Sitting in an old theater – Ziegfield-esque, worn red velvet seats, dilapidated condition. I’m fifteen rows up, center. Woman behind me leans in and says, “Isn’t this the worst film ever?”
“I haven’t really watched it yet,” I say to her without turning around. I hear her lean back into her seat and turn my attention to the screen.
The film is called “Toaster Test” and stars Kevin Spacey as an everyday shlub named Herb and Hugh Grant as The Devil. While making breakfast one morning, Herb sees The Devil materialize the reflection of his toaster. In the course of their interaction, The Devil shows Herb how he’ll die in a motorcycle accident.
Cut to black.
Fade in on lobby of a fancy hotel with huge circular banquettes arranged around tall, endlessly high columns at regular intervals around the room. The Devil lowers himself slowly from the ceiling haze and settles on a banquette next to Herb.
“Hey, Herb,” he says, low and slow in Herb’s ear.