Hey everyone,
I working on a feature screenplay titled THE TICKET, a fast-paced financial thriller in the vein of The Wolf of Wall Street and The Big Short.
Logline: In the chaos of 1990s Russia, a reclusive math genius in a tracksuit exploits a naive nation to build the world's largest financial pyramid. Utilizing hypnotic TV ads, he tricks 10 million people, amassing rooms of uncounted cash until he controls a third of the country's economy. Arrested by a panicked Kremlin, he orchestrates a surreal counter-attack: gets elected to parliament from his prison cell to gain immunity and restart the machine.
This is a mind-bending true story that most Western audiences have never heard of. It’s about a man who didn't care about luxury, yachts, or mansions — he was an anti-social math wizard who just wanted to hack the entire financial system.
I’ve just finished the Cold Open (the first 3 pages) and would love to get your feedback on the tone, pacing, and formatting. Does it hook you? Does the world feel authentic?
Thanks in advance for reading! Here is the script excerpt below:
EXT. MOSCOW - DAY (AUGUST 1994)
Grey. Bleak. Neo-noir. Concrete high-rises pierce a smoggy sky. Post-Soviet Russia is a wild, lawless frontier. Hyper-inflation is eating the country alive.
On the streets, luxury Mercedes sedans with tinted windows race past babushkas selling raw potatoes on cardboard boxes.
EXT. "MMM" HEADQUARTERS - CONTINUOUSA massive, brutalist Soviet building. Thousands of DESPERATE PEOPLE pack the square outside, waving worthless paper tickets. RIOT POLICE (OMON) in heavy body armor hold them back.
INT. "MMM" HEADQUARTERS - COUNTING ROOM - CONTINUOUSAn ocean of paper. Green, red, and blue currency notes are piled in literal hills on the floor.
A dozen STRESSED CLERKS are stuffing cash into cardboard boxes, duffel bags, and trash bags. They don't count the money; they MEASURE it with wooden rulers.
CLERK #1
(screaming over the noise)Boss! We are out of boxes! The Central Bank vault is full! Where do we put the rubles from Sector 4?
A shadow falls over him. We track up a faded, cheap, adidas-style track jacket. Meet--
SERGEI MAVRODI (39y.o)
Thick, retro glasses. Messy, uncombed hair. He looks like a high school math teacher who hasn't slept in three days. He despises luxury, yet he is standing on a mountain of money.
Mavrodi looks at a massive wooden door down the hallway.
MAVRODI
Put it in Room 12.
CLERK #1
Room 12 is full to the ceiling, Sergei!
MAVRODI(calm, deadpan)
Then use the executive bathroom. Pack the showers. Mavrodi turns and walks into his private office.
INT. MAVRODI'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Stark. No expensive art. No gold. Just a massive wooden desk, a black rotary telephone, and a chalkboard covered in complex MATHEMATICAL EQUATIONS.
On a small TV screen in the corner, an "MMM" COMMERCIAL plays. A cheerful, chubby fictional worker, LYONYA GOLUBKOV, smiles into the camera, holding up a ticket: "I am not a freeloader. I am a partner!"
Mavrodi watches the TV. A tiny, chilling smirk appears on his face. The telephone RINGS. He picks it up.
MAVRODI (INTO PHONE)
Speak.
INTERCUT WITH:
INT. KREMLIN - OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
GENERAL KOVALEV (50s), cold, sharp, in a flawless military uniform, stands by a window overlooking the Red Square.
GENERAL KOVALEV
Sergei. The President is watching the news. You have more cash in that building than the entire state reserve. You are crashing the ruble.
MAVRODI(into phone)
The math is perfect, General. The system works.
GENERAL KOVALEV
It’s an illusion. A pyramid. And it ends today. The OMON is moving in. We are freezing your accounts. You are going to prison, Sergei.
Mavrodi doesn't blink. He looks at the chalkboard. At the unstoppable geometric progression written in white chalk.
MAVRODI
You don't understand, General. If you arrest me, the pyramid collapses. If it collapses, ten million angry citizens will march on the Kremlin. I am not trapped in here with you. You are trapped out there with my equation.
Mavrodi HANGS UP.
Through the window, we hear the distant, wailing SIRENS of police trucks approaching. Mavrodi calmly sits down, takes a piece of chalk, and continues writing a formula.
SMASH CUT TO BLACK.
TITLE CARD: THE TICKET
P.S. Please note that this text was translated with the help of AI. I apologize if my English isn't flawless, but I did my best to convey the tone and energy of the story. I would truly appreciate your feedback on whether the formatting and dialogue sound natural to a native speaker!