Third Season Scene Warmer

SCENE: A darkened stage. In the centre stands a solitary figure, a young woman holding a microphone in her right hand. The young woman is dressed entirely in black. A spotlight shines from above and glistens off her hair. Faint sparkles appear around the woman as dust particles catch the light and toss it playfully in all directions.

SOUNDTRACK: Crisp silence.

VOICEOVER: "MPU is proud to introduce the most substantial development in the history of transmitted information."

SCENE: The solitary woman stands still as the camera begins to rotate, slowly, around her.

VOICEOVER: "The technology is TrueUpdate, and the results are like nothing you've ever heard before..."

SCENE: Hold on woman who takes a breath and opens her huge, gaping mouth...

VOICEOVER: "That is, unless you use Spri... Ow!"

SOUNDTRACK: Faint strains of "True Colours" tune in the background.

VOICEOVER [Singer, faintly, muffled]: "'Cuz Iyeeeayeee..."

SCENE: Cut to image of crowded laboratory crammed full of clean-cut men with glasses and white lab coats. Several technicians hold clipboards and huddle in note-taking masses around large, blinking blobs of gratuitous technology. Other technicians continually adjust levers and buttons as graphical displays in the background gyrate with the music. Through a large observation window in the background, you can see the singer outlined in the stark spotlight.

VOICEOVER: "Over the past few months, Melrose Place Update researchers have explored new ways to bring you the clearest, most lifelike television analysis possible."

SCENE: Cut to video display of three-dimensional graph changing with the music. Graph is limp and flaccid. Pull back to reveal technicians staring nonplussed at screen as they jot notes on their clipboards and adjust dials.

VOICEOVER: "Through a special melding of technology and tackiness, we are proud to introduce a revolution that will change the future of television commentary. TrueUpdate: tele-cinematic analysis so crisp, so clear you'll feel like you're sitting on Dr. Ferreud's lap. TrueUpdate, available only from MPU."

SCENE: Cut to three-dimensional graph, still limp and flaccid.

SCENE: Cut to singer. Camera still rotates around singer's head. Her voice is faint and in the background.

VOICEOVER: "TrueUpdate's patented technology makes every word you read, every syllable you see sharp and detailed. Our complex system of ropes, pulleys and levers guarantees the most lifelike analysis you will ever receive."

VOICEOVER [Singer]: "Cuz Iyeeayeeay will always love yoooeeeooooeeeeoooo..."

SCENE: Cut to three-dimensional graph, still limp and flaccid.

SCENE: Pull back to technicians, their faces confused. Several technicians glance over to another and glare. He looks back, also confused, then hurriedly flips a large switch labelled "Reverb" and slides another switch labelled "Volume" up several notches. Technician looks back at his comrades, sheepishly and mouths "oops!"

VOICEOVER [Singer, voice oddly louder and richer]: "It's the real MPU..."

SCENE: Cut to three-dimensional graph, now pulsing and throbbing with powerful bursts of sound. Pull back to assembled nerds, flush with pride.

VOICEOVER: "TrueUpdate. It will change the way you think about television. And it's only available from MPU."

SCENE: Zoom to tight close-up of singer's face, contorted with agony as she squeezes the sound from her lips. Camera continues to rotate slowly around her.

VOICEOVER [Singer]: "It's the real MPU, coming through. It's your TrueUpdate..."

[Cut to black screen with shiny Melrose Place Update logo. Below logo is text "Melrose Place Update" centre set in Futura Medium. Hand appears from left side and wipes white cloth back across the logo.]

[Faint glisten from logo.]

[Fade to black.]

Faintly, insect-like, a distant hum approaches. Twin eyes glare through the darkness, heralding the approach of a squat yellow vehicle. With a roar, the little car hurtles past the invisible fawn. A flurry of leaves plays a faint lullaby as they tumble over each other. Seconds later, the forest slumbers, the disturbance nothing but a hazy memory skulking the shadows of sleep.

Several hundred metres away, a banana-yellow Volkswagen Thing huddles silently beside the road, shielded beneath a broad canopy of fir trees. A sharp click ripples out into the darkness. Muffled footsteps crunch a convoluted path accompanied by a whispering choir of rustling branches.

Overhead, the cloud cover parts for a split second and a pale shaft of moonlight illuminates the scene. Silhouetted against the trees, a lone figure pauses and then disappears...

Inside the small chamber, I step onto the elevator platform, drawing the cage door behind me. The scissors doors sound like so many knives drawn across a stone. There is only one button on the control panel, a singular destination for my Calvinist cubicle. With Virgil by my side, and a chorus of electrical humming around me, the lift descends into the abandoned mine shaft, drawing me ever-closer to the elusive Beatrice. Through the cage slats the rough walls pan by as a film run through a stony projector.

It was 1950 when Otis Elevator installed the first automatic elevators at the Atlantic Refining building in a little-known corner of Lost America, just outside Dallas, Texas. Thousands of elevator operators lost their jobs in the coming years and generations grew up without the sensual experience of riding an open elevator. Today Atlantic Richfield peddles cheap gas and talks about their long- standing commitment to the people of the West. They never mention the elevator.

An eternity later, the hoist settles comfortably onto its rest and the tunnel is soundless. Ahead, a great wooden door marks an entrance. Or is it really an exit? Cut into the door is an ancient inscription, "credo quia absurdum est". The cage scrapes across the rock and I walk to the door. The handle is soft, worn smooth by centuries of hands like mine; warm, sweaty, nervous with expectation. Silently, the door yawns awake, and I step into its gaping maw...

It is dark, and a solitary night light beams security and comfort to the empty chamber. Ancient wooden desks stand at attention, stretching away into the misty darkness. Overhead, a pensive portrait of Marshall McLuhan broods at the shadow's edge. A match flickers next to a massive rock fireplace set in the wall. Within seconds, a roaring blaze basks the room with warm light. A young man walks over to a dark oak sideboard and pours several glasses of port.

Past the door, the elevator hums its approach, sighing again for its electric stop. A short, bespectacled man steps from the antechamber, puffing thoughtfully on a meerschaum pipe. Beside him towers a statuesque Asian woman, her true shape concealed beneath endless folds of black batik cloth. Dr. Ferreud taps the pipe against his teeth and strides confidently over to his rich, overstuffed leather chaise lounge. Miss Tjing accompanies him, gliding effortlessly across the room to the lounge where she curls up and makes a soft purring sound.

A large glass screen mounted on the wall crackles with static and images burst onscreen with a hollow pop. The young man crosses the room and settles into a massive leather armchair, his glass of port and a fresh notebook next to him. Silently, from the shadows, others stream into the room taking their places at the desks and preparing their research materials. Onscreen, the Melrose Place logo appears and the theme song resounds throughout the rocky chamber.

The stage is set. The players have assembled. The watchers wait.

Welcome to the third season of the Melrose Place Update.

The Melrose Place Update is an all-digital production. Please send all comments to ianf@microsoft.com

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