The Unwinding Ascent
George and Bonzo find themselves caught in the sudden, inexplicable reversal of a shopping mall escalator, amidst a cascade of shoppers and their peculiar Christmas haul. What started as a mundane trip to retrieve a forgotten item quickly spirals into an absurd spectacle of gravity, dignity, and a rogue pecan pie.
INT. SHOPPING MALL ESCALATOR - DAY
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.
BONZO
Bloody hell, George! What in the name
of all that's holy is going on?
The ribbed metal steps begin moving BACKWARDS, gaining speed. A symphony of startled CRIES erupts from the shoppers above and below them.
GEORGE
(Digging his heels in)
It's gone backwards, Bonzo! The
bloody thing's gone backwards!
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
(Eyes wide with morbid curiosity)
Oh, do look, George! The pie! It's
a sentient projectile!
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.
BONZO
A truly spectacular splat, George!
Nine out of ten for artistic
impression. Clearly not expecting
aerial dessert bombardment.
GEORGE
(Grunting, shunting the Santa Hat man away)
Less commentary, more survival!
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.
BONZO
Well, that was certainly an
experience. I do believe my sausage
roll is now intimately acquainted
with that woman's sensible brogues.
He spots something glinting on the step below. He bends, retrieving a bent, tarnished coin.
BONZO (CONT'D)
Ah, my lucky penny!
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.
SECURITY GUARD
(Voice cracking)
Right then, everyone! Anyone hurt?
What happened here?
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.
BONZO
It was the pie, officer! It went
rogue! A truly unhinged pastry, I
tell you!
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.
INT. SHOPPING MALL ESCALATOR - MOMENTS LATER
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.
SECURITY GUARD
Did either of you witness the full
extent of this... pastry-related
incident?
GEORGE
We were merely observers, officer. A
rather involuntary downward journey,
I assure you.
BONZO
(Stepping forward)
And a fascinating study in kinetic
energy. Observe how the pie, in its
initial arc, displayed parabolic
trajectory, before descending into a
series of rather unfortunate...
impacts.
The Security Guard stares at Bonzo, then looks to George for a translation. George offers an apologetic shrug.
SECURITY GUARD
So, no one pushed anyone? Are we
certain this wasn't a prank? This
time of year, you get all sorts.
GEORGE
A prank of this magnitude? That
would require a level of
engineering prowess beyond your
average seasonal mischief-maker.
BONZO
(Whispering to George)
Perhaps it was an inside job. The
thermal sock cartel, trying to
sabotage the competition.
The Security Guard’s face reddens.
SECURITY GUARD
Look, fellas, this isn't a joke.
Someone could have been seriously
hurt.
BONZO
And they were, officer! His dignity,
for one.
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.
SMALL CHILD
(Lisping)
Mr. Policeman, the naughty snowman
popped!
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.
SECURITY GUARD
Right. Everyone just... stay put. I
need to call this in. And someone,
for the love of all that is festive,
get that man a wet wipe.
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.
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.
BONZO
Bloody hell, George! What in the name
of all that's holy is going on?
The ribbed metal steps begin moving BACKWARDS, gaining speed. A symphony of startled CRIES erupts from the shoppers above and below them.
GEORGE
(Digging his heels in)
It's gone backwards, Bonzo! The
bloody thing's gone backwards!
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
(Eyes wide with morbid curiosity)
Oh, do look, George! The pie! It's
a sentient projectile!
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.
BONZO
A truly spectacular splat, George!
Nine out of ten for artistic
impression. Clearly not expecting
aerial dessert bombardment.
GEORGE
(Grunting, shunting the Santa Hat man away)
Less commentary, more survival!
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.
BONZO
Well, that was certainly an
experience. I do believe my sausage
roll is now intimately acquainted
with that woman's sensible brogues.
He spots something glinting on the step below. He bends, retrieving a bent, tarnished coin.
BONZO (CONT'D)
Ah, my lucky penny!
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.
SECURITY GUARD
(Voice cracking)
Right then, everyone! Anyone hurt?
What happened here?
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.
BONZO
It was the pie, officer! It went
rogue! A truly unhinged pastry, I
tell you!
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.
INT. SHOPPING MALL ESCALATOR - MOMENTS LATER
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.
SECURITY GUARD
Did either of you witness the full
extent of this... pastry-related
incident?
GEORGE
We were merely observers, officer. A
rather involuntary downward journey,
I assure you.
BONZO
(Stepping forward)
And a fascinating study in kinetic
energy. Observe how the pie, in its
initial arc, displayed parabolic
trajectory, before descending into a
series of rather unfortunate...
impacts.
The Security Guard stares at Bonzo, then looks to George for a translation. George offers an apologetic shrug.
SECURITY GUARD
So, no one pushed anyone? Are we
certain this wasn't a prank? This
time of year, you get all sorts.
GEORGE
A prank of this magnitude? That
would require a level of
engineering prowess beyond your
average seasonal mischief-maker.
BONZO
(Whispering to George)
Perhaps it was an inside job. The
thermal sock cartel, trying to
sabotage the competition.
The Security Guard’s face reddens.
SECURITY GUARD
Look, fellas, this isn't a joke.
Someone could have been seriously
hurt.
BONZO
And they were, officer! His dignity,
for one.
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.
SMALL CHILD
(Lisping)
Mr. Policeman, the naughty snowman
popped!
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.
SECURITY GUARD
Right. Everyone just... stay put. I
need to call this in. And someone,
for the love of all that is festive,
get that man a wet wipe.
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.