The Motion Picture is the definitive art form of our time. The silver screen is the perfect medium for allowing audiences to connect with the thoughts, motives, and emotions of characters. It allows the collaboration of writers, musicians, actors, and directors to create truly unique snapshots into humanity or fantasy; history or the future. The public is transfixed more by film more than any other medium....except performance art where people paint with a brush up their ass. What can I say? Ass-painting never seems to lose it’s cache.

In addition to being an amazing art form, film is imminently marketable. A full 75 mm widescreen projection leaves incredible amounts of screen room for product placement. Plus, theatres are now getting away with placing advertisements before the standard movie trailers, which are advertisements in themselves, all the while playing new top forty type music samples (even more ads) during the screen ads. Before the film even starts, viewers have been exposed to a 46 hours worth of compressed ads in thirty minutes. Sometimes, after I’ve sat through this advertising blitz, I go out to the concession stand to get my second box of Goobers, and I’m like, “What? You’re only selling popcorn and candy here?” By this point, I’m ready to buy, dammit! I’d buy anything. I’d even go as far as to buy a set of fine china, even though I’m way too much of a selfish asshole to actually spend time cooking and entertaining guests."

Even when the artistic and marketing merits of film are finally exhausted, the film industry continues to add value to its product by injecting sex, violence, and Will Smith into films whenever possible. Americans can’t seem to get enough sex, violence, or Will Smith. In fact, if you don’t like Will Smith, and publicly express this opinion, the CIA rubs you out. This is why Christian Slater doesn’t appear in films anymore. He’s buried under the “H” in the Hollywood sign.

All in all, film is amazing. It does go through periods of stagnancy, however. For all that has been accomplished in film, I think the film industry could do better. When I was watching Hilary Swank walk across the stage to collect her Oscar this year, a couple thoughts raced through my mind. First, I snickered because her last name is Swank, just like the porn mag. Then, I thought about making the next landmark film, a film that would raise the bar of the industry, and take film to where it was supposed to have gone, but never quite went.

Ladies, and gentleman, I’ve developed the concept for that film. I’d like to give you a sneak peek. Here is a glimpse of the treatment I’ve completed, soon to become the screenplay for the next great film, Footloose II.

Note: I’m assuming you’re all familiar with the original Footloose, released in 1984 and starring Kevin Bacon, a bunch of other actors who pale in comparison to Bacon’s greatness. And John Lithgow.

If you aren’t familiar with the original Footloose, then you’re obviously a cultureless simpleton, and I’ll have to enable your slovenly cultural awareness by supplying you a quick primer.

McCormack breaks it down
in the original Footloose.

In Footloose, the firebrand dancer/gymnast Ren McCormack (Bacon) moves to a small Oklahoma town from New York City to finish high school. Like all great films, the origins of his travels are poorly explained. Suffice it to say, it's a family matter. At any rate, McCormick learns that his new town forbids dancing, although ironically, the local high school is a gymnastics powerhouse. The source of cultural oppression in town is the Reverend (Lithgow) who feels that such agressive rock and roll as Men at Work and Flock of Seagulls will corrupt his youth and result in violent mayhem.

Lithgow refuses to enjoy dancing.

In time, the attitudes of McCormack and Lithgow polarize the town, as McCormack tries to organize a high school dance. Enlisting Chris Penn as a confidant, McCormack begins to win over the youth of the town, while simultaneously, the Reverend garners support and aligns the town against the dance.

McCormack’s loosely worn tie has been turning heads for twenty years.

After much soul-searching, some “tractor chicken”, Chris Penn’s impromptu dance lessons set to Tiffany’s “Let’s Hear if For the Boy”, and some awesome angst-ridden barn gymnastics by McCormack, the Reverend gives the dance his blessing, and the town is better for it. Especially McCormack, because he gets laid by the Reverend’s daughter, who is the town piece of ass. In all great films featuring a Reverend and a town, the town’s hot piece of ass is always the Reverend’s daughter, and Footloose abides by this never-tiresome convention.
Allright, we’re all up to speed. Here’s the treatment, with a couple rough scenes I’ve blocked. What can I say? I’m a visionary.

Chris Penn forever changed the face of dancing with this sweet move.
Its ramifications come to a head in Footloose II

Footloose II - Treatment of Screenplay - by C.W. Swank (pseudonym)

Introduction - The year is 2004, and Ren McCormack has spent the last twenty years as a firebrand dance instructor/playboy in New York City. He’s a recent widower, and after experiencing his wife of two years’ untimely death (the cause will not be explained, as per the guidelines of great films) McCormack laments that perhaps he’s spent too much time dancing to Kenny Loggins and not enough time focusing on what really matters. In the midst of his despair, he gets word from the Reverend (Lithgow) that his old buddy Chris Penn has died. The news sends McCormack reeling into a binge of coke, booze, and dancing to Kenny Loggins, after which he returns to Oklahoma for Chris Penn’s funeral.

Finch Sanderson - (played by Patrick Swayze) - Sanderson is the owner/operator of the large industrial farm employing most of the town, and he delights in keeping the townspeople under his thumb with menacing tactics. Legend has it he failed to make the 1984 US Olympic gymnastics team when he hit his nads doing a scissor-kick on the pommell horse. This, of course, explains why he’s such a dick. Another explanation for his rampant dicktitude is the fact that he’s squeezing as much money as possible out of the town to build his dream industrual farming project - a chicken ranch where he will produce MSG-enhanced “xtreme fritters” These “xtreme fritters” are just like chicken nuggets, except genetically altered, so he must brand them as “xtreme fritters”, since “KFC” was already taken.