family life

What does the typical Italian family eat on Sunday midday?
Do English families have teatime break on Sundays?
What does the typical German family play on Sunday afternoon?
How does an unconventional French family spend the Sunday evening?
How long does a Spanish family make siesta on Sunday afternoon?
And what about an African family?

Through stereotypes to overcome them, I propose you to send a short story, a script for a short film (or even directly a short film if you have already shot it) under the motto “family Sunday”. I will first publish them on the blog, with the aim of compiling a good and strong script to realize a film made by many shorts.

The story can be ironic, can be dramatic, can be funny, can be surrealistic; the most important thing is telling something that you know from your own experience, and the short should not be longer than 10 minutes.

I accept script and short stories (500-1000 words) but no screenplays, in English, French, Italian, Spanish and German.

Don’t hesitate writing me to ask more information!

bangles: manic Monday

Six o'clock this morning
I was just in the middle of a dream.
I was kissing Valentino
by a crystal blue Italian stream.
But I can't be late
'cause then I guess I just won't get paid.
These are the days
when you wish your bed was already made.
It's just another manic Monday.
I wish it was Sunday.
'Cause that's my funday.
My I don't have to runday.
It's just another manic Monday.
Have to catch an early train,
got to be to work by nine.
And if I had an airoplane,
I still couldn't make it on time.
'Cause it takes me so long
just to figure out what I'm gonna wear.
Blame it on the train,
but the boss is already there.
It's just another manic Monday.
I wish it was Sunday.
'Cause that's my funday.
My I don't have to runday.
It's just another manic Monday.
All of the nights, why did my lover
have to pick last night to get down?
Doesn't it matter that I have to feed
the both of us employment's down?
He tells me in his bedroom voice:
"C'mon honey, let's go make some noise."
It's just another manic Monday.
I wish it was Sunday.
'Cause that's my funday.
It's just another manic Monday.
It's just another manic Monday.

Lama: Les dimanches en famille

Le train déraille, il est tout seul
Le ciel est bas comme un cercueil
Il est étendu sous la pluie
Le train déraille, il est tout seul
Il pense à elle avec son deuil
Avant de sombrer dans sa nuit
Il ne sera pas le père de son enfant
Mais en famille on l'évoquera souvent

Le dimanche en famille
Devant l'éternel gigot
Grand'mère, grand-père, la fille
Tout le monde y va de son sanglot
On emmène au cimetière
Le petit pour faire sa prière
Qui pleure surtout de voir pleurer grand'mère
Grand'mère qui dit tout le temps
Qu'elle aurait pu sa maman
Avoir une vie digne
Aller au square voir le cygnes
Puis on rentre à Clichy
Finir les restes de midi
Et puis chacun va se noyer dans son lit

Les années passent, elle est toute seule
Un autre arrive avec des fleurs
Il l'attend des heures sous la pluie
Les années passent, elle est toute seule
Elle en a marre de voir sa gueule
Qui se dessèche, elle lui dit oui
Il deviendra le père de son enfant
Mais en famille on rabâchera souvent

Le dimanche en famille
On redira devant lui
Que l'ancien mari de la fille
Avait l'avenir devant lui
Il mènera au cimetière
Le petit pour faire sa prière
Sous le mépris de la tribu entière
Garnd'mère continuera
À dire au petit que le défunt
Son seul, son vrai papa
Serait devenu quelqu'un
Mais le petit qui devient grand
Se dit que dans quelque temps
Il sera majeur
Et qu'il foutra le camp

Et basta la famille!
Le dimanche, les haricots
Quand je passerai c'te grille
Je reviendrai pas de sitôt
J'irai plus au cimetière
Je ferai plus jamais ma prière
Avant de partir je dirai
Merde à grand'mère

Maman, maman
Toi je t'en veux pas
Mais c'est pas de ma faute à moi
Si tu n'as pas compris
Qu'il fallait te tirer d'ici
Chacun sa vie son cœur
Son cul et service compris
Remords allez voir là-bas si j'y suis
Plus jamais la famille
Plus jamais la famille
Plus jamais la famille
Non, plus jamais

U2: Sunday, bloody Sunday

I can't believe the news today,
I can't close my eyes and make it go away.
How long, how long must we sing this song?
How long? Tonight we can be as one.
Broken bottles under children's feet,
Bodies strewn across a dead end street,
But I won't heed the battle call,
It puts my back up, puts my back up against the wall.

Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.

And the battle's just begun,
There's many lost, but tell me who has won?
The trenches dug within our hearts,
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters torn apart.

Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.

How long, how long must we sing this song?
How long, Tonight we can be as one.
Tonight, tonight.

Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.

Wipe the tears from your eyes,
Wipe your tears away,
Wipe your blood shot eyes.

Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Sunday, bloody Sunday.

And it's true we are immune.
When fact is fiction and T.V. is reality,
And today the millions cry,
We eat and drink while tomorrow they die.
The real battle just begun.
To claim the victory Jesus won,
On a Sunday bloody Sunday,
Sunday bloody Sunday.