Daydream:
INT. IRMA’S APARTMENT — CRESILLA’S DAYDREAM
Frig It carries the bed with Irma and Cresilla. She leans over the side of the airborne bed to grin at him. Irma tugs her back.
End Daydream.
INT. IRMA’S APARTMENT — MOMENTS LATER
Cresilla JOLTS to reality as Irma TUGS her arm.
IRMA
(Loudly in Cresilla’s face, shaking her)
Hold on to me. Don’t let go.
Cresilla stumbles as her mother steps off the bed. Irma drags her through where the door had been. They step into the yard.
EXT. THICK OF THE STORM — NIGHT
Cresilla stumbles. She holds on to her mother’s hoodie. The wind howls. The baby’s cries are muffled. They move as a unit against the wind. They make very little ground.
Cresilla can see nothing. She hears a drumming that sounds like her own heart.
She looks over her shoulder.
Recognition flashes on her face.
Begin Flashback:
EXT. FRIGATE COLONY — CRESILLA’S SCHOOL TRIP — DAY
FRIGATES wings FLAP. Ms. Caarlsen, Cresilla’s geography teacher, points to the huge red and black male frigates and white and black female frigates perched on the mangrove limbs that stick up out of the water.
The students are in awe of how the males drum from within their puffed-up red chests. They marvel at the expansiveness of their wings as they take to the air with a few powerful flaps, before gliding on the wind. Dalso acts out the flap and glide manoeuvres.
MS. CAARLSEN
(Sharply)
Dalso!
End Flashback.
FADE TO:
EXT. THICK OF THE STORM — NIGHT
Cresilla looks over her shoulder.
CRESILLA
Frig it!...?
She stumbles. She loses her grip on her mother.
DARK Wind HOWLS.
Begin Flashback:
INT. IRMA’S APARTMENT — DAY
Cresilla colours a picture of the super with coloured pencils on a white page.
MS. CAARLSEN (V.O.)
Fregata magnificens, magnificent frigate, otherwise known as the weather bird, is a distinctive tropical bird popular on our little island where the largest sanctuary of its kind can be found in all of the western hemisphere.
As Cresilla colours the image, it comes to life.
REPORTER (V.O.)
Impressive… well-defined…powerful … super… super…super…
Cresilla draws.
CRESILLA
(Whispers)
Frig It!
Cresilla draws.
REPORTER (V.O.)
Impressive… powerful…stronger and stronger…super…super…super…
CRESILLA
(Whispers)
Frig It!
Cresilla draws.
VOICES (V.O.)
…super…super…super…
CRESILLA
(Screams)
Frig It!
EXT. BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF THE ISLAND — DAY BEFORE THE STORM
SERIES OF SHOTS
- From high up, the ‘bird’ takes in the small island. Rough Atlantic water. The landscape is rough with rocks and cave formations. Open land, green with pops of colour from bougainvillea clusters.
- The village with its docks, with little activity.
- Big Old, a sprawling baobab tree.
- The empty frigate bird sanctuary just past the lagoon.
Silence. RADIO STATIC.
EXT. THE VILLAGE — BIG OLD BAOBAB TREE — DAY
A radio in the taxi parked under the tree. An islander walks by the taxi.
ISLANDER 1
What that they say ‘bout the storm? It turning?
TAXI MAN
You ah budda wid dem? Dem always ah try frighten smadee.
Radio crackles. Static. Brief dead air like after an announcement.
INT. IRMA’S APARTMENT — DAY
Cresilla draws. Burning Flames’ “Batten Dong” plays on the radio.
IRMA
“Batten dung, batten dung”. Dem ah gi smadee wood fu batten dung? Dem ah sen’ man wid hammer? Dem ah put han’? Dem ah put money?
CRESILLA
Mammy, storm coming?
IRMA
(Voice tight)
Don’t even whisper that.
EXT/INT. THE ISLAND — EVENING BEFORE THE STORM
Eerie stillness outside. Cresilla sits, leaned up against Irma, on the bed they’ve pushed up against the door. Her picture is abandoned on the bed.
CRESILLA
(Whispering too low for Irma to hear)
Frig It! Frig It! Frig It!
End Flashback.
EXT. IN THE THICK OF THE STORM — NIGHT
CRESILLA
(Screams)
Frig It!
Cresilla looks up. Water lashes her eyes. She shuts them.
She fumbles on the ground.
Begin Flashback.
EXT. MAINLAND — Carnival — DAY
Costumed mas makers – old mas John Bull and skellihoppers and moko jumbie – perform on the stage. Cresilla hides behind Irma.
Both Cresilla and Irma are younger.
Irma tugs Cresilla to the front. They, dance. Irma laughs as she lifts Cresilla up.
YOUNGER IRMA
Is fraid you fraid ah likkle masquerade?
Cresilla buries her face in her mother’s neck.
YOUNGER IRMA
Nothing there to fraid. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.
End Flashback.
EXT. IN THE THICK OF THE STORM — NIGHT
Cresilla bawls. Her voice is lost in the wind.
IRMA (V.O.)
If we get separated, what you supposed to
say?
CRESILLA (V.O.)
My name is Cresilla Tandy. My mother is Irma Beazer. Her cell phone number is…
Cresilla is on her bottom. She breathes heavily. She cries.
CRESILLA
(chants)
Frig It! Frig It! Frig It!
Cresilla struggles with the wind. The wind lifts her off the ground. It whistles loudly. Wind and icy rain envelop her. Cresilla screams. A voice whispers in her ear.
FRIG IT!
I got you.
CRESILLA (V.O.)
You have me? An ah who hab yuh?
Cresilla opens her eyes. She looks around but the angle is wrong and it is too dark to see anything. The voice whispers again in her ear.
FRIG IT!
I got you.
CRESILLA (V.O.)
(Like a sigh)
Frig It!
Cresilla relaxes into Frig It!’s arms. Frig It! gradually flies higher up.
Cresilla tries to twist in his arms.
MS. CAARLSEN (V.O.)
The higher you go the thinner the air.
Cresilla squirms.
CRESILLA
No. No, no.
Frig It! continues to fly upward. Cresilla claps her hands to her ears. Her face is pained.
She screams. The hurricane noise swallows the sound. Frig It! continues to soar.
Cresilla faints.
FADE TO BLACK.
EXT. THE VILLAGE — UNDER THE BIG OLD BAOBAB TREE — DAY
Cresilla cracks open her eyes. Her vision is blurry. She blearily sees the tree’s umbrella-like limbs and thick body.
It is eerily quiet. But then the quiet fills up with loud CHATTER. Cresilla covers her ears with her hands.
WOMAN
She wake up.
Cresilla winces. She turns toward the sound.
The woman clucks.
WOMAN
(Soothingly)
Okay, okay, sec. Okay, okay.
She shifts Cresilla’s head from the ground to her lap.
Cresilla winces at the pain of the movement.
WOMAN
Okay, okay. Drink some water.
She places a bottle at Cresilla’s lips. Cresilla guzzles, then coughs. The woman removes the bottle from her lips.
WOMAN
Slower this time.
The woman places the bottle back at her lips. Cresilla drinks slowly and deeply.
Cresilla opens her eyes. She winces.
The woman dampens a headkerchief and rests it against her forehead. Cresilla sighs with relief.
Cresilla turns her head toward the gathered group.
She notices something.
Beyond the bedraggled crowd gathered under Big Old, the baobab tree, something red and black hovers against the clouds. Cresilla squints.
CRESILLA
Frig It!
WOMAN
Stop that cursing now.
Cresilla waves. Frig It! waves back before rising above the clouds. She drops her hand. She is dazed.
Slowly, a dawning awareness on her face as she remembers the mantra.
CRESILLA
My name is Cresilla Tandy. My mother is Irma Beazer. Her cell phone…
She pauses. She frowns. She looks at the crowd again.
The woman clucks again. She rubs Cresilla’s brow.
WOMAN
No cell reception there but I know your mammy. Small island this. And thank God we all here, we all here.
(To those nearby)
Call her mammy?
Someone answers but Cresilla does not quite hear what they say.
CRESILLA
Mammy.
WOMAN
You’ll be okay. She around. She was tending to the baby. Somebody go call Irma.
VARIOUS VOICES
Irma…Irma…Irma…Irma…Irma…
Cresilla winces at the noise. The woman sighs.
Cresilla closes her eyes.
Begin Flashback.
EXT. THE CALM SKY — DAY
FRIG IT!
I got you.
Cresilla floats in the air in Frig It!’s arms. There is no storm, just the fresh air.
End Flashback.
Begin Flashback.
FADE TO:
EXT. THE FRIGATE COLONY — DAY
Boat of school children. The engine cuts. The boat floats quietly among the mangroves.
MS. CAARLSEN
We have to protect this.
STUDENT 1
Protect from what?
MS. CAARLSEN
Greed. Greed that would tear up all this because they don’t see the beauty. Don’t understand how it keeps our fish stocks up, how it keeps hurricane off our back. It’s a nursery.
STUDENT 2
Like for pickney.
MS. CAARLSEN
We don’t use that word. But, yes, the babies of the sea are nurseried in places like this, so they can grow big and strong. Like in The Lion King, remember? “The circle of life”.
A gaggle of distracted voices at the mention of one of their favourite movies.
MS. CAARLSEN
Okay, okay, okay…what else do mangroves do?
STUDENTS
(All together)
Stop the hurricanes.
MS. CAARLSEN
(Chuckling)
Well nothing can stop a hurricane. Even the frigates know to get out of their way, that’s one of the reasons we call them weather birds. When they leave en masse, we know to hunker down. But, yes, the mangroves do dull the impact of hurricanes.
(Pause)
It would do our leaders well to remember that.
End Flashback.
EXT. THE VILLAGE -- UNDER THE BAOBAB TREE -– DAY
The woman shifts Cresilla from her lap to another’s.
Cresilla moans a protest.
WOMAN
It’s okay, baby, your mother’s here.
IRMA
I’m here.
Cresilla looks up at her mother from where her head lies in her lap. She smiles.
Irma cries, quietly. Cresilla frowns.
IRMA
Thought I lost you. The wind just tek you, rip you ‘way, right from my side. Me look and look but me couldn’t see nothing. Now nothing there to see.
Irma looks around. Cresilla follows her gaze. Apart from Big Old, all she can see of the entire island has been flattened. She shivers.
IRMA
Thank God for life. Thank God.
Cresilla sits up.
CRESILLA
(Absently)
Not God. Frig It!
Her mother gasps.
WOMAN
Don’t mind her. She not in her right head.
ISLANDER 2
None ah arwe go inna arwe right head if smadee nah come rescue arwe soon.
ISLANDER 3
And no communication taarl from the mainland.
ISLANDER 4
(Skeptical)
If he interested in rescuing us. Don’t forget we’re “obstructionists” to progress.
Worried murmurs emanate from the crowd.
WOMAN
Stop all that fretting now. We don’t need no talk of politics at a time like this. Smadee will come. God is in control.
CRESILLA
Frig It!
MOTHER
(Sharply)
Enough of that, Cresilla.
People draw away from them.
Cresilla leans against her mother who doesn’t seem in a hurry to move.
CRESILLA
(with urgency)
Mammy, the baby…
IRMA
The baby okay. Somebody have him. I’m here.
Irma caresses her again.
IRMA
And don’t worry. Smadee will come for us. Your daddy working over on the mainland. He one self will light a fire under the prime minister.
Cresilla smiles slightly. She, looks up at the sky as she spots red and black.
CRESILLA
I not worried.
CUT TO:
The sky, blue and white, with waves of light from the sweltering sun. The sound from the islanders under the Old Baobab tree is distant.
The sound of helicopter propeller. It emerges from the sky; red and black. A cheer goes up from the crowd as rescue approaches.
FADE TO WHITE:
The helicopter propeller, the sound of flapping. Cheers from the people under the baobab tree.
FADE OUT:
EXT. THE MANGROVE — DAY
The frigate birds have returned. The males with scarlet red chests; the females with puffs of white peeking out. Thousands of them fly over and resettle on the protruding mangroves as life begins to return to the island.
VOICES ON THE RADIO (V.O.)
…My roof go, my kitchen go…it was raining in the house…nothing left… it was just like a monster… we were fighting for our lives…now we fighting to get back to our life…the island…emptied out…never thought I’d see the day…backfilling our wetlands to make golf course instead of…we need…real action on climate change…we need…leaders who care…we need…to go home…to go home…to go home…
Voices continues as a male frigate makes a drumming sound. The drumming continues.
CRESILLA (V.O.)
Mammy, when we going home?
IRMA
(Voice tight)
I don’t know.
FADE TO BLACK.
The drumming continues. The frigate drumming becomes the drumming of a djembe as credits begin to roll.
THE END.
STORY NOTES
This is a screenplay for a short film adapted from a story of the same name – “Frig It!” – initially written after the destructive 2017 hurricane season. I’ve been experimenting lately with adaptations of my own work. This, a scripted stage version of my book With Grace (1), and a screenplay, Is Like a Like It, excerpted in The Caribbean Writer, which was at one time in development and has since been storified as “Destiny”, a story from the collection-in-progress I’ve been working on during my Intersect RESIDENCY. “Destiny” was referenced in article 1 of the RESIDENCY, “The Imprecise Science of Character Naming” (2). I’ve been noting, through the process of adaptation, how the form changes the story itself. Things have been taken away and added, hopefully without losing the centre, as I’ve revised “Frig It!” in screenplay form during this RESIDENCY.
“Frig It!” was also, at one time, part of my collection-in-progress. But it’s been cut as I’ve decided the collection will be short stories only. I’ve been exploring ways to produce one of my plays – or at least get it a table read. The closest I’ve gotten is a reading of the story form of “Frig It!” which I did – to positive reception – during the 2024 Society of Caribbean Studies annual conference (virtually) as one of two recipients of their Bridget Jones Caribbean Arts Award. This is my first share of this version of the story.
END NOTES
(1) “First Pages – With Grace,” Jhohadli blog
(2) “The Imprecise Science of Character Naming” by Joanne C. Hillhouse
See also –
My Residency 6 playlist of songs not so much inspired by or relevant to the story but which I listened to nonetheless while revising it
Also by Joanne C. Hillhouse:
“Caribbean Celluloid: Telling Our Stories On Film”
“Don’t Sleep on Caribbean Fantasy and Science Fiction: Caribbean Futurism”
