Art: It Came as the Prize in the Cereal Box.
The box had a best-if-used-by date in the… future!
“Fade in to, you know, interior daytime a family breakfast table, and maybe it’s little Larry or older-sister Maggie, maybe it’s dad with the paper or mom as she stares across the room at the calendar, but one of them, whoever fits the demo target, is pouring the morning meal out of the box, and out of the box comes this little graven image, this little glowy figure with a vaguely otherworldly look like what kind of food executive green-lit—it’s bright green, but not exactly uranium green. Anyway out that sucker plops right into the bowl that’s half-full of the neon bits of sugary lumps of sawdust that completes the breakfast balancing ritual.
“And what happens next? Full-on blood-combat, the four members of the family each want this little trinket, this nice little carved abomination. They are trying to stab each other with spoons, they are manhandling one another, bared teeth, a barrage of screams and growls and snarls from this nuclear domestic bliss turned into a sudden trip into the deepest of rages. The family dog runs and hides.
“Honestly I think we break the fourth wall here. We have little Larry with the prize in his little stubby fingers as he hangs on the curtain which dad is tearing from the wall, so Larry plants his dirty sneaker right on dad’s neck and jumps straight into the camera, which is over the table, and the camera is knocked back as the box of cereal that birthed this terrible scene is knocked over, and both land still as we hear breaking glass and maybe some scrambling shadows, the rest of the family chasing after Larry who has made a run for it, but we see, the camera at a haphazard angle still sees on the back of the box, one of those little maze games but the ends of the maze are the start—a little house, and the end of the maze is some little island off the coast of Africa or South America. Somewhere tropical, somewhere remote.
“And we just linger there. Give them plenty of time to soak this whole what-just-happened into their brains even as they are sucking down their soda and gnashing on their popcorn. Let them sit with it. Let them read the maze, make sure they see the iconography. Throw in some flashy text about the cereal running a contest, find the prize and win a trip to beautiful… insert island name, whatever works for the budget. Shoot it on the lot, fine, but the promo for this baby is going to be real people wearing t-shirts with real tans like they just got back from whatever we name this place. And those t-shirts, they need the name. Call it Saint Ulysses or something.
“And from the island maze on the box, we cut to a chase shot on the family’s suburban street. The kid, Larry, probably, though maybe the sister pulls the steal off, maybe now Larry is in pursuit with mom and dad. He’s in the back with his short legs. Or maybe the neighbors have joined, because anyone who sees this cursed lump of rock, used in God knows what kind of sacrificial ritual, they want it. This isn’t like that timid Tolkien hey-nice-ring kind of situation, this is if I don’t possess the idol of doom, the doll of destiny, I will tear my own limbs off. It’s that bad. And anyone who even glimpses it knows that instantly, to their very core. The guy on the toilet who stares out the window instantly throws himself through it when he sees them run by. He’s thinking about the day ahead, but a single glance, he doesn’t even wipe or flush, doesn’t pull his underpants up. He lunges through the window straight from the toilet.”
The bored executive for acquisitions looked up from his mobile at the writer still blathering on about whatever inane story he was pitching. He looked back and saw it was still 20 minutes till lunch. He held up a finger, and the writer stopped. Executive said, “How did it get in the box?” Writer had a blank look. “If anyone would kill their family, would dive off the shitter, who exactly would put it in a cereal box? Who would let go of it?”
The writer shook his head. “No, no, that’s third-act stuff right there. We could maybe work in a shot of the box going down the assembly line in the opening, but I’d want to keep it cagey, not show the actual—”
“Fine, but if this artifact has this power over people, who would let it go?”
“Oh, you mean ever? You think it’s a hole? In the plot? A plot hole?”
“Yes. I’m asking is it a plot hole.”
“No, of course not. But it is a third-act thing, so I’d prefer not to give it away just yet.”