THE MARCH HARE (a nervous roadie) drums a frantic solo on a snare drum with a bone.

The music cuts. The screen goes black. A single spotlight on Alice, alone, holding the silver key.

“OFF WITH HIS PAYCHECK!” the Queen screams. Two CHESHIRE CATS (twins, identical to the first, shirtless and oiled) drag him away.

He pulls out a flask. Takes a long drink.

He drops a tiny silver key. Alice picks it up. He turns, eyes black pools in the smoggy sunlight.

“Ah. The new girl. Do you know the difference between fantasy and reality, my dear?”

“Nobody,” Alice whispers.

On a tiny stage, TWEEDLE DEE and TWEEDLE DUM (twin male dancers in bowlers and nothing else) perform a grotesque, balletic striptease. They’re slick with oil, their movements a hypnotic, mirrored act of narcissism.

A bored flower child follows a strung-out producer into the psychedelic underbelly of 1970s Hollywood, where every euphoric high comes with a dark, explicit price. FADE IN:

“No children or animals were harmed. Only consenting adults and one very confused producer.”