Matt arrives at Cafe 7 in his beamer to the sound of a new Soul Science track he sees the guys and sits down to have his takeaway mocha when he gets the phone call from the disgruntled client.
The client goes into a full diatribe about the poster job for the underprivileged youth art project not being completed.
Points touched on are:
The client feels victimized and leans on the concept of discrimination against the underprivileged as well as it’s importance as a serious council funded arts project
The client namedrops local musicians and infers this is a bad reflection on his business and makes misinformed statements about Matt’s role as a “teacher”.
Matt becomes more hopelessly apologetic but reveals a stressed and harried response, laughing nervously.
The client admonishes the laugh saying “Don’t patronize me.”
When Matt tries to explain the circumstances of his business, the client goes further into picking apart Matt’s business practices and making somewhat patronizing suggestions as to how he should be running his business.
Matt forces humility and responds by promising to fix this problem. Tonight.
Matt ends the phonecall and is downcast. Music plays.
At the office it is night. Matt is explaining to swifty what he must do -Drive half an hour into the deepest part of some of Auckland’s poorest areas in order to stick up posters for a South Auckland art and documentary project promoting the art of underprivileged youth.
He complains about the work situation and reveals that he considers the possibility of being robbed and / or beaten is real, and whats more as Swifty asks about the state of his BMW’s warrant and registration which leads Matt to state that if the Police do notice him, he is likely to encounter hostility if what he’s doing is seen as a variation on tagging.
Swifty goes on and on about his various issues until Matt is forced to leave his chatter to get on with the job.
This goes into a montage of Matt travelling along the motorway at 2am, leaving the city and the “leafier” suburbs slowly seguing into the less than salubrious South Auckland surroundings. This may be one of the main opportunities to showcase tunes.
The music stops abruptly as Matt finds himself in a lonely dark street in south Auckland coming off the motorway. A Large Pylon buzzes in the background.
Matt manages to put a few posters here and there, hiz gaze lingers for the first time on the subject of the posters which are examples of the “underprivileged” youth’s own personal photography.
With some assuredness Matt sets off down Hill Rd, only to become seemingly lost until Manurewa appears.
At this point Matt is becoming more aware of the surroundings of South Auckland, even at 2 in the morning on Wednesday night, some bars and run down looking eateries are still open and have a few lower class people loitering around.
Cautiously Matt continues his work as mysterious street figures pass by inhospitably.
Turning back up the street, Matt stares into a large empty karaoke bar where few people sit and a somewhat competent girl sings Sanatana’s more modern hit “Thinking of ways to make it better . . . ”
“Maria, Maria . . . living her life just like a movie star . . . ”
There are few places for posters here and figure move ominously about the street. Another run down eatery is closed but still music blares from the speakers, a soppy new romantic ballad hit crooned over washing synths by a deep voiced new romantic with a ever so slight continental lilt.
“Save your love . . . ” I’m not quite sure of the song – any help?
At this point Matt passes a rowdy bar, and continues to place posters although fearful the drunken crowd will notice him and harrass him.
In another sequence, we may become aware that Matt is fearful of the Police seeing him, but because he insists on only wearing his glasses when he drives he has no way of telling if oncoming vehicles are police cars.
Matt travels along Gt South Rd placing the posters and we see many images from the exhibit.
At a particular shut up shopping precinct the movements of individuals becomes suspicious.
Matt continues to Manukau shopping centre and stops at a gas station to get supplies. Bland mainstream R’n B plays. With a nervous weariness he ends up buying all sorts of crap. And sits in the car sipping on a bad coffee and carboard muffin listening to a song.
The industrial landscape is desolate. Big rigs roll around here ant there and also, there are road crews doing roadworks seemingly everywhere throughout the short, but this is the moment where the ongoing presence of the big rigs hauling and the road works
Matt has conquered the South with his postering, but there is more to come, the shopping centre and surrounding business quadrant are strange compared to the more familiar working class shops of South Auckland.
It is about 3.30 am. Huge Car yards, industrial big box depots, are lit up, but the streets are quiet, flags flap in the wind. A large jet flies low into Auckland Airport. The Job is very almost done. Matt could finish now and talk up the numbers. He stands in the cool, silent, bright and windy night.
He approaches a large lit up gas station, again playing some bland R’n B, on a huge bright empty forecourt. He approaches to fill up his glue bucket at a tap. There is no one there.
More Music Plays. Matt continues on through South Auckland, to Papatoetoe, and some point the optimistic beats give way to a maechanical clunking that gives away the increasingly obvious realisation that Matt has a flat tyre.
Matt stops tensely in Papatoetoe to confirm he has a flat. Two transvestites call out to him, reacting with a subdued but tense repulsion, he drives off.
He becomes increasingly more paniced as the consequences of his decision to press on to the next gas station becomes more apparently a poor decision, shops fade to industrial areas which fade to inhospitable ghettos that fade to the long stretches of the large mill and brewery plants.
Matt pleads and repeats “Why have you got to do it to me. Why have you got to fuck me in the Ass. Why ya gotta fuck me?”
Conversations with demanding clients that will happen tomorrow when matt is unable to get his tyre fixed play, he is almost in tears.
Just when it becomes apparent that the tyre is more damaged by now than a simple flat, at last before what seems to fade into a highway across a swampy inlet, a gas station sits in a darkened truck stop.
At what first appears to be an air pump is a hose. Matt stops the car.
The Tyre looks like a bowl of noodles wrapped around the wheel, it is completely shredded.
He tells the service attendant, a slightly douchie looking indian guy he haas a flat, not quite knowing why. The dude stares back blankly, “bummer.”
Pained and irritated Matt struggles to pull out his tyre, attempting and eventually pulling the tyre out from beneath the great collection of posters and postering utensils. Perhaps at points we catch sight of Matt’s Pirate gear.
Posters from old gigs fly out. Soul Science plays and perhaps we see Soul Science DJing perhaps at Fu. John’s monologue comes on, and Matt reaches for his phone to text John. It is 4.16am.
The change of tone is subtle as Matt keys out and then has second thoughts on his messages as John’s monologues about loyalty and partnership show themselves to contain concepts contrary to Matt’s independence.
The BMW Jack is different from a normal Jack. It doesn’t make any sense,
There is conflict between Matt’s independence and self empowerment, and his concept of his role as a business guy to which a flat tyre is just another challenge in the form of an expense that needs to be minimized.
Matt is alone with his broken down BMW in a dark truck stop on the edge of the ghetto.
More slightly douchie Indian guys approach and Matt is on guard. He immediately notices that as he talks he won’t remove his right hand from his pocket which creates increasing tension.
We hear a dialogue which reveals itself as that of the drug dealer, a small time capitalist which segues into the paranoid and violent until the indian guy takes his hand out of his pocket to grab the BMW jack before remarking that they too dont get the BMW Jack and will go grab theirs.
The tension is released. They banter about “work” and “town” as they begin Jacking up the car.
Then they say it has a key lock nut. Only a special fitting will unlock the main nut.
They withdraw back to mope around the attendants bay. Matt searches for the key lock fitting. He reads through the manual but its all japanese. He studies the picture.
A big polynesian dude comes up.
Either before or after there might be the polynesian client monologue, when polynesian guys are ordering CD’s and DVD’s.
He says his daughter has a BMW and opens the underside of the boot lid to reveal a toolkit including the key lock fitting. He then reveals how the Jack is fitted. Matt is left slightly ashamed of his incompetence and eager to confirm he’ll be able to finish the job as the guy heads off.
He is again alone and unable to make the nuts even budge. He buys more supplies and has a cigarette.
Music plays.
And he resorts to calling a tow truck, after the first few turn him down, he gets told one will be ther in half an hour. It’s quarter to 5 in the morning.
Matt waits.
When the Tow Truck Driver arrives he is the typical blokey Dad archetype, 40’s, built but not fat.
He boots the nuts with almighty stomps that twist them loose and changes the tyre, and asks for just $20.
Matt is free from his ordeal. It is after 5am and the city is stirring to life. What becomes apparent continuing the truck drivers and road works theme is lots of working class people are working and at 5am many more are only beginning to make arrangements for their long working day.
Matt heads through Mangere. Slowly he looks around and see he is a top the street which was the first property he ever owned. Matt’s Dad’s monologue comes in. It is aspirational and yet, echoes with melancholy that times have passed and that Matt is grown up and on his own.
Masculinity is solely in his own hands.
The job must be finished, Mangere must get a decent coverage, Matt is weary and warey, it is getting light. Working Class people are driving and are waiting at bus stops, even now before 6am and the streets are filling with more traffic.
It’s time to go home.
As we segue from working class to middle class back to the city centre we see more working class people.
Music plays, Matt drives on with a brittle and blank despondence. Ambrozia flashes on sceen.
“I think of her
We may hear as this fades into Ambrozia’s monologue.
Matt returns home, he is back in the city. He twitters. He starts writing a contrite email to the client and checking google maps to see his exact route and report this to the client. At some point this becomes entangled with thewords of an email that is obviously meant to be sent to ambrozia.
He sends the one to the client, the one to ambrozia he exits without saving.
The sun is rising, it is a new day. A new day with new jobs to be completed. Matt will roll in his BMW, he will answer his phone, and he will get the jobs done.
Matt knows that not only hard work but the experience he has which has taken him to this point maybe the only thing can help him be ready to cease the next chance he has to experience something great.
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