Dear Geraldine

An original independent short film screenplay.

Dear Geraldine was born during Dopamine December, from a simple challenge: write an entire short-film scenario in under two hours.

I wanted to build a story around an object: something that could travel through time, pass through different hands, carry memory without ever speaking. A quiet journey with a historical texture, a sense of nostalgia, and a growing mystery at its core. The idea was to keep the spectator suspended in observation, following fragments, details and emotions without fully understanding where the story was leading… But does it really matters?

Since that first draft, I’ve reworked the moodboards and refined the visual direction, but the original instinct behind the story has stayed exactly the same.

DEAR GERALDINE

Géraldine Ferrier

89 rue de Commercy

Laval 53130

scene 1

1916 - Verdun, France

EXT. TRENCHES – NIGHT

A SOLDIER writes a letter by the dim light of an oil lamp. We never see the words. Only the scratch of the pen against paper.The soft crackle of the flame. In the distance: gunfire. The soldier folds the letter carefully, slips it into an envelope, seals it, then presses on a stamp with his tongue. A beat of silence. Then — nearby explosions. Soldiers scream through the trenches "Attention ! Bombe !" (en: "Watch out! Bomb!") A violent blast.

CUT TO BLACK.

EXT. BATTLEFIELD – MORNING

Grey daylight. Mud. Smoke. Silence after chaos. The envelope lies abandoned in the battlefield. Heavy boots approach slowly. The sound of mud swallowing each step. A hand reaches down and picks up the letter.

CUT TO:

EXT. SKY – STORM

Close on a pigeon in flight. The envelope is attached to its leg. The storm thickens. The pigeon struggles against the wind.

Then — The letter slips free. Caught in the storm, the envelope disappears into the sky.

scene 2

1922 - Paris, France

EXT. PLACE VENDÔME – DAY

Rain-darkened cobblestones. An elegant WOMAN in a bob haircut and pearl necklace notices an envelope lying in the street. She picks it up delicately. A POST OFFICER passes nearby. The woman hands him the letter without a word. He nods politely and continues on.

EXT. PARISIAN TERRASSE – LATER

The post officer drinks on the cafe terrasse among cigarette smoke and afternoon chatter. The envelope rests beside his glass. He leaves. The letter stays behind. Silence. A WAITRESS notices it while cleaning tables before closing. She picks it up, slips it under her arm, and exits.

INT. MOULIN ROUGE – DRESSING ROOM – NIGHT

Music echoes through the corridors, beyond the curtains. Feathers. Powder. White dresses. Mirrors glowing with warm bulbs. Dancers prepare for the show. The waitress enters, holding the envelope.

WAITRESS - "Géraldine ! J’ai une lettre pour toi." en: “Géraldine! I’ve got a letter for you.”

Across the room, GÉRALDINE removes an earring in front of a mirror.

GÉRALDINE - " Encore un homme qui m’a vue danser. Je ne m’emmerde plus avec ça." (en: “Another man who saw me dance. I don’t bother with that anymore.”)

Without opening it, she tosses the envelope into a box among old papers and makeup accessories. The dressing room lights switch off. Darkness.

scene 3

1940 - Le Moulin Rouge, Paris

INT. MOULIN ROUGE – BACKSTAGE - DAY

Dim daylight filters through dusty windows. Heavy boots echo through the room. German soldiers enter the backstage area. Cold. Methodical. They search quietly but violently. Drawers opened. Cabinets emptied. Papers thrown onto the floor.

One soldier tears apart an old storage box. Photographs. Makeup. Letters. The envelope falls to the ground. The soldiers continue searching deeper into the cabaret. The letter remains on the floor.

scene 4

1957 - rue Monge, Paris

INT. MOULIN ROUGE – BACKSTAGE – DAY

A WOMAN vacuums the backstage floor. Red lipstick. A scarf tied around her brushed hair. White apron over a fitted polka-dot dress. The vacuum catches on an envelope stuck beneath a sofa. She bends down and picks it up. Studies it for a moment. Footsteps approach. She quickly slips the letter into the pocket of her apron.

Her BOSS enters. "Géraldine ? Tu as bientôt fini ?" (en: “Géraldine? Are you almost done?”)

INT. GÉRALDINE’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – NIGHT

A modest Parisian apartment on rue Monge. Géraldine, now in a nightgown, sits against the headboard of her bed. She takes the envelope from her folded work apron. Carefully, she begins opening it. The bedroom door opens. Her husband enters. She quickly slips the letter inside her bedside book: Le Deuxième Sexe by Simone de Beauvoir.

scene 5

1968 - rue Monge, Paris

INT. GÉRALDINE’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – DAY

Sunlight filters through cigarette smoke and orange curtains. Records, clothes and ashtrays scattered across the apartment. A YOUNG WOMAN with long red hair and a fringe lies on the couch, pulling her green turtleneck back over her bare shoulders. Behind the couch, a long wall bookshelf: Le Deuxième Sexe rests between worn paperbacks, vinyl records and framed family photos.

A YOUNG MAN her age, with shoulder-length wavy hair, crosses the room shirtless, buttoning his faded Levi’s jeans. He pulls a small bag from his pocket.

YOUNG MAN - "T’as de quoi rouler ?" (en: “Got something to roll with?”)

YOUNG WOMAN - "Ouais." (en: “Yeah.")

She reaches toward the bookshelf and grabs Le Deuxième Sexe. She opens it playfully, laughing, quickly tears out a page and hands it to him.

The young man stares at her.

YOUNG MAN - "Non mais ça va pas ? Je vais pas rouler avec ça." (en: “Are you crazy? I’m not rolling with that.”)

Annoyed, he crosses the room and opens the apartment window.

At the same moment, the envelope hidden inside the book slips onto the young woman’s lap. She pauses. Reads the name on it. Turns it over. She is about to open it. Suddenly, loud noises from the street flood the apartment, breaking the suspense.

YOUNG MAN - "Vous auriez pas une feuille par hasard ?!" (en: “Anyone got rolling paper by any chance?!”)

A voice rises immediately from below. VOICE (O.S.) - "Va te faire foutre !" (en: “Go fuck yourself!”)

The young woman joins him at the window, intrigued by the commotion outside.

A massive demonstration fills rue des Martyrs. Young protesters march through the streets shouting slogans. Banners wave above the crowd.

The envelope slips from her hands. It falls into the street below, briefly carried by the wind above the demonstration, before catching in the door handle of a parked Renault 4L.

scene 6

1980 - Marseille area, France

INT. RENAULT 4L – DAY – 1980

An orange Renault 4L drives along the roads of southern France, a caravan attached to the back. Inside the car: Two children sit in the backseat. THE YOUNGER BROTHER plays with a Star Wars figurine, making spaceship noises. HIS OLDER SISTER wears a headset connected to a cassette player while trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube. THE FATHER is driving, thick moustache, aviator glasses, sunburnt arms resting on the opened window. On the passenger seat, THE MOTHER smokes with the window half open.

The car turns into a crowded camping site. Cicadas scream in the summer heat. Rows of caravans beneath pine trees. The Renault stops.

FATHER - "Et voilà, on est arrivés.Tout le monde descend !" (en: “Alright, we’re here. Everybody out!”)

DAUGHTER - "Ah ben putain enfin." (en: “Fuck, finally.”)

SON - "Ouais ouais ouais ! J’peux aller à la piscine ?!" (en: “Yeah yeah yeah! Can I go to the pool?!”)

Everyone is getting out of the car progressively.

MOTHER - "Chéri, t’oublieras pas de mettre les cales de la caravane…" (en: “Honey, don’t forget to put the caravan blocks down…”) She suddenly notices someone nearby and get out of the car. "Oh salut Michelle !Je savais pas que vous étiez si tôt cette année…" (en: “Oh hi Michelle! I didn’t know you were here this early this year…”)

The father remains alone inside the car for a moment. Silence. He takes a deep breath and slips his hand into the side pocket of the car door, searching for his cigarets. Instead, he finds the envelope. He looks at it. A beat.

MOTHER (O.S.) - "Bon Fred enfin, tu viens ?!" (en: “Come on Fred, are you coming or what?!”)

Startled, he jumps slightly and hurriedly exits the car. The envelope slips from his hands and disappears beneath the seat.

scene 7

2001 - Car dump, Marseille suburb

EXT. CAR DUMP – MARSEILLE SUBURBS – DAY

The old orange Renault 4L sits among piles of wrecked cars. A YOUNG WOMAN cleans out the inside of the vehicle, tossing objects into an archive box. Bent into the car, she wears low-waisted jeans revealing a pink thong and a tiny crop top. Long curly blonde hair. Bellybutton piercing. Long square French manicure nails. She reaches beneath the seat and finds an old envelope. Without looking at it, she throws it into the archive box. Metal crashes echo across the scrapyard.

INT. OFFICE CONTAINER – DAY

A cramped prefab office overlooking the dump. A cathode television plays softly in the background. A CLIENT waits at the counter. The young woman enters carrying the archive box and sits behind the desk in front of him.

YOUNG WOMAN - "Ah bonjour monsieur, voilà tout est réglé pour vous." (en: “Hello sir, everything’s sorted for you.”)

She pushes the archive box toward him.

YOUNG WOMAN - "Ça, c’est les dernières affaires qu’il restait dans la voiture." (en: “These are the last belongings left in the car.”)

She types on a calculator with her long nails.

YOUNG WOMAN - "Donc avec les frais de remorquage et l’édition du certificat de destruction…" (en: “So with the towing fees and the destruction certificate…”)

She presses another key. "… ça vous fera un total de 50 francs…" A beat. "Euh pardon. 50 euros." (en: “… that’ll be a total of 50 francs…” ... “Uh sorry. 50 euros.”)

On television, PPDA, the famous French news presenter, appears unusually tense, announcing tragic news. The young woman and the client slowly turn toward the screen. Images of smoke pouring from the World Trade Center. The young woman raises the volume. The client stares at the screen, horrified.

CLIENT - "Oh putain… mais c’est la guerre. Désolé faut que je rentre !" (en: “Holy shit… this is war. Sorry, I have to go home!”)

He rushes out without paying. The young woman remains motionless in front of the television. Still watching. Still in shock.

INT. OFFICE CONTAINER – LATER – SUNSET

The television continues quietly in the background. The woman stacks documents, wrapping up the day.

YOUNG WOMAN - "Ben putain quelle journée..." (en: “Jesus, what a day.”)

She turns off the TV. As she grabs her keys and jacket, she notices the archive box still sitting on the counter. She shrugs. Places it onto a shelf among dozens of identical boxes. Turns off the lights and leaves the office.

scene 8

2020 - Car dump, Marseille suburb

INT. OFFICE CONTAINER – DAY – 2020

Same office. Same desk. A hand sanitiser pump beside a laptop. A young man sits slouched in the desk chair, slowly rotating back and forth. Tall and skinny. Dark bags under his eyes. Messy bob haircut. An OM jersey with PAYET on the back. Flip-flops. A surgical mask hanging from one ear. He stares at the ceiling.

A video call suddenly rings on the laptop screen: “PUTAIN DE CHEF” (en: Fucking boss). The young man sighs, pulls his mask back on and answers. The BOSS appears on screen from his apartment kitchen.

BOSS (ON SCREEN) - "Allô, oui, y’a pas de clients là j’imagine ?" (en: “Hello, yeah, I guess there are no customers?”)

YOUNG MAN - "Nan." (en: "Nope.")

BOSS (ON SCREEN) - "T’as rien à faire du coup." The boss takes a drag from a cigarette off screen.

"Bon, fais du tri dans tous les cartons là. Libère de la place." He points vaguely toward the shelves behind him. "Tu me scannes les contrats et les factures, la paperasse importante…" A beat. "Le reste tu me le fous au feu, c’est compris ?" (en: “So you’ve got nothing to do.”...“Alright, sort through all those boxes. Free up some space.”...“Scan the contracts and invoices, the important paperwork…” ... “The rest, throw it in the fire, got it?”)

YOUNG MAN - "Ouais ouais." (en: “Yeah yeah.”)

The call ends. Silence.

The young man slowly gets up and starts opening archive boxes one after another. He barely looks inside before throwing most of the contents out the office window. Outside, a pile slowly grows. On the desk, another pile forms: Pokémon cards, a Britney Spears CD, a small dancing Star Wars figurine, an old pack of Marlboro cigarettes, a matchbook with a purple flower printed on it.

The young man lazily scans papers one by one into the laptop. The scanner light passes rhythmically across documents. Among the papers: An old envelope. He opens it with his nonchalant way. Pulls out the letter. Reads it quickly while the scanner hums beside him. CUT.

INT. OFFICE CONTAINER – LATE AFTERNOON

The light outside fades. The young man exits the office and closes the door behind him. We remain inside the empty room. Through the window, outside, he pours gasoline over the mountain of rubbish. He lights a match. The pile erupts into flames. The young man walks away. Silence.

The camera slowly lowers toward the laptop screen. A folder is open named “Trucs importants”, inside a document is named “Chere Geraldine” (en: "Dear Geraldine").

scene 9

2095 - Car dump, Marseille suburb

EXT. CAR DUMP – MARSEILLE SUBURBS – DAY

Violent wind howls through the empty scrapyard. Grey sky. Sand blowing across piles of rusted metal and collapsed cars. A silent motorbike-like vehicle glides between the wrecks. The rider stops in front of the old office container. A man steps out of the cockpit. Black sportswear. Windbreaker. Techwear silhouette. Clear Oakley-style glasses cover his eyes. He kicks the container door open and gives a wink to the camera.

INT. OFFICE CONTAINER – CONTINUOUS

The old laptop still sits on the desk. The little dancing Star Wars figurine remains beside it. But new objects clutter the room: 3 air purifiers, an evacuation notice warning about violent winds, a digital sign scrolling endlessly: “PAIEMENT PAR BANANAMONKEY SEULEMENT. AUCUNE CARTE BANCAIRE NE SERA ACCEPTÉE” (en: PAYMENT BY BANANAMONKEY ONLY. NO BANK CARDS ACCEPTED.). The man slowly scans the room. Looting. Calculating.

BRICK - "Ok, on prend tout." (en: "Alright, we’re taking everything.")

A robotic feminine voice answers directly into his glasses.

AI VOICE (V.O.) - "Très bien Brick. J’importe toutes les données dans notre stockage externe." (en: "Understood Brick. Importing all data into external storage.")

Brick wipes dust from the laptop.

BRICK - "Des trucs qui valent cher ?" (en: "Anything expensive?")

AI VOICE (V.O.) - "Oui et non." (en: "Yes and no.")

A beat.

AI VOICE (V.O.) - "250 bananas non déclarées." (en: "250 undeclared bananas.")

Brick smirks.

AI VOICE (V.O.) - "Aussi un dossier : 'trucs importants'." (en: "Also a folder: “important stuff”.")

BRICK - "Ouais ok…Mets les bananas sur X-Wing." (en: "Yeah okay… put the bananas on X-Wing.")

Inside his glasses, files appear in augmented reality. He scrolls rapidly through the folder: “trucs importants” (en: "important stuff"). Among the files: “chère Geraldine”.

Outside, warning beeps echo violently. Flying debris crashes against the container walls. Metallic impacts. A robotic voice outside repeats: "Alerte. Tempête en approche." (en: “Warning. Storm approaching.”)

Brick immediately closes the file preview and heads toward the exit.

BRICK - "Ok on dégage. Garde le dossier, c’est bon." (en: "Alright, let’s get out of here. Let's keep this folder.")

EXT. CAR DUMP – CONTINUOUS

Brick jumps back onto the silent vehicle. The wind intensifies. He speeds away. Disappears from the frame.

scene 10

2125, somewhere on earth where it’s cold

INT. FUNERAL ROOM

Somewhere on Earth. Cold. A bright austere room carved into rock, halfway between a bunker and a church. Every sound echoes heavily against the stone walls. Five people stand silently during a funeral ceremony. Fake holographic candles flicker weakly around the space. Above them, a mobile of metallic balls slowly rotates through magnetic suspension. Everyone wears thick wool jumpers in monochrome tones: indigo blue, apple red, olive green,yellow-orange sunset, deep purple. Chapkas. Beanies. Peruvian wool hats. Their skin is pale from the cold. Each breath leaves a cloud of condensation in the frozen air.

Among them, A WOMAN with platinum hair wears a large fur chapka. Heavy jewelry made of minerals and raw metal hangs around her neck and fingers.

In front of the group, a tiny square screen with poor image quality loops a short video portrait of a man. Under the image: “BRICK D.” He gives a wink to the camera. Silence.

A CEREMONY OFFICER stands beside the screen. - "Les données du défunt seront en libre consultation jusqu’à notre décollage." (en: "The deceased’s data will remain accessible until our departure.”)

The group slowly disperses. One by one, they leave the room. Only the chapka woman remains. She approaches the screen and begins turning the crank of an old machine connected to it. The mechanism clicks loudly in the echoing silence. Files scroll slowly across the tiny display. Names. Folders. Archives. She discreetly checks that nobody is watching. Then opens a pendant hanging around her neck. Inside: a hidden USB key. She plugs it into the machine. Downloads a folder: “trucs importants”.

scene 11

2302, somewhere out in space

INT. SPACESHIP – OPEN SPACE WORKSTATION

Deep space beyond enormous windows. Stars in a bluish dark space. Inside the ship, three aliens sit at separate computer stations, everything is rounded and light grey. Grey tracksuits. Soft plastic-looking green skin. Somewhere between Toy Story aliens and Monsters Inc. creatures. The atmosphere is quiet. Only: Analog keyboard sounds. Mechanical clicks. Electronic machine hums. And the aliens themselves: small buzzing sounds. “Biz… biz…” The keyboards have very few keys. No letters. Only numbers.

We slowly move closer to the alien seated in the middle. Bored. Half-asleep. On his screen: endless files named with numerical codes. He opens them one after another. Lines of code. Transactions. Archives. Delete. Delete. Delete. A tired little: “Biz…”

Then, one file stands out among the numbers: “trucs importants”. The alien pauses. A beat. He clicks.

Loading bar. The "Chere Geraldine" file name appears in the list. He clicks. Silence. The file loads slowly. For the first time, we finally read the letter:

Chère Géraldine,

Tes madeleines me manquent.

Ton Jacques.

(en: “Dear Géraldine, I miss your madeleines. Yours, Jacques.”)

A suspended moment. The alien stares blankly at the screen, bored. “...biz.” Then: DELETE.

Black screen.

THE END.

CREDITS.