BY JON PILL
EXT. DESERT – NIGHT
A figure stands in the desert, silhouetted against a bad moon, which rises from between two plateaus leaving a dark valley in which the figure is trapped.
MEDIUM SHOT – The figure, shot from behind, still in silhouette, standing in the middle of the prickly pears which line the valley. The night is so hot that we can see vast Fata Morgana’s forming over the blurred horizon where the moonlit soil touches the deep-sea darkness of the sky.
The figure turns and we can see it is you. But you have no eyes.
There are no eyes here.
‘This is the other extreme, says the voiceover. The shot travels low over vivid green pools crowded with strange almost coral-like formations. The shores of the pools are white, crystalline. Only the blue sky seems to confirm or suggest that this isn’t some other planet.
The shot does no such thing, ignoring the voice over and dollying in on you. Suddenly you are lit by a flickering glow.
You stare about the scene walleyed – you have eyes now, loads of them, at least fifty, a wall of wall-eyed eyes, there are loads of eyes here – and confused.
Where is this bletter speaking from?
The camera moves in close on the back of your head. We hear a CRACKLING fire from behind us on the surround sound.
The place, as the voiceover continues to say, is the Danakil Depression in Ethiopia – one of the lowest and hottest places on planet Earth. The footage, from Planet Earth, that flagship BBC programme of the 2000s. The voiceover, of course, David Attenborough.
This place patently is not. You spin around and are confronted with the lie. We see the look of anger on your face before we CUT TO:
POV – Your-eye view, just one of them there are so many now that this eye can see other eyes falling off and rolling away. It can also see a BURNING BUSH, 26, a multi-foliate rose of the desert. Bush speaks not with the voice of David Attenborough, but with the monstrous voice of the Bletter.
For many people, perhaps particularly for those of our generation, this was one of those TV that sticks in the head, that stays with you…’
The flames freeze. The crackling stops. There is a RECORD SCRATCH and a sudden burst of light as the celluloid in the projector burns up. Then there is just the clatter of the maltese cross and sprockets, and the harsh yellow light on the screen.
TITLE CARD: CLICK HERE FOR THE REST OF THE BLETTER.
FADE TO BLACK.