Closing scene of the biopic of my life: quasi-ironic-send-up/potential reality cut.
Shot of a field of white bisected from top to bottom by a metallic pink stripe. The shot pulls out to reveal black on both sides and continues to pull out revealing it’s a man’s chest wearing a suit with a metallic pink tie. The man raises his hand, points directly at the camera, and says “I’ll be your weapon against the IRS.” The camera continues to pull out revealing that the man is on television. The television is enormous, sitting in a room it dominates, barely contained. No one is watching the TV, and the room it’s sitting in is the worst kind of squalor, clothes, garbage, cigarette butts, filth. The commercial ends, and an outdoor/fishing program resumes. A tight shot of a large mouth bass floundering and suffocating on the deck of a boat. Cut to a shot of a red rotary telephone off the hook. The receiver begs to be talked in, listened to, but only silence. Long, awkward, and uncomfortable silence. Cut to a shot of a hand holding a cell phone to an ear attached to a head wearing a pilot’s cap. Silence to match the un-ringing red telephone. The shot pulls out and we’re in the sanitized white of an airport staring over the pilot’s shoulder as he gives up and thumbs the disconnect on the cell phone. His hand drops disappointingly to his side. He finishes the unidentified drink on the bar next to him and begins a long and winding Scorsese/Stedicam walk through the conspicuously silent airport towing a black carry-on Everyone acknowledges him, but no one says anything. The only sounds are airport PAs with English accents. We never see the pilot’s face, but as he reaches a jet-way he pauses and turns his head to the right as if reconsidering. Cut back to the red telephone. A hand reaches from off-screen and hangs it up. After hanging up the phone, I walk to the refrigerator in the squalid house with the gargantuan television. As I open the refrigerator and jut my head inside to inspect its contents, The Baddest Man Alive begins. The credits roll over my bald-headed perusal.