By Jennifer Wang

Three takes to perfection. One take to defy it.

TAKE 1
FADE IN:
1 INT. CLUB BACCHANNAL - LATE NIGHT

We OPEN at CLUB BACCHANNAL. The floor is packed with bodies, sweat stained and moving together as one. The bass can be felt through every tile of the dance floor. In the midst of it all, the camera zooms in on our BIRTHDAY GIRL — she’s alluring and gorgeous, the snapshot of a perfect partygoer at the peak of her youth. We see BIRTHDAY GIRL squeeze her way through the crowd with two of her friends, tapping at the bar countertop to get a bartender’s attention.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
Excuse - excuse me!

BARTENDER
Sorry, what can I get for you?

BIRTHDAY GIRL
Three Jolly Rancher shots, please.

FRIEND 1
It’s her 21st Birthday!

The bartender delivers a group of ruby red shots, lined up neatly one after the other. The camera zooms in to the girls’ fingers, each nail perfectly manicured in chrome. BIRTHDAY GIRL closes her eyes and leans her head back to invite the wave of bittersweet that will soon crash over her tongue — but feels a cold liquid trickle down her neck instead.

FRIEND 2
Shit, your top!

A rose of vodka blooms from where the shot has spilled down her neck like a bloody stain, permeating through her white halter in vines that snake down threads of silk.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
Damnit! I literally got this yesterday.

The camera is trained on her back as BIRTHDAY GIRL weasels her way to the ladies’ room. She curses under her breath. She wets some tissues and dabs at her top in an attempt to fix the disaster. The crimson mark has lightened to a pink, setting itself stubbornly right in the middle of her chest. BIRTHDAY GIRL seethes and looks directly into the camera, as if she was blaming the viewer for her mistake.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
No, no. We’re redoing this. Cut.

TAKE 2
FADE IN:
2 INT. BAR COUNTER OF CLUB BACCHANNAL - LATE NIGHT

BARTENDER
Yes, what can I get for you?

BIRTHDAY GIRL
Three shots of tequila, please.

This time, BIRTHDAY GIRL makes sure to order a clear liquid. Her friends take theirs in an instant, but she downs it slowly, carefully, wincing as it burns its way down her throat.

FRIEND 1
That was nasty — come on, let’s dance that off.

Her friends loop their arms through hers and drag her back into the sea of bodies. It’s suffocating, stifling, and she can barely see past the blur of twirling limbs. The air is thick with a heavy sourness that weighs down on her chest.

Her friends loop their arms through hers and drag her back into the sea of bodies. It suffocates her, stifles her lungs, and she can barely see past the blur of twirling limps. The air is thick with a sourness that weighs down heavily on her chest.

We follow the camera to the floor, where dozens of feet shuffle in drunken disharmony. The laces on BIRTHDAY GIRL’s heels unfurl with each step she takes. Inevitably, she trips over them, sprawling all over the dance floor. Sharp pain shoots up from her knees and contorts her glammed up face into a hideous wince. She lifts her palms to examine the damage and finds the skin half-peeled off to reveal crimson rawness.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
Goddamn it!

She heaves. Her mascara oozes down her cheeks in an ugly trail of jet black tears.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
Ugh! No, cut. CUT!

TAKE 3?
FADE IN:
3 INT. BAR COUNTER OF CLUB BACCHANNAL - LATE NIGHT

FRIEND 1
That was nasty! I need to dance that off.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
No! I mean — can we cut my cake first? That way we won’t forget about it later.

FRIEND 2
Of course! Let’s do cake.

BIRTHDAY GIRL politely asks the same bartender to fetch the cake they had entrusted to the club earlier. He presents it with 21 glowing candles and a pinch of edible glitter.

Her friends sing Happy Birthday to her, and she grins. The tequila has infiltrated her veins, and she triple checked the laces of her heels while the bartender was fetching the cake. This time, nothing will go wrong.

As the song comes to a close, she clasps her hands over the center of her chest like she’s praying to the frosting

FRIEND 1
Make a wish!

BIRTHDAY GIRL
I wish for… a perfect night.

The camera zooms in as her face inches closer to the cake. A droplet of melted wax scrambles down one candle and lands in the buttercream frosting. Her eyes are closed, the glitter on her eyelids glimmering in the candlelight. Then, a bright spark — a singular tendril of smoke curls up from a piece of her hair that has gotten caught in the fire.

The camera zooms out from an overhead angle. Screams erupt, and the crowd parts from BIRTHDAY GIRL like she’s diseased. Her hair, once brown, is now glowing yellow. She screams as her whole head goes up in flames.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
SOMEBODY HELP ME! CUT! CUT THIS! CUT!

TAKE ???

3 INT. BAR COUNTER OF CLUB BACCHANNAL - LATE NIGHT

BIRTHDAY GIRL shoves her way through the crowd and bangs her hand on the bar counter, determination coloring her face.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
Three Jolly Rancher shots.

She downs hers without hesitation and slams her shot glass onto the counter. A drop escapes the rim and falls, splat dab right in the middle of her white blouse, bleeding through the silk. She pays it no mind.

FRIEND 1
Uh, you spilled some on your top.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
Screw the top — who wants cake?

The bartender brings out the cake. Before her friends can even tell her to make a wish, she blows them out in one go — and she holds her hair back this time. The smoke dances its way into her nostrils. The fumes take hold of her, empowering her with the wild, ravenous spirit of an uninhibited god.

BIRTHDAY GIRL
Let’s dance!

This time, she’s the one dragging her girlfriends onto the dance floor. Heat attacks her the moment she steps between two people, thick and dense on her sticky skin. Her laces unravel the deeper she pushes into the crowd, but she only kicks them to the side, half giggling and half tripping over herself.

The bass shoots out from the speakers, each beat thundering its way through the floor to the soles of her feet and attacking her ribcage with a buzzing that can’t be felt anywhere else in the world. Each time she shakes her head to the music her carefully crafted updo comes apart, until it descends upon her shoulders in a mess of curls. She surrenders control of her body, her face, and her life to the dazzling energy in the air. It’s spiritual: it possesses her to forget her name, her purpose, and all her ambitions of perfection.

The club is a disco ball, and BIRTHDAY GIRL is merely one of the million mirror tiles that spin together in tandem. ■