Competition Briefs

Competitors should form teams of 4-6 members and choose one of the eleven Screenplays listed below as the basis of their brief, which they can answer using any medium or mixture of mediums – the judges will be hoping to see examples of 3D photoreal animation, 2D or 3D character animation, stop frame or any combination of the above, with or without live action elements/backplate acquisition. The final sequences should be between 15 and 30 seconds long and of HD quality.

Your chosen screenplay should act as your narrative – establishing character, environments and story; we want to see innovative treatments that take these narrative elements and turn them into engaging and challenging visual sequences. It is up to you to decide the screenplays Genre (Comedy, Horror, Thriller etc.) – you have creative freedom in this respect.

Remember – you can choose to tackle the entire screenplay – or just a certain section or paragraph. This again is up to your team to decide.

Each team needs to produce a pitch document, outlining exactly how they intend to answer their chosen brief – the document should include a scene by scene breakdown/shotlist, a creative and technical treatment and can be supported by storyboards, mood boards, character/set designs and any other material the teams think relevant.

Selected teams will live on campus at BU free of charge for seven weeks as they then produce their sequences, during this period they will have access to the facilities of the NCCA and AUB, including studios, workstations/software platforms, cameras and lights. In 2013, professionals from MPC, The Mill, Cinesite, Double Negative, Hibbert Ralph, Framestore, The Quarry and Outpost VFX mentored the teams regularly which is something we are looking to repeat this year, both in person and over the Internet; they will also have the support of academic staff and technicians from both universities.

Along with their final sequences, the teams will also be expected to submit accurate, clearly titled HD breakdowns, which explain all relevant aspects of their production process – the breakdowns should be no more than 3 minutes in length.

The teams should be prepared to defend their finished sequences and breakdowns in front of a panel of mentors and judges.

The Screenplays below are also available in the Application pack.

 

War of the Worlds – A Prayer’s Chance in Hell by Matthew Hessey

 

EXT. WOKING HIGH STREET. NIGHT

 

A dreary, rain drizzled day in historical Woking High
Street, 1896. It is lit by several gas lamps, though is
largely empty, bar a few scattered civilians.

 

Led by a well-kept horse, a carriage draws along the street.

 

INT. CARRIAGE. NIGHT

 

In the carriage sits HENRY NELSON and his wife, ILSA NELSON. They are both in their late 30s, rich, and so well dressed.

 

Ilsa is frightened. She constantly glances out of the carriage and into the dreary night behind them.

 

HENRY NELSON

 

You need not worry so, they should-

 

ILSA NELSON
I know, I kn-

 

A blaze of solidified heat tears through the carriage.

 

EXT. WOKING HIGH STREET. NIGHT

 

Hurt, shaken, Henry looks around him. Everything is aflame.

 

HENRY NELSON
Good Lord in Heaven…
Ahead, Henry can just make out Ilsa. She is screaming and
clutching at her face, horribly burnt by the heat ray.

 

He starts towards her.

 

A colossal, metallic tentacle smashes in front of him.

 

Terrified, he rears backwards, crawling under the
smouldering carriage wreckage behind him. Ignoring the
screams around him, he clenches his eyes shut.

 

HENRY NELSON
Our Father, which art in Heaven-

 

A heat ray is fired ahead. A searing, red light flashes
before Henry’s face. Ilsa’s screams can no longer be heard.

 

HENRY NELSON (CONT’D)
-Hallowed be thy name…
Read More

War of the Worlds – ‘All That Remains’ by Christian Huser

 

INT. SUBURBAN HOME – BEDROOM – DAY

 

The oily black of an eye. Its reflective and oddly blank.

Lifeless. A button on thatched brown material. The face of a

teddy bear. It sits on its side precariously.

 

A child’s bedroom. Water blue walls and tartan quilted bed.

Aeroplane memorabilia and toy models. A replica fighter jet

hangs motionlessly from the ceiling. Wardrobe stripped of

clothing and belongings. Thin layers of dust and cobwebs coat

the surfaces. Its hauntingly deserted. Abandoned in

desperation and flight.

 

INT. SUBURBAN HOME – HALLWAY – DAY

 

The hallway is encased in shadow. It stretches on to unlit

rooms and closed doorways. Family portraits dangle eschew on

its walls. Faces scarcely visible. A lone sock and pieces of

clothing lay strewn upon the carpeted floor.

 

INT. SUBURBAN HOME – KITCHEN – DAY

 

Cupboards remain ajar. Ransacked. The occasional canned food.

An oak dining table jammed against the back-door. Its cracked

and splintered. Flowered curtains draped closed over boarded

wood. Rays of light trickle through the cracks. Granules and

particles in the luminous. A dog bowl reads JASPER. Letters

faded and chipped away.

 

EXT. GARDEN – WOKING, SURREY – DAY

 

A white picket fence dilapidated. Uncut long grass climbs

over the garden. Ashen and charcoal. Shrivelled leaves fall

from skeletal trees above. A swing remains ominously still.

We follow down its metal support. The skull of a canine sits

hollow and stark. Embedded into the soil and dirt.

 

EXT. FIELD – WOKING, SURREY – DAY

 

A resonating boom pierces through the silence. And another.

Distant cries. We move steadily passed the skull and rise

over a mound stripped of growth and flora.

What is day seems to be night. A wall of soot and embers.

Flashes of light and red flame. The scene is chaotic.

Apocalyptic. The field ablaze.

 

High above a mechanical monstrosity echoes cries. Its

tentacle legs slamming down. Like sharpened spears. A search

light emanates from the sky. Panning over and over. And then

its in full view. As if bending over. Its cylinder. Alien and

menacing. A robotic martian. It howls once again and white

light envelopes the screen.

Read More

Around the World in 80 Days – ‘Around the Universe in 80 years’ by Simon Schneider

 

EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD TO WORKING CLASS HOME. AFTERNOON.

 

Looking slightly glum a young boy sits on his swing, it

undulates back and forth with little enthusiasm.

 

He looks to the sky letting his mind wander and as he does

his feet kick to the ground for momentum. He swings.

 

At the apex he flings himself, but doesn’t stop. He flies.

 

The boy sails into the sky- As he does bits of metal and

wood gather to his sides. They slowly form a basic plane.

 

WHHIRR. The noisy propeller tears through clouds in a red

sky. Wind whips through the boys hair, he feels alive.

 

As the plane climbs higher streets and houses become little

more than lines and blocks. FWICK. The propeller hurtling to

the ground.

 

The plane deconstructs in mid-air however more streamlined

metallic pieces glide to surround the boy.

 

He flies a fighter jet soaring at an incredible speed. It

twists and loops like mechanical acrobatics.

 

Above him, the majestic moon takes the boy’s interest. The

jet curls up and adjusts trajectory. One of its jets falls.

 

Pieces break off the jet and descend only to be replaced by

more sophisticated technical pieces of something big…

 

EXT. THE BLACK INFINITY OF SPACE. AFTERNOON.

 

Apollo 11. It pierces the atmosphere, in the cockpit

determination flickers on the boy’s face.

 

The shuttle dissembles and its velocity becomes a gentle

float. As he nears the boy extends his hand as if to grab.

 

MOTHER(O.S)

Neil? Dinners ready.

EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD TO WORKING CLASS HOME. AFTERNOON.

 

Feet dig into the ground as the swing comes to a halt.

 

A silhouetted female figure stands at the door of the house,

waiting. NEIL gets leaves now less glum.

 

Before entering he takes one last glance at the moon.

Read More

Sinbad – ‘Cracked Open’ by George Lawson

EXT. ISLAND BEACH-DAY

 

Father Roc, a bird, soars through the air.

 

A SHRILL SQUAWK. He swoops down.

 

Mother Roc nuzzles her beak through a broken egg shell.

Father Roc waddles beside her. Glances up.

 

A ship sails away.

 

EXT. SHIP-CONTINUOUS

 

Sinbad munches into scrambled egg-on-bread. The crew members

sit in a circle, also eating.

 

A FAINT SQUAWK. Sinbad pauses, glances around. Takes another

bite.

 

A SQUAWK. Sinbad gets up, approaches the deck.

 

A LOUD SQUAWK. Sinbad gasps, drops his egg-on-bread.

 

Father and Mother Roc approach the ship, boulders under

their claws.

 

Sinbad leaps off the ship.

 

A crew member finishes his bread, licks his lips. A boulder

falls on him, disappears into the centre of the ship.

 

Crew gather round. Crew member looks up.

 

CREW MEMBER

Rocs!

Crew members disperse, leaving an old man with wooden leg.

 

A circular shadow widens around the old man. He gazes up.

Driven through the centre of the ship by a boulder.

 

Sinbad swims fast, glances behind. Mother Roc approaches.

 

Swims faster. Mother Roc grabs Sinbad with her claws, lifts

him out of the water.

 

Mother Roc carries Sinbad higher and higher.

 

She glances at Sinbad. He shakes his head. She releases him.

He screams.

 

A CRACKING beside the broken egg. A trail of blood trickles

around it.

Read More

Sinbad – ‘Crimson Island’ by Tom Garrat

 

EXT. CARIBBEAN PORT – EVENING.

 

Sat on the edge of the jetty, a crisp evening wind rippling

the short wavy hair and raggedy clothes, this is SINBAD.

 

Looking out over the harbour sits a ship, The Chimera.

Slowly he gets up, looking out over the sea a FEATHER glides

by, being carried on the wind. Crimson Red, small shimmers of

gold embedded into every follicle.

 

He reaches for the feather, jumping up in the air to grab it,

missing entirely. The feather drifting back out over the sea.

 

EXT. ATLANTIC OCEAN – NIGHT.

 

The Feather gliding over the sea, leaving a faint trace of

gold dust behind it — that gold dust illuminates the sky a

ship can be seen trailing the feather — The Chimera.

 

On that Ship, Sinbad, stood on the helm, spyglass in hand,

watching his feather. A full crew hard at work, furiously

chasing the feather, singing Sea shanties as they go.

 

EXT. CRIMSON ISLAND

 

The feather sailing its way along the sandy shore. Sinbad

chasing along behind, tripping up once, brushing himself off.

 

He arrives at the centre of the Island, the feather is found

circling a GIANT GOLDEN EGG, cracked. Something’s got out.

 

Sinbad approaching, going up to the egg, runs his hand over

it. Gold dust imprinting his palms as he skims its surface.

 

THUD. The ground tremoring.

 

Sinbad freezing on the spot. A gush of breath hitting his

back, his hair becomes laced with gold dust.

 

He breathes in, bating his breath, turns.

 

He looks up, stood before him, mighty, majestic, powerful, a

giant ROC, Crimson Red, it’s long beak peering over Sinbad.

He reaches up to touch the bird.

 

It ROARS, the echo causing a whirlwind, stirring the whole

island.

 

EXT. SKYLINE – NIGHT.

 

The crimson red roc, flying off the island, deep into the

sky, on it’s back — Sinbad, sword pointed outward, the sound

of his laughter rushing through the air.

Read More

Sinbad – ‘Life Rocs’ by Ben Clarke-Booth

EXT.CLIFF.DAY.

 

A pair of small talons are desperately running across the

rocky ground.

 

A NEWLY HATCHED ROC is desperately running towards the edge

of a step cliff that-unknown to him-leads towards a deep

drop into the unforgiving sea.

 

TWO PIRATES are chasing after the Hatchling, swords drawn,

mouths hanging open. They’re hungry.

 

The Hatchling skids to a halt as he looks over the big drop

into the blue that faces him. A dead end. No way out.

 

He looks back at the two Pirates that are approaching ever

closer.

 

The Hatchling turns back to face the pirates but his face

goes from one of terror-to one of smugness.

 

The Hatchling’s Mother; A giant ROC; Talons drawn, Wings

swooping and eyes fumming, flying from above the cliff.

 

The Hatchling smiles. His mum has his back.

 

Both of the Pirate’s grins drop. They let go of their swords

in shock, too frozen in fear to move.

 

The Roc swoops in, beak open. Lunch time.

Read More

Sinbad – ‘The Retreival’ by Simon Schneider

 

EXT. PERILOUS EXOTIC ISLAND. DAY.

 

Pirates finish a hike to the top of a mountain. A nest.

 

Their CAPTAIN has the longest beard and desire in his eyes.

He kicks a YOUNGER PIRATE, the deck-swabber, forward.

 

The boy approaches with trepidation. He snatches an egg.

 

Its hurled to the captain. SCRAAAHH. A guttural screech,

from above. The crew watch in horror as the boy is eaten.

 

Led by the captain the pirates get to shore, behind them is

a thick forest, the trees part making way… FADE OUT.

 

INT. CAPTAIN’S STUDY. EVENING.

 

FADE IN. In front of the captain is a mythical delicacy,

formerly the egg. The seadog’s tongue lulls. CREAK CRASH.

Outside wood splintering can be heard. Weather? A breakage?

 

EXT. ROUGH SEAS AND GALE FORCE WINDS. EVENING.

 

Vengeful and deadly, the mighty ROC holds the ship above

crashing waves, thunder cracks.

Read More

Frankenstein – ‘Frankenstein’s Nightmare’ by George Lawson

 

EXT. MARKET, 19TH CENTURY INGOLSTADT-DAY

 

Frankenstein, short, young and fuzzy-haired with rough

clothing hands coins over to a market vendor.

 

The vendor hands him a bag of nuts and bolts, which he

takes.

 

He turns and pauses. His eyes widen. He drops the nuts and

bolts. They SCATTER on the street.

 

Elizabeth, a tall, beautiful, brunette woman in an expensive

white dress, saunters through the busy crowd fanning

herself.

 

Frankenstein rushes through the crowd, pushes past people.

They MOAN and CURSE in INARTICULATE GRUMBLES.

 

Elizabeth disappears into an archway.

 

A peasant whistles, pushing a wheelbarrow of apples across

the street.

 

Frankenstein quickens his pace, sprints.

 

He CRASHES into the wheelbarrow, tumbles along the street

with the apples.

 

He gets up, disheveled, sprints towards the archway. The

peasant, kneels in front of his produce, distraught.

 

Frankenstein pauses at the archway entrance.

 

Elizabeth admires the canal on the other side, fanning

herself.

 

EXT. CANAL, INGOLSTADT-CONTINUOUS

 

Frankenstein taps her on the shoulder. She turns. He kisses

her on the lips.

 

Elizabeth stumbles backwards from the embrace. Frankenstein

holds her in his arms.

 

The fan drops towards the canal. The sky darkens.

 

Elizabeth’s mouth face loses colour. A grey shroud envelops

her. Wrinkles form along her face. Hair falls out.

Worms wriggles in the folds of her dress, eat away her

eyeballs from the inside, surge from her mouth and nostrils.

 

The fan floats along the canal. Frankenstein screams.

Read More

Frankenstein – ‘Frankenstein, Alive’ by Matthew Hessey

 

INT. FRANKENSTEIN’S LAB. NIGHT

 

A crazy, poorly lit, ill-organised workspace. Various

beakers and flasks, filled with confusing, bubbling liquids

litter the various work surfaces. A multitude of wires and

tubing snake and swirl their way across the room.

 

Upon a central slab is a still, lifeless body, cloaked under

a pure, white shroud. The wires and tubing converge upon it.

Centred above the slab is a single lightning rod.

 

VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN, a frantic, dirty man in a grimy grey

lab-coat dances around the room, carefully negotiating round

the scattered equipment, conducting final inspections.

 

A flash of lightning, and the roar of overhead thunder,

illuminates the lab.

 

Victor jumps, and turns his gaze toward the lightning rod.

 

The rod crackles, storing energy from the lightning strike.

 

VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN

Finally!

Victor gazes lovingly as the rod explodes in light,

electricity shuddering down and into the corpse on the slab.

 

The body shudders as the rod ceases discharging. Silence.

 

Victor, gleefully, goes to inspect the body.

 

The body, FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER, jolts up, screams in

agony.

 

VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN

Yes! It lives… It lives!

Victor and his Monster stare into each other’s eyes. Behind

his patchwork facial features, contorted in rage, the

Monster’s eyes are steely, vacant.

 

Leaping from the slab, still screaming, it grasps Victor by

the throat, and lifts him high above the ground.

 

Victor gasps for air, but smiles. He does not fight back.

 

 

VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN

It’s beauti-

Crack.

 

The Monster stares, uncomprehending, at Victor, now frozen

in his final smile, staring as vacantly as the Monster.

Read More

Frankenstein – “I’ve created a Munter!” by Leah Dennison

 

INT. PRIVATE HOSPITAL

 

A DOCTOR preps a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN for surgery. Her HOSPITAL

GOWN hangs open revealing her BREASTS and naked torso.

 

The WOMAN picks up each breast in turn, pushing them up into

a voluptuous cleavage. The doctor’s eyes bulge in desire.

 

He eagerly draws BLUE DASHES around her boobs, detailing the

incision lines for her plastic surgery.

 

She turns to the MIRROR to inspect the blueprint for her new

body. The LINES MERGE into big CROSSES across her nipples.

 

She turns back to the doctor and pulls her breasts even

HIGHER to her chin. He eagerly rearranges the lines.

 

She turns back to the mirror. The BLUE LINES travel DOWN her

body and form a LARGE CIRCLE around her navel.

 

She turns back to the doctor and points at her FLAT STOMACH.

He draws SEMI CIRCLES either side of her hips.

 

She inspects them in the mirror once again. The LINES turn

into a SAD SMILEY FACE across her stomach.

 

She cinches in her waist with her hands. He draws the lines

further into her body, her waist now a mere stick.

 

She pulls up her nose and pulls the SKIN back on her faceher

eyes nearly pop out. He squiggles LINES across her face.

 

She turns back to the mirror, her face resembling a contour

map. She NODS once. The doctor claps his hands.

 

INT. SURGERY

 

Heavy EYELIDS stare into the face of the DOCTOR as the

anesthetic takes hold. Her blinks FADE INTO BLACK.

 

INT. PRIVATE HOSPITAL

 

THE WOMAN checks herself out in the mirror. Her enormous

breasts nearly touch her chin. Her bum is the size of two

small children, her waist can barely hold herself up. She

blows herself a kiss in the mirror with swollen lips.

 

As she turns to leave the room, the doctor smacks her on the

ass. A POPPING SOUND. She DEFLATES like a BALLOON, a

shriveled mass of skin flies across the room landing on a

tray full of SURGICAL INSTRUMENTS. FADE TO BLACK.

Read More

Frankenstein – ‘Frankenbattle’ by Simon Schneider

 

EXT. FRANKEN-RUMBLE ARENA. EVENING.

 

FRANKENBOT56’s stats on a stadium screen. Weapon: Cannon.

 

ANNOUNCER(O.S)

Let the Franken-rumble commence!

Frankenbot56 looks frightened and unsure, he stumbles over.

 

To his left is the face of a fallen comrade protruding from

the ground. Dead. CRASH.

 

The GOLEM, a stone leviathan, battles Frankenbots nearby.

 

After tearing one in half the Golem clocks 56 and charges.

Each footstep is an earthquake. SLAM. His fist hits.

 

He hits the arena wall and all the Frankenbots scale him.

The Golem shakes and heaves, they fly off, 56 holds on. The

Golem cleaves his own back, Frankenbot56 maneuvers up.

 

The crowd go wild and watch Frankenbot56 on top of the

Golem’s head holding onto its eyelid for balance.

 

ZRRRR. The cannon-arm charges up and 56 punches it into the

Golem’s ruby eye. KSSSH. It shatters. The crowd eats it up.

 

BWOSH. Light seeps out the Golem’s cracks before an almighty

explosion. Dust settles. Confused murmurs. An empty arena?

 

In the bleachers, under the audience a figure hides.

Read More