PROLOGUE - 'THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER'

DARKNESS. At first quietly, but growing louder, CLASSICAL MUSIC swells as we...

FADE IN ON:

INT. CELLAR - NIGHT - COLOUR SEQUENCE.

P.O.V. - SOMEONE’S P.O.V., MAYBE OURS.

NOTHING. WHITENESS. We start to move sideways. The corner of an EMPTY FRAME. Then suddenly AN EXTREME CLOSE UP OF A BEAUTIFUL BLACK MAN fills the screen. Like a trapped animal, he stares back at us, obviously TERRIFIED. This is OSWALD.

MALE VOICE (O.C.) (British accent)

This...yours?

Oswald BLINKS.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)

You...make this? I have to say...you’re very...talented.

TISH V.O. They say art is in the eye of the b-beholder.

OSWALD

Ummm...I...

CRACK! A FIST enters the frame and smashes his nose.

TISH V.O.

(stuttering slightly)

I call b-bullshit. The so-called ‘Art World’ doesn’t think for itself. It doesn’t know what it likes. It just understands d-dollars and cents.

A stream of crimson BLOOD trickles from Oswald’s nose. He wipes the back of his wrist across it, smearing it across his cheek.

We PAN OUT. We’re in a CELLAR. Oswald’s arms are pinned behind his back by a mean-looking wiry guy who doesn’t look strong enough to hold him but obviously is. They stand in front of a table, illuminated by what looks like a spotlight. All eyes are focused downward. Two CANVASES lay side by side on the table.

TISH V.O. CONT’D

It sees artists as a c-commodity. What they make. What they are.

Just out of the spotlight’s glare, we can make out the TALL SILHOUETTE of the speaker, who’s gently massaging his bruised fist. Standing behind him, we see a semi-circle of other SHADOWY FIGURES.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)

We need some more light in here.

Someone flips on a light switch. Beside the tall man stands a shorter man in a slightly rumpled looking Brooks Brothers suit who is looking at Oswald like he just found something particularly disgusting on the bottom of his shoe. We veer away from them and slowly move around a room surrounded by paintings. The paintings are a mish-mash of styles. There’s no unifying theme here at all. We stop in front of a Jackson Pollack-style modern art piece. Then a spray of blood onto the painting. It looks more ‘modern’ now. We swing around again. Oswald is getting beat up by a pair of THUGS.

TISH V.O.

WHO they are.

BANG! Suddenly the cellar door flies open, and, gasping for breath, two women erupt into the room. A surly lookingTEENAGE GIRL leads the way, beckoning. The ELEGANT MIDDLE AGED WOMAN, almost too polished, fidgets uncomfortably and reaches up and adjusts her hair. It moves, and we realize that it’s a WIG.

Then they FREEZE, taking in the crowded room. The teenage girl spots the shorter man and immediately does an about face and tries to get back out the door. One of the thugs stops her, almost lifting her bodily off the floor. She struggles.

TALL MAN

(to the thug)

Gently...gently.

(laughs)

That’s an original.

(to the middle-aged woman)

Hullo, Tish...I should have guessed...

TISH V.O.

Who W-WE are.

TALL MAN

...You maintain my client database, don’t you...? (to the thugs)

As you can see - Mr. Addelsom’s lovely step daughter is home – so if you can take these people outside to deal with them that would be greatly appreciated.

One eye rapidly swelling shut, Oswald goads his attackers on, pointing at his CHIN.

TISH V.O.

So I have no qualms about what w-we did.

KNOCK-OUT PUNCH TO CAMERA and we SNAP TO BLACK.

An image of a PAINT BRUSH sweeping across the canvas.