ALONG THE MIDWAY OF THE CARNIVAL OF SOULS

BY WILLIAM HELLING, JR.

1. Jesus Saves, Mary Rents; Holy Smoke, I Am a Clone

FADE IN:

A long aerial shot above the U.S. government's germ warfare testing facility at
Dugway, Utah. There is an explosion, and a monstrous, greenish-gray cloud
escapes into the atmosphere. Winds blow the cloud eastward. 

To the town of Monmouth, Utah. Population: 210. The cloud arrives at half past
one, Mountain savings time, on the afternoon of September 1 and blots out the
sun.

And it rains. 

The effect of the rain on the population of the town is swift and
disastrous, Two hundred and nine men, women, and children are transformed,
inexplicably, into Sylvester Stallone. The entire population of the town-save
for one man, a Vietnam veteran played by James Caan (in an important comeback
role for him). He has a steel plate in his head, a reminder of the horror of
U.S. involvement in Southeast Asia. He is unaffected by the fallout from the
strange cloud, which dissipates soon after the rain has fallen.

Immediately the population of Monmouth wants to write, direct, and star in
motion pictures. They all receive backing from major studios in Hollywood, and
they begin to crank out movies.

The climax occurs the following April at the Academy Awards ceremony in Los
Angeles. All five nominees for best actor are Sylvester Stallone.

Will James Caan arrive in L.A. in time to halt these fiendish proceedings? Or
will he, too, succumb to the sinister lure of Hollywood and accept a co-starring
role and a percentage of the gross?

2. A Bullet for St. Nicholas 

DISSOLVE TO:

An interior shot of a grungy office in downtown San Francisco. Printed in
reverse on the grimy windows overlooking the docks of the bay are the words
SEAMUS O'SHEA PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS.

O'Shea-played by Kurt Russell-is at his desk, nursing a quart of Wild Turkey. 
He has not had a client in weeks.

There is a knock at the door. Entering the office is a short, bandy-legged,
round-bellied man with a chubby, florid face and close-cropped white hair. He
is dressed as a bum. He smells bad. He tells O'Shea that he's been an amnesiac
for six months, that he regained his memory only this morning. His name, he
says, is Kris Kringle.

O'Shea offers the man a drink and listens to his story. The man says that while
vacationing in Baja California he was attacked by a gang of evil elves led by
someone who has since taken his place as an impostor Santa Claus. The
impostor's nefarious purpose is to ruin Christmas for everyone. With only twenty
more shopping days 'til Yuletide, there isn't much time to stop him.

Eventually Kringle convinces the cynical, hard-boiled O'Shea of his veracity.
The two of them spend the next week and a half assembling and training an
assault team that will fly to the North Pole and retake Santa's Workshop from
the impostor and his henchmen. But the bogus Santa Claus-played by Ronald 
Reagan in his comeback role-has a spy in Kringle's ranks (Kim Basinger as Mrs.
Claus). Kringle, O'Shea, and their team of crack commando elves wing their way
northward, unaware that their enemies have laid a deadly trap for them,

Will they fall into the trap? Will there be Christmas this year or ever again?

3. Old Home Week in Sodom and Gomorrah

DISSOLVE TO:

The massive private office of Rev. Jerry Falwell at Liberty University in
Lynchburg, Virginia. Falwell is sitting in a chair, watching a double feature
on television of bootleg videotapes of two yet-to-be-released Hollywood films.
He likes both of the movies-particularly the one that has his old friend Ronnie
playing Santa Claus.

But neither movie really cheers him.

The troubles, the troubles. So many troubles these last few years. The scandal
involving the Bakkers and the collapse of PTL. The flap concerning Swaggart and
his disgusting tart. The dissolution of the Moral Majority. The ratings
decline-and concurrent loss of revenue-affecting his own programs.

And now this: One by one over the past few weeks, his colleagues have been dying
in mysterious, unsettling ways. The details concerning the deaths have been
sketchy, but the pattern is unmistakable. First Jim and Tammie. Then Swaggart.
Then Pat Robertson. Oral Roberts, Kenny Copeland. The Crouches in California. 
That obnoxious pip-squeak Randall Terry. Even Schuller, the most genuinely 
upright of us all. Schuller, for God's sake.... Falwell switches off the
television, upbraiding himself for thinking a blasphemous thought. "Forgive me,
Lord," he says under his breath.

A voice dry as desert sand utters softly, from behind him, "No."

Falwell whirls around, startled. Standing there is his cleaning lady, a
wizened, ancient black woman whose name he can never remember. He glares at her,
rising to his feet, his face darkening with rage.

"What are you doing in here?" he demands harshly. "It's your turn," she whispers 
in a voice as old as time. He gapes at her with wide eyes.

"You keep on claimin'to know God," she says. "You claim to speak for Him, to
know His mind, But you don't know Him at all. And He's tired of you sayin' that
you do."

Falwell's face reddens. He begins to sputter, but she holds up a hand to quiet
him. She says to him, "You and your friends, you been makin' God very, very
angry. He's been keepin'an eye on y'all for a long, long time. He's
everywhere, you know."

At last Falwell explodes, "Do you know what you're saying to me? Do you know
what I can do to you? DO YOU KNOW WHO THE HELL IT IS YOU'RE TALKING TO?"

She nods. "I know who you are. But you don't know who I am." He stares at her.

She says softly, "I'm God." And she turns Falwell into a pillar of salt.

With that we happily: FADE OUTEND