Script: The Unwinding Ascent

SOUND of distant, tinny Christmas carols, the low hum of fluorescent lights, the general murmur of a busy mall

GEORGE (40s), pragmatic and weary, stands a few steps below his friend, BONZO (40s), who is clad in a ridiculously oversized winter coat. Bonzo is mid-bite into a sausage roll.

Suddenly, a sickening LURCH. The escalator shudders violently.

George’s hand shoots out, grabbing Bonzo’s padded shoulder for balance. Bonzo, already off-balance, flails.

His half-eaten SAUSAGE ROLL flies from his grasp, sailing past George’s ear. A brightly coloured shopping bag slips from his other hand, its contents spilling.

The ribbed metal steps begin moving BACKWARDS, gaining speed. A symphony of startled CRIES erupts from the shoppers above and below them.

At the bottom of the escalator, a pile-up of bodies and shopping bags begins to form. At the top, shoppers cling to the rails, faces a mixture of terror and bewilderment.

ANGLE ON - A jumble of falling parcels, the clatter of shattered plastic festive ornaments.

George watches, mesmerized, as MILDRED'S HUSBAND (70s), a man with a meticulously combed grey toupee, loses his grip on a large, foil-wrapped PECAN PIE.

IN SLOW MOTION: The pie hangs in the air for a ludicrous second.

It begins a deliberate, bouncing descent, hitting step after step, gathering a strange momentum.

Bonzo ducks instinctively.

The pie continues its trajectory, a perfect spiral.

CLOSE ON - A WOMAN (50s) struggling with two overstuffed canvas bags. One depicts a demonic-looking reindeer.

The pecan pie SPLATTERS directly onto her face.

Her shriek is muffled by a viscous goo of pecans and syrup. Blinded, she staggers sideways and tumbles into a display of reduced-price cashmere scarves. A soft, undignified landing.

George holds onto Bonzo, an anchor in the chaos. A man in a SANTA HAT tries to clamber over their backs.

The escalator continues its rapid descent. A child’s piercing WAIL cuts through the din.

Mildred's Husband is carried downwards by the press of bodies, his toupee skewed, a mask of bewildered shame on his face.

The escalator JUDDERS, slowing, then with a final, agonizing GROAN that sounds like a whale in distress, it lurches to a complete STOP.

An abrupt, thick silence, broken only by the hum of the lights and the drip of melted slush from winter boots.

The scene is a static tableau. A modern art installation titled "The Aftermath of Festive Consumption." Bodies at odd angles. Ripped bags. A crushed Santa hat. A shattered bauble glitters on a metal step.

Bonzo adjusts his coat.

He spots something glinting on the step below. He bends, retrieving a bent, tarnished coin.

The distant, tinny WAIL of a mall security siren grows louder.

A portly SECURITY GUARD (50s) appears at the top of the now-static escalator. He takes in the tableau of human wreckage and dessert carnage, his eyes widening.

His bewildered gaze sweeps over the scene, finally landing on Bonzo, who is admiring his lucky penny. Bonzo looks up, a mischievous glint in his eye.

He gestures dramatically towards Mildred's Husband, who flinches and tries to wipe the pie from his face, only smearing it further.

George sighs. This is going to be a long afternoon.

The Security Guard descends the immobile steps, his boots echoing. He stops near the PIE-FACED WOMAN, who is untangling herself from the cashmere. He looks up at George and Bonzo.

The Security Guard stares at Bonzo, then looks to George for a translation. George offers an apologetic shrug.

The Security Guard’s face reddens.

He points dramatically at Mildred's Husband, who has retreated to a nearby bench, looking utterly defeated.

A SMALL CHILD (5), lollipop in hand, toddles up to the guard and points a sticky finger at a giant, deflated inflatable snowman caught in the wreckage.

The guard looks from the child, to the snowman, to Bonzo, to George, and finally to the pie-smeared face of Mildred's Husband. A long, drawn-out sigh escapes his lips.

He turns, fumbling for his radio.

George exchanges a look with Bonzo. The absurd silence stretches, filled only by the distant, muffled sound of "Jingle Bells" piped through the mall's speakers.

The Small Child begins to hum along, tunelessly.