You walk until you’re back on the surface of Mars, or at least as close as humanity will ever get. The winds are relentless, howling through the set like an angry god, while the astronauts rehearse their lines behind branded 3M glass, pretending to protect themselves from the elements.
The director is smiling in a downturned way, expectant and hungry, his hands clasped. “This is my Marvel audition, everyone. Give it everything you’ve got.”
His scripts and stage directions whip around like startled birds. A bucket of gritty sand has been dumped into the air, scouring your cheeks raw. You feel chafed, inside and out. Even your subconscious feels chafed.The force of the fans has scattered the top layer of trash. A rogue piece of foil, glinting with the promise of leftover burrito, takes flight and drifts toward the REPTILIAN GREEN ROOM.
Meanwhile, the heavy winds have overturned a fake outcropping of Martian rocks. A massive set piece teeters, then collapses in a spectacular crash. Beneath the rubble, you hear a faint, unearthly squealing. Something small and unseen is trapped beneath the weight of it all, squealing out a final protest against the madness.