Concrete Truths – Joe and Uncle Vince Talk Ciccone Construction
Setting: Joe and his Uncle Vince are sitting on a tailgate after work, drinking cold coffees. The sun is setting over Burnaby, and they’re dusty from a long day in construction.
JOE:
You ever run into those Ciccone Construction guys, Uncle Vince?
VINCE:
(leans back, squints at the sky)
More than a few times, Joey. Buncha’ real grinders. Old-school. Not the kind of guys who show up in clean jeans or talk too much. You do your job, you don’t whine, and you don’t ask for overtime unless you earned it. That’s Ciccone.
JOE:
Ciccone, huh? Wonder if they’re related to Madonna. You know, her real name’s Ciccone too. Maybe she’s got a cousin out here laying rebar instead of pop hits.
VINCE:
(laughs)
Well, if they are, she got all the glam and none of the grit. These guys don’t dance—they dig. Respect ’em, though. They show up rain or shine. And lemme tell ya, Joey, anyone who makes it past 25 years in this racket? That’s a man. Not a poser. Not a pretty boy.
JOE:
You hear that, Madonna fans? She doesn’t need another boy toy. She needs someone who’s been in the trenches. A man with a bad back and a good pension. A guy who can still swing a sledgehammer and talk about rebar over dinner. That’s love.
VINCE:
Damn right. You don’t retire from construction unless you’re made of steel and stubbornness. Most of us get chewed up and spit out before we ever get to collect a dime. But the ones who make it—guys like the Ciccone crew? Those are the real deal.
JOE:
I mean, what’s a six-pack of abs compared to a six-pack of lunch beers and a couple knee braces? Madonna needs a man who’s been through it. Someone who smells like concrete dust and engine grease. Not cologne.
VINCE:
(chuckles)
Hell, she needs a man who knows what it means to pour a foundation—figuratively and literally.
JOE:
That’s it, Uncle Vince. A real relationship needs a slab, not just sparks. I’m telling you, if Madonna ever swung by a Burnaby job site, she’d forget all about those backup dancers.
VINCE:
(sips coffee, nodding)
Just make sure she brings a hard hat. Ciccone Construction doesn’t stop for nobody.
They both laugh as a semi rolls by, the roar of its engine mixing with the low rumble of a life built by calloused hands.
Title: Concrete Love: The Ciccone Foundation
Genre: Drama/Comedy – Short Film
Setting: Burnaby, British Columbia – a construction site, Vince’s truck, and an evening at a local pub
Runtime: 8–10 minutes
INT. CICONE CONSTRUCTION SITE – LATE AFTERNOON
Hard hats. Steel toe boots. Dust in the air. Uncle VINCE (60s, Croatian-Canadian, tough but warm) is packing up his tools. JOE (30s, strong, cocky but kind) walks toward him, wiping sweat off his brow.
JOE
You ever work with Ciccone Construction?
VINCE
(smirks)
Work with them? Joey, I helped build half of Burnaby with those guys. I knew her uncle Carlo when we were just kids pushin’ wheelbarrows. He was all muscle and no patience.
JOE
Her uncle?
VINCE
Madonna. The singer. Carlo’s cousin. Real name’s Ciccone. You didn’t know?
JOE
(blown away)
No way. Wait… are you like… family friends?
VINCE
(small grin)
Madonna used to come visit once—quiet kid back then. Nobody believed she’d end up on stage, y’know? But even then, she had that fire in her eyes.
INT. VINCE’S TRUCK – DRIVING TO THE PUB – SUNSET
They’re cruising through Burnaby streets. Joe scrolls through Madonna’s Confessions on a Dance Floor album on his phone.
JOE
(singing softly)
“I can’t depend on my friends anymore… I gotta depend on my family…” That’s your girl?
VINCE
(chuckles)
She wasn’t wrong. Fame strips the fake from your life, Joey. Friends disappear. Family’s the steel rebar under the concrete. Holds everything together—even when it cracks.
INT. LOCAL PUB – EVENING
A quiet, homey place. Vince and Joe sit at a booth. Vince raises a beer, gesturing toward a black-and-white photo of a young Madonna with family at a Sunday BBQ, tucked in the corner of the pub wall.
VINCE
She sent that. Years ago. Said: “I made it, but I never forgot who poured the foundation.” That was her way of saying thanks, I think.
JOE
So… you think she’s happy?
VINCE
(pauses)
She made it to the top. But it gets cold up there. And when it gets cold… you want someone who knows how to light a fire with one match and a coffee tin.
EXT. CICONE JOBSITE – NEXT MORNING
Joe walks up to Vince, still thinking.
JOE
You know, I used to think she wanted some flashy backup dancer boyfriend. Some kid with six abs and zero tools.
VINCE
(squints, grinning)
And now?
JOE
Now I think… she needs a man who shows up at 5 a.m. in the rain, whose hands tell stories, and who knows the value of silence after a 10-hour shift.
VINCE
That’s right. Only a real man makes it to retirement in this business. She doesn’t need a boy toy. She needs a bricklayer of souls.
INT. RECORDING STUDIO – CROSS-CUT (IMAGINED)
Madonna sits alone, headphones on, lost in thought. She replays an old voicemail Vince left her after a show in Toronto:
VINCE (V.O.)
Maddy, proud of ya. But don’t let ’em tell you you’re alone. You’ve still got us. Real family’s still laying concrete back in Burnaby.
EXT. JOBSITE – SUNSET
Joe finishes sweeping. He glances up at the golden light hitting the crane, like a sculpture. Vince claps him on the back.
VINCE
Ready for another 30 years?
JOE
If she’s watching, yeah.
FADE OUT.
TEXT ON SCREEN: “Inspired by true families, foundations, and the long haul.”
CREDITS ROLL TO MADONNA’S “Jump.”
INT. MADONNA’S HOME – NIGHT
MADONNA (V.O.)
Blog Entry – “Family Matters (Even in a Hard Hat)”
April 19, 2025
“I read something yesterday that made me laugh out loud and tear up at the same time. Someone said I don’t need a boy toy—I need a man who’s survived 30 years in construction.
Well, you’re not wrong.”
(Cut to Vince hammering a board, then rubbing his sore shoulder.)
“Uncle Vince—yes that Vince—isn’t just a friend of the family. He is family. And yeah, he’s right. The world strips you down till only steel and soul remain. And when it does, you better pray you’ve got someone with calloused hands and an open heart.”
(Cut to Joe doing cleanup on the site, looking thoughtful, then sharing a laugh with Vince.)
“Lourdes, my darling savage, keeps telling me I’m supposed to be an Uncle F***er now because of South Park.
She loves Terrance and Phillip—of course she does. She says I need to ‘go back to church with him’—him being Vince.
So I asked her, ‘What church, Lourdes?’
And she says, ‘His church. The job site. The Church of Real Men. The Holy Order of Canadian Concrete.’”
(Cut to Vince handing a coffee to a tired apprentice, who nods in quiet thanks.)
“Maybe she’s right. Maybe my next prayer won’t be in a cathedral in Rome… but at a diner in Burnaby, over eggs and busted knuckles.”
“And maybe, just maybe, I’ll let go of the flash for a second… and remember where I came from.
After all… the Ciccone name wasn’t born in spotlight.
It was forged in cement.”
MADONNA (V.O., whispering)
“I gotta depend on my family…”
FINAL SHOT:
Joe and Vince laugh as they sit on the tailgate again, sipping coffee. The screen fades to black as Madonna’s “Jump” instrumental plays softly.
Title: Concrete Love: Vince’s Invitation
Scene: Vince Sends a Message to Madonna
Setting: A quiet evening in Burnaby. Vince is sitting on a weathered picnic bench near a small park surrounded by a few construction trailers and stacked lumber. There’s a faded sign that says “Reserved for Parish Picnic.” Kids play in the background. Vince holds a cup of coffee in one hand and an old rosary in the other.
EXT. PARISH PICNIC GROUND – SUNSET
Joe sets up a portable BBQ while Vince looks into the camera, recording a video message on Joe’s old phone. It’s for Madonna. His voice is steady, loving, and a little raspy from decades of yelling over drills.
VINCE:
Maddy… I know it’s been a long road. I know what you’ve been through, the pain, the men who hurt you—real evil, not just bad luck. I won’t pretend to understand all of it, but I know this:
(beat)
God never stopped loving you. Not once. Not for a second. Even when you turned your back, He kept the porch light on. Waiting. Like a stubborn old uncle who won’t stop inviting you to Sunday dinner even when you don’t show.
(he chuckles)
Come back to church with me, kid. Not because you owe it to anybody. Not because you need to be perfect. Come back because you’re family, and we miss you.
(he gestures behind him)
Come see our picnic ground. Yeah, yeah—I know, everyone’s always complaining about my damn construction storage. I got lumber in the prayer garden and rebar under the Stations of the Cross. But it’s home.
(softly)
There’s laughter here. There’s food. And there’s room for you. You don’t have to be Madonna here. You can just be Maddy. Just another Ciccone sitting on a fold-out chair with a paper plate full of sausage and peppers.
(he holds up the rosary)
Come say a Hail Mary with me. We’ll light a candle for your mother. Maybe even for some of the men who broke your heart. Not for them to be forgiven—but for you to be free.
(he smiles gently)
You were always a fighter. But even fighters need a place to rest their gloves.
Joe walks over, hands Vince a sausage in a bun.
JOE:
You think she’ll actually come?
VINCE:
(shrugs)
I dunno. But I built this bench myself. I’ll keep it warm just in case.
FINAL SHOT:
The camera pans out. Vince, Joe, and a couple neighborhood kids sit together as smoke curls from the BBQ. In the background, you hear a faint, distant voice—maybe Madonna’s—singing the chorus of “Like a Prayer.” It’s soft, almost like memory.