THE CRYING ROOM

Written by

Camille Josephine Robertson

June 7, 2022

ACT 1

INT. GEDDIE FAMILY FUNERAL HOME - MORGUE/CREMATORIUM - NIGHT

A long, narrow room, sterile, with a single, small window high up on the wall. From left to right, a cremation oven, a block of refrigerated body lockers, a mini-fridge with an ice- maker, and a medical cabinet with a built-in desk occupy one wall. The adjacent wall features an elevator and row of coat hooks; the wall opposite, a steel door, an empty shelf, and a cremains processing table. On the table is a hand magnet, stainless steel trays, a cremains pulverizer, an urn and an urn loader. Next to the processing table is a metal recycling bin. RAIN PELTS against the windowpane.

Inside the oven, a pile of human bone fragments smolders orange. A block brush enters the chamber and sweeps the cremains into a collection hopper below. Guiding the brush with precision is crematory operator ROBIN ARIUS (mid- twenties). She is bird-like, with feathery hair chopped short above the ear, and wide, hazel eyes. She wears a white lab coat and thick leather gloves. A cloud of dust rises with her final sweep.

Robin returns the brush to its holder, removes the pan from the hopper, and carries it to the processing station. She holds the magnet above the pan which attracts a cremation tracking disc. She removes the disc and studies it. It reads: “GEDDIE FAMILY FUNERAL HOME, #25835.” She compares the number on the disc to the number on the body tag tied to the urn. It’s a match.

She sifts through the bone fragments by hand, raking until she reaches the bottom, where lies a gold tooth. She takes it and holds it up to a BUZZING fluorescent light. Her distorted, golden reflection stares back at her. She places the tooth on a tray.

She removes a dust mask from her pocket and puts it on. She pours the cremains into the pulverizer and flips the switch on. Dust billows as the cremains are ground and accumulate in a pot below. The grinding stops. Robin lifts the lid off the pot and uses a painter’s brush to dust off the underside of the lid. She pours the ashes through the urn loader and into the urn. Again, she compares identification numbers, before placing the urn on the shelf.

Robin removes her mask and gloves, and takes the gold tooth from the tray, polishing it on her coat as she walks across the room to the elevator. She presses the up-arrow; the button lights up and BUZZES. The doors slide open.

She steps inside and waits. After a long moment, the doors close, and the elevator slowly ascends, motor WHIRRING.

INT. ELEVATOR - NIGHT

The elevator LIGHT FLICKERS. Robin glances upwards, and it flickers twice more before holding steady.

INT. G.F. FUNERAL HOME - FOYER - NIGHT

A compact foyer with tawdry, imitation-Victorian furnishings. On the back wall, from right to left, a reception desk and the elevator. Above the desk hangs a stopped clock. On the long wall, a Gothic wooden door, and a nautical red door with a porthole window, respectively labeled: “CRYING ROOM” and “EVENT ROOM.” A succession of sepia family portraits are hung along the remaining length of the wall. On the wall opposite the elevator is a plain door, above which is a sign that reads: “OFFICE.”

The elevator doors open. Robin lowers her eyes to the ground and steps out. WAKE-GOERS mill about the foyer. Robin walks past them, scanning formally-dressed feet. She approaches the event room door and peers through the porthole.

INT. EVENT ROOM - SEEN THROUGH PORTHOLE

A medium-sized crowd consisting of older people, one child and one baby, all clad in black. They talk amongst themselves. Against the back wall, a buffet table is set with mini-mart hors d'oeuvres and a water cooler, and to the left, a stopped grandfather clock. Occupying the center-back of the room is an open, velvet-lined casket adjacent to a small stage. On the stage, a microphone mounted on a stand and a scratched-up projection screen. Artificial red roses are everywhere.

Scanning the faces of the wake-goers, Robin’s eyes land on EDWARD GEDDIE (late-sixties), who is conversing sternly with LENNY GEDDIE (mid-thirties). Geddie wears an un-ironed suit. He is plump, tall, and vaguely eggplant shaped. Lenny is slight with thinning hair.

INT. FOYER

The sound of RUSTY HINGES SQUEAKING LOUDLY diverts Robin’s attention from the event room.

She looks over her shoulder, first towards the sign labeled “CRYING ROOM,” then down to the door beneath it where an OLDER WOMAN sniffles as she exits, shutting the door. Hobbling off, she catches Robin’s eye. Quickly, sheepishly, they both look away.

Robin redirects her gaze back to the porthole, where Geddie’s face now looms. The corners of his lips are turned down, mildly displeased. He opens the door out towards her, and she takes a step back.

GEDDIE
Good evening.

He heads straight for the door labeled “OFFICE” follows. Behind them, Lenny, face buried in his out of the event room and into the crying room.

ROBIN
Mr. Geddie, I’m awfully sorry to

interrupt.

GEDDIE
Yes. Right.

He opens the door to his office.

GEDDIE (CONT’D)
What is it?

INT. G.F. FUNERAL HOME - EDWARD GEDDIE’S OFFICE

They enter the puny room. Packed inside is a wooden desk, splintery from small claw marks, behind which hangs a stopped clock, and a large sepia family photo held in a gaudy frame. On the desk’s surface is an unorganized stack of bills and receipts, a phone, answering machine blinking, and a stack of magazines and newspaper, on top of which rests an orange-eyed CAT, who blinks sleepily.

Geddie sits in a tattered, leather office chair.

ROBIN
Again, my condolences. Louise has told me
some about your sister in passing and again,
I apologize for the interruption--

GEDDIE
Alright. Shut the door. What is it?

The cat rises and stretches, digging its claws into a newspaper ad. The ad depicts a handsome man wearing a crisp suit and a stethoscope around his neck. The caption reads:

“CARRIAGE CORPORATION INTERNATIONAL. Caring and Compassionate. With over forty years of experience and nine- hundred locations and counting, Carriage Corporation is #1 in death, dying, and funerals...”

With one hand, and without breaking eye-contact, Geddie lifts the cat from the desk and plops her on the ground.

ROBIN
Well, I’m not sure what to do with this...

She approaches the desk and holds out the gold tooth.

ROBIN (CONT’D)
... From Mr. Walters. A molar. I suppose Mrs. Walters
didn’t know about it. I don’t mean to
blow this out of proportion.

Geddie stares at the tooth. The corners of his mouth turn down a bit more. The cat begins clawing the corner of the desk.

ROBIN (CONT’D)
It’s twenty-four karats. I think.

GEDDIE
Twenty-four?

He flaps a hand at Robin dismissively.

GEDDIE (CONT’D)
Recycle it.

Robin retracts her arm, closes her hand around the filling, and places it back in her lab coat pocket. She shifts her gaze down to the cat.

Geddie stands, jogs an unaligned stack of bills, then shuffles his way out from behind the desk, past Robin, and opens the door. Abruptly he stops, turns in the doorway and looks down at the cat.

GEDDIE (CONT’D)
Willow! Hchissss!

Robin and the cat freeze, eyes wide. Robin regains her composure; the cat runs behind the desk.

* Please note: the above has been reformatted from the industry standard for the purpose of site integration.