Fan Script Samples#2-Inspector Gadget

In a change to the current plan, I now intend to make this fan script the basis for a short form “pitch pilot” for a potential fan-made Inspector Gadget film


This scene occurs shortly after John Smith (Gadget) is injured when attempting to thwart a robbery


You’re Quimby, the police chief?


Doctor Bradford, I am so sorry to hear about your father, he was a fine man, and an essential asset to this city’s…


…Gadgetini programme, I know, I know. My dad’s murder isn’t important right now, the condition of your operative is.


How is he Doctor?


Stable, but he’s lost a lot of function in most of his body. With your permission, I would like to try my hand at some experimental surgery utilizing the best resources of the Bradtech facilities


Wait a minute, you want to dummy run the Gadgetini programme on a live  human being?


That HAS always been the intention behind the programme, to install bionics into working human tissue, and it’d be no ‘dummy run’ , this procedure would result in permanent results.


I know all about you and your father’s frankenstiening Doctor….


Oh, I hate that word


 The city may be bleeding every budget in funding it, but not everyone approves. I don’t want to count myself among them, but this is a man’s life you’re gambling with.


Your operative tried to save my father’s life last night Chief, this is the least I can do for him. You may call it ‘frankenstiening’,  I call it a helping hand…and a leg, and a limb…


Any other good news you’d like to share?


There was significant damage done to the central parts of the brain, we’ve tried minimizing the extent of the injury’s impact , but I’m afraid even with the repairs, he may have a lack of…discipline in regard to cohesive thought.


You trying to tell me my best cop is retarded or something?


Oh I hate that word also

(A sudden commotion soon interrupts their conversation, they turn around to find a YOUNG GIRL with BLONDE PIGTAILS and a RED AND WHITE shirt struggling to advance towards them, and being restrained by orderlies)


Who’s that?


Mr. Smith’s niece. He talked about her often

(The niece resists attempts to calm her down, a doctor tries restraining her, she will have none of it)


He’s in surgery young lady, you can’t see him


Let me go

(Quimby turns back to Brenda)


Let me deal with this, inform me of further progress


Yes Chief

(He approaches  the girl)


You’re, John’s niece, right?


Penny. Penny Smith.


Listen Penny, your Uncle’s really sick, we’re trying to make him better, but this little fit of yours isn’t making anything better.


I should have went with him that night, me and B.R.A.I.N could have…




Dog.  My dog. B.R.A.I.N is my dog. Totally.


FanScript Samples#1-Inspector Gadget

For the time being, I’m going to be focusing strictly on writing fan script treatments for movies I felt could have been improved upon. The first I aim to tackle is 1999’s INSPECTOR GADGET. I intend to use as many elements of the original movie as possible, but will also be utilising aspects of the 1980s animated series.


Here’s a sample of how my movie starts

The full script will be available to download from this blog in the future. Samples of this will continue to be uploaded as we progress.



(It is a clear crisp evening, we begin with the sight of a PALE MOON and PAN DOWN to a LEAN, TALL  SECURITY GUARD. He is twirling a night stick and humming a merry tune to himself (“I’ll Be Your Everything” by Youngtown)

Close to his right side is a BOOTH,  within which is a MUCH OLDER WOMAN (late 50s), talking over the phone. She becomes slightly irritated by the male’s singing)


JOHN, pipe it down will you? I can’t hear the supervisor.

(The man, John, turns and walks over to the booth)


Don’t you mean, ‘I can’t hear myself THINK?’


Oh real funny you sexist pig. No man tells me what to think


With the fee they currently pay you, are you quite sure about that?

(the woman resumes listening to the unheard voice on the phone. She nods as she understands something, then hangs up. She gives John an icy glare)


You think you’re real funny don’t you?


This job’s made you far too uptight, it’s my civic duty to loosen you up


That’s my  problem with you John, you’re always on duty.

(John resumes his whistling, the woman just shakes her head)

Twenty-Six Second Soldier



Within the window of a crucial hour, Cruz felt compelled to waste precious minutes taking in the cancerous stench surrounding the planet he had just touched down on.

To a non-smoker, it was an odious, intimidating aroma. A result of negligent beings and an environment being just as dismissive of itself as they were to it. An environment that had long given up believing in its own beauty and sense of worth.

It cut itself loose, it gave in, and the smoke from a thousand factories on its service filled its lungs.

A cancerous habitat and one which Cruz, for now, relished.

It had been seventeen months since he had a cigar locked firmly within his lips; he likened it to a star-crossed love affair. Interplanetary restrictions had banned the practice of smoking across much of the inhabited quadrants. There was not one colony he could go to that would permit a cigar, or a pipe, or a lighter. The very sight of them would see you given a cushy few days in an isolated cell. Away from more than just that one unhealthy method of occupying your time.

On the plus side however, you wouldn’t see much of the war. And you wouldn’t have to make sacrifices quite like the one Cruz was going to make.

Maybe that’s why he wasting his time, for there was none to lose. These seconds, as abundant in number as they were for the time being would still prove ultimately finite. These were his judgment calls, and he was off to a poor start.

As he looked up at the burning skies above him, and looked west towards the fortified structure ahead, he knew taking in these moments, these pleasures, was the right course of action. It was these moments, this embrace of the corrupted air that ignited the inner fire necessary to storm the fortress and test his race.

Yes, he was looking to label an opportunity to inhale second-hand smoke as a benchmark moment for humanity.

Anything to fashion his ego into a crucial portrait. After all, it had taken a bruising in the last day or so.

But he needn’t think about that now, not when the next judgement call had to be more serious.

He examined his inventory with precision. He was somewhat disappointed in the overall simplistic approach. It was something of a school lunch than a main course.

Your basics were there. Ray gun with seven or so recharger packs, a jet pack, grappling hook, headphones, and a stop watch.

And there was even a note from your mother, telling you to utilize all of it, and to omit nothing.

Those that had assigned him this task had given him precious amounts to work with, and that was just not the kind of world that easily overwhelmed a man of Cruz’s calibre who had been in the heat of a harsher time, and where  the colonial military had once taken so many precautions that it felt like they were overcompensating.  That they had overdid it for the wars they were involved in.

Probably why they won those wars so easily, and why Cruz was so easy-going about any that came long after the military had been downsized and all manners of deterrents blocked from importing.

To be so easy going about war meant you could face death in the eye and shrug your shoulders at what it meant, even if the notion still terrified you at heart.

Cruz realized just why he was chosen, why he was expendable. The time he lived in had long passed, there were no easy solutions to win this war any longer, these were the hard choices, and people of his kind were being gradually phased out in a manner that would make them folklore no matter which way the outcome went.

To bestow a heavenly legacy on to a hero with a noble pathway to hell.

Alright then. Cruz would accept.

He took the gun, fastened the jet pack to his back, slipped the grappling hook into his side pocket, put on the headphones, and disembarked from his ship, and relished the continuous cancer inviting cauldron of smoke surrounding the planet.

He switched on the rocket pack’s thrusters, which catapulted him across whole craters and long abandoned cities. Before long, he was listening to the ‘music’ on the headphones.

In reality, they were instructions, no music, telling the good little soldier what to do when he got to the fortress, but Cruz, in his head, chose to fashion the instructions as if they were a kind of jingle, like an old fashioned commercial one would hear on the radio back in the wartime of yesteryear, back on the parent planet.

The soothing sounds of his own head merged seamlessly into the cold, commanding, logical tone of the instructor, telling Cruz his goal was to penetrate the fortress, and from there, he would have a twenty-six second window or thereabouts to do whatever he needed to do to strike deep at the heart of the enemy, and then make a scramble for freedom.

He could win the war in twenty-six seconds if he knew precisely what to hit.

See, the creature’s humanity was war with, the Sha’Doza, had a reputation for being quite timely, they could respond to an emergency situation before a minute was barely up, but there was always this moment in time where they would hold back. Nobody knew why.

Not knowing was probably Cruz’s sole disadvantage. He wasn’t the kind to let things like that slip his mind, it nagged at him. Persistently. He couldn’t escape it.

Even as the more urgent matter of evading his enemies came up as he approached their gates.

The Sha’Doza, terrifying six-armed green toad-like critters with lethally diamond-tipped teeth and large tongues, also had wings, they could fly, and they were coming at him from all sides.

He charged up his ray gun, and took three or four of the swarm surrounding him, before they began levelling him with blow after blow from their six arms; they pummelled his jet pack with ease.

They could have watched him fall into one of their homeworld’s many craters or bottomless pits, they chose to spare him and hoist him up high.

Cruz smiled, their obnoxious gloating, their mistimed mercy, had given him the ideal window.

As one of the Sha’Doza lifted him high above its head, his ray gun still in hand, he aimed it just above the temple of the creature and pulled the trigger.

The lighting fast laser shot pierced the creature’s temple and splintered it in two, it fell, and its grip lessened, Cruz somersaulted through the air and clutched the back of another, threatening to do the same to it if it didn’t carry him the rest of the way to the fortress.

Easier said than done, for Cruz then realized there was no reason for the remainder of the swarm not to have their brother’s backs.

So Cruz went with a wild notion, and disembarked from the back of the Sha’Doza, he cut himself loose from the swarm, and left himself open to the brightly lit sky.

He descended. Nobody followed him down; they assumed he would be a goner.

Cruz counted the seconds as he rapidly approached the craters below, he thought about the window of opportunity, he thought about his judgement calls.  He thought back to what had bruised his ego earlier in the week.

He set his eyes sharply on a large mountain just to the right of him, he took his grappling hook out of his side pocket and aimed it carefully, before pulling the trigger, the hook snagged on to a piece of the mountain and he was able to halt his momentum.

Now he was a sitting duck. All he had was his ray gun to fend off the equivalent of extraterrestrial vultures that could approach him at any moment to finish what they had began, he was nowhere near the top of the mountain either.

Fortunately, the mountain had some steep ledges to the right of him that he could find firm footing on. He steadily put one foot forward on the ledges, holding on as best he could with his hands, and took in big intakes of breath, trying not to make too gentle or loud a sound in case he tipped off the Sha’Doza, who were circling overhead.

Making his way around the mountain took close to an hour, but Cruz was able to hold his nerve, as well as his breath, and impressed even himself with how much distance he was able to make across the ledges.

Finally, he reached a clear path and set about on his way again. His mind paced itself like clockwork, wise to the seconds and hours ticking away, he knew he did not have much longer. His body was failing him as the pollutants and fumes that littered the atmosphere seized being a privilege to the desperate aspiring smoker and became an albatross that was dragging down a weary and tired human being.

He found himself on the outskirts of a heavily fortified structure. His destination reached at last.

He shrugged his shoulders. There was no way he could get in to that. He knew it deep down.

It dawned on him that no one was ever sent here by the colonies to do any sort of damage, to put up any sort of fight against these forces.

He’d suspected for some time that the old ways weren’t working, and that the colonists had not really put much into the war effort these last few years. In many ways, things had been quite peaceful on their end, but there was always the voice that protested loudly, Cruz having such a voice, that minimal was being done, and that they would step up and be the ones that made things happen.

So it was just that those voices be sent into the wilderness, to try and make some noise.

And, always, it would fall silent, until the next voice got a little louder.

The gates to the fortress opened and Sha’Doza in their millions came out, charging their ways, sharpening their teeth on electrical cattle prods. All manners of torture, all designed with single outcome. That of a swift fatality.

Cruz, bold colonist warrior, had about twenty six seconds to think of something. He chose what to make of those twenty six seconds.

One great notion he had other than being a warrior was to be a writer, to be a capable one. Not to seek it as a means to get fleeting fame, just to prove to a cantankerous mentor in his school that he could do it.

One time he had watched a video interview with a great writer whose name time had neglected to mention consistently over the generations. What mattered was the message he had conveyed to the interviewer. That in your mind, you can recite dance steps time and time again when writing, but all you have to do is watch the story sort itself out, that there no other high you could muster than to watch what the story does and write it out in your head.

He loved that interview so much, he wove it into the framework of a short story he wrote and published online.

Then he did research on the writer, and found he had already used his own advice in a story of his own.

He had unwittingly plagiarized.

Cruz had twenty six seconds to say he was sorry.

And that he did.

As he fell to his foes, he thought, as long as he could, more confidently about things.

This was his story.

And he had sorted it out.


Bob’s Burgers-Dog Days





“It was the faint sound of tiny footsteps that set him off that cold day in 2016” Louise said to the huddled group of keen and curious children gathered outside the restaurant.

“He didn’t quite catch it at first, but as the steps grew steadily louder, he found himself drawn closer and closer to the inky grey fog that blocked out all other sights, but never the sounds” she continued, sensing that her story was prickling away at the tender necks of her audience. She closed in for the kill

“Whatever he hears, he sets his sights on seeing, whatever commotion is going on, he intends to give you something to shout about, he…he…”

She set eyes to the right of her, waiting for something to come into gaze. Shortly enough, she got what she wanted. Bang on time.

The individual turned the corner, entered the street, and froze in his tracks as he saw the gathering before him.

He sighed.

“Not again” he whispered.

“…He’s right there, he’s come out of the fog, and he hears everything you’ve been up to” Louise cried out, pointing her finger at the remaining kids.

“Do you know where your parents are? Because they’re wondering just what it is their kids did last summer…YOU know, now so does HE, and no matter what you’ve done, he’s gonna say it’s ok. Don’t trust him; because it’s not gonna be ok. Never. EVER.”

The panicked kids saw this as their moment to depart in a hurry, scattering in a variety of directions, and out of sight of the perplexed police officer.

Bob peered out of the restaurant window to see nobody there except Louise and the cop. He stepped outside.

“Can I help you Officer?” he asked.

“Yes, please sir, could you kindly put a leash on your daughter?” he asked

“Leash jokes now? Oh you’re sick” said Louise.

“What’s this about?” said Bob.

“Yeah, ask and he’ll tell, Rudy sure as hell can’t at the moment” said Louise

“Louise, honey, Rudy’s fine, he was looking for you this morning, where were you?” asked Bob.

“I was down at the pound, I was looking for Chester” she said

“Whatever for?” said Bob.

“To treat him like the dog he is” said Louise.

“Yes, that’s what I was coming over to talk to you about. They figured it might as well be me that came to see your folks after we caught you harassing the animals on the CCTV cameras” said the cop, looking rather flustered as a kid crept up on him and kicked him in the leg before scurrying off.

“ONE animal and boy what an animal, an animal this cretin let back into society after declaring it wasn’t dangerous”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re telling all these haunting stories about the guy is it?” Bob realized, kneeling down and gripping a shaken Louise’s shoulders. “Louise, calm down, he’s just part of the system is all, he was the one releasing it back to his owner, and the people at the pound had declared the dog was safe. Blame them”

“Take on the whole system? Are you nuts, I go after things one piece at the time. Tear down the whole wall and society gets twisted a lot quicker, there’s no control over that, and you know me Dad, I’m a control freak”

“And someone who obviously cares enough for the men she controls in her life to take things too far with people who have jobs to do and need people to trust in them” said Bob, trying to instil some wisdom in his daughter.

“I have things I need to do, can I trust you to keep an eye on your daughter while I patrol the area?” said the cop.

“Sure, sure, just, the next time, try to be around kittens next time”

“The ones in trees?” said the cop sarcastically

“Yeah…well you don’t need to be snarky about it”

“Don’t tell me what my needs are, you need to focus on your daughter’s needs” argued the cop.; Louise stuck her tongue out at him.

“What exactly does my daughter need?” said Bob.

“Discipline for one thing” said the cop.

“Oh I’ve been as patient as I can be with you; you don’t want to see the wrecking ball, no sir”

“It’s true, she knows where one is. Construction sites just a couple of blocks back. She’s been in the seat. Had to pry her from it. She knows how to move it. I was a bit slow” said Bob.

The cop threw his hands in the air and opted to storm off, realizing his words were falling on what he gathered to be deaf or plain ignorant ears.

“Rudy almost died dad” Louise said, a little hint of dread in her voice.

“Minor scratches Louise” Bob reassured her, “He thought it was a pretty exciting moment when the dog went for him”

“Yeah, but he’s an adrenaline junkie, which is going to kill him if he doesn’t realize that soon” said Louise

“Hey, you’ll be there to hold his hand, and his inhaler, if he needs it, you know? You two are glued to the hip; you’ll pull him back from the edge”

“Yeah, but I totally wanna jump off the edge myself sometimes, just don’t want to smash any cupcakes on the way down” Louise said, partially giggling as some assertively positive thoughts got the better of her and sent a ticking sensation to her tummy.

“He can handle it, not everything’s sugar, sometimes there’s a lot of spice, that’s you that is, come on, let’s resume adding actual spice to our way of life” Bob joked, hoisting Louise up on his shoulders and carrying her back into the restaurant to prepare some spicy chicken burgers.

Amazing Spider-Man: Renew Your Vows Thoughts


Like with a lot of things, Marvel have the monkey’s paw attached to whatever it is the fans want…you wanted a happily married Peter? Well you’re getting an MJ who’s going to fight crime alongside him with his daughter. You’re getting The InWebbables (ok, bad pun)

It makes total sense to distinguish MJ from the MJ of the newspaper strip (who remains a normal girl caught up in a mad world and loves every bit of it)  and MC2 (where MJ was a concerned, but relatively stable parent who could be a rock and mentor to her husband and daughter), and the fact this MJ is willing to gut it out and be there for her family shows how tiresome and stale the Mephistoverse version has become, and why it’s time to put her and the Amazingly stupid devil dealing Spider-Man Child out to pasture.

Peter being a father works, Peter being an active superhero and a father has only been tried in a few short stories published way back in 2008 during the infancy of Brand New Day, and it was buried in a mere few pages of a large anthology magazine that didn’t last too long. Now the premise has larger legs and is poised to take bolder footsteps. It’s not afraid to be different or take a risk, and it should be commended for that, all manners of risk should be rewarded, succeed or fail, especially if it lines up with something the fans want to see.

Parker Industries with a family man Peter would also have been a must-buy for me, same with Superior. Things like this can be enhanced with a married Spider-Man, different kinds of stories can be told, stakes can be higher. That’s what I want out of RYV, for there to be not just a great family dynamic, but the tensions and perils that can come attached to a seemingly never-ending devotion to power and responsibility. The Spider-Man myth has always been about more than just one man in the world, he owes everything to the likes of characters like MJ forging him into the best he can possibly be, and with her at his side more frequently, he can only get better.