Kipple

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JR – Kipple is useless objects, like junk mail or match folders after you use the last match or gum wrappers of yesterday’s homeopape. When nobody’s around, kipple reproduces itself. For instance, if you go to bed leaving any kipple around your apartment, when you wake up the next morning there’s twice as much of it. It always gets more and more.

Pris – I see.

JR – There’s the First Law of Kipple, “Kipple drives out nonkipple.” Like Gresham’s law about bad money. And in these apartments there’s been nobody there to fight the kipple.

Pris – So it has taken over completely. Now I understand.

JR – Your place, here, this apartment you’ve picked – it’s too kipple-ized to live in. We can roll the kipple-factor back; we can do like I said, raid the other apartments. But –

Pris – But what?

JR – We can’t win.

Pris – Why not?

JR – No one can win against kipple, except temporarily and maybe in one spot, like in my apartment I’ve sort of created a stasis between the pressure of kipple and nonkipple, for the time being. But eventually I’ll die or go away, and then the kipple will again take over. It’s a universal principle operating throughout the universe; the entire universe is moving toward a final state of total, absolute kippleization.

Text: Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
Pic: Vintage matchbook

A Scanner Darkly: The Kaufman Version

SHOT OF NOTEBOOK PAGE DAPPLED WITH SUNLIGHT
POV of someone skimming a hand-written entry. The corresponding voice-over is offhand, dispassionate. In the background, children can be heard laughing and playing.

BOB ARCTOR (V.O.)
Lately, Jerry Fabin stands all day shaking bugs from his hair. The doctor says there are no bugs in his hair.

The sound of fingers scratching scalp begins and grows louder through the following montage.

EXT. COCA-COLA BOTTLING PLANT – PRE-DAWN

SUBTITLE: ORANGE COUNTY, CALIFORNIA, IN THE YEAR 1994

A massive, unlit Coca-Cola sign is eerily silhouetted against the early morning sky. Antiquated delivery trucks set out from loading docks, as red futuristic cargo planes, emblazoned with the Coca-Cola logo, take off from the roof.

EXT. FREEWAY – PRE-DAWN
Birds-eye view of Coca-Cola trucks spreading out through the city. Coke planes shoot by close to the camera.

EXT. 7-11 – DAWN
A Coke truck pulls into the parking lot.

EXT. SUPERMARKET – DAWN
A Coke plane lands gracefully on the roof of the supermarket.

EXT. MCDONALD’S – DAWN
Uniformed delivery men enter, hauling cases of Coke syrup.

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET – DAWN
A Coca-Cola truck rumbles slowly past a row of low-income, plastic pre-fab houses. We hold on one house whose front lawn is strewn with furniture and cleaning products.

INT. JERRY FABIN’S LIVING ROOM – DAWN
The windows are spray-painted over with silver paint. A single pole lamp with bare, harsh spot-lights illuminates the room, which is emptied of furniture, covered in a sickly green shag carpet, and littered with fast-food wrappers. in green shag carpet, and littered with fast-food wrappers.In the center of the room stands Jerry Fabin, thirty, with wildeyes and a long, tangled mass of hair. He is naked, draped over a metal garbage can, and vigorously scratching his head. This process continues for an uncomfortably long time. A Golden Retriever sleeps in the corner.

(CONTINUED)

The Pitch: An adaptation of the Philip K. (Bladerunner) Dick novel. It’s about an undercover narc cop whose constant lying and own drug use start blurring his realities. He develops a split-personality (cop vs. addict) and, as a cop, begins surveilling his drug-dealer identity. And then it gets complicated. But of course. Charlie’s script is unproduced. (Richard Linklater eventually directed the film, using his own adaptation.) .

Being Charlie Kaufman.com