THE FINAL FLIGHT Screenplay

by Todd J. Stein

In the heart of Los Angeles, amidst the chaos of a cluttered hotel room, we meet Scott Cohen, a man whose life is as disheveled as his surroundings. Scott, a film producer in his 40s, is handsome yet worn, his demeanor a testament to the pressures of his profession. As he paces with an iPhone pressed to his ear, the room around him tells a story of neglect—clothes draped over a chair, a suit jacket tossed aside, and takeout boxes cluttering the desk. A suitcase spills its contents, mirroring the unraveling of Scott's life. The tension is palpable as Scott stares at an ominous email on his laptop: “Premiere Postponement Considered.” The knock at the door introduces Brad, Scott’s partner, whose composed demeanor contrasts sharply with Scott’s frazzled state. Their conversation reveals the strain on their relationship, exacerbated by Scott’s professional woes and personal demons, symbolized by the bottle of Xanax and glass of wine on the bedside table.

Meanwhile, across the country in Brooklyn, the narrative shifts to Martin Cohen, Scott’s father, a once formidable figure now grappling with the frailties of age. Martin, in his late 70s, is introduced in a moment of vulnerability, slumped against a toilet in his basement, a shattered bulb on the floor. Eddie Moretti, a family friend, finds him and helps him to his feet, urging Martin to call his son in Los Angeles. But Martin, stubborn and proud, dismisses the suggestion, insisting that Scott has his own life. The scene paints a poignant picture of a man caught between the dignity of his past and the indignities of his present.

The script deftly weaves between these two worlds—Scott’s high-stakes life in Los Angeles and Martin’s quiet struggles in Brooklyn. The tension escalates as Scott receives a call from his father, a labored breath on the line signaling distress. Despite the impending release of his film, Scott decides to fly to New York, driven by a sense of duty and a lingering guilt over his estranged relationship with his father.

As Scott arrives in New York, the narrative delves deeper into the family dynamics, revealing a tapestry of love, resentment, and unresolved conflicts. Scott’s interactions with his mother, Phyllis, and his brother, Daniel, further illuminate the complexities of familial bonds strained by time and distance. Phyllis, a woman of early 70s, is a figure of resilience, her treadmill routine a metaphor for her determination to keep moving forward despite the past. Daniel, on the other hand, is caught in the middle, his loyalty divided between his father and his own burgeoning family.

The script’s strength lies in its rich character development, each figure a study in contrasts. Scott, the prodigal son, is a man torn between ambition and obligation, his journey a quest for redemption. Martin, the patriarch, is a man of contradictions, proud yet vulnerable, loving yet distant. Their relationship is the emotional core of the narrative, a poignant exploration of the ties that bind and the wounds that linger.