as the second hand hits the twelve, the clock tolls, the board room window shatters and waring hudsucker comes flying out.
picture dissolves to a pan up the hudsucker building.
a television sits against a neutral b.g. a hula hoop rolls into frame and bumps the tv, pushing it out of frame.
a woman switches off her vacuum cleaner, takes a hula hoop that is conveniently leaning against a nearby wall, and starts hula hooping.
in the office, dad, smoking a pipe, is also hula hooping.
in jerky cinema-verite footage, a woman is excitedly sticking her head in norville's door.
a group of people in formal evening wear are sipping highballs and chatting as they keep hoops in motion 'round their waists.
a young couple stands before the altar hula hooping.
pan down from elephant to two natives hula hooping as they grin into the newsreel camera.
the mean laugh. yes, as we draw closer, it seems clear that his laugh is colder than before.
the mean laugh. further track in on norville ends in close shot, his hands clasped on the desktop in front of him, as he finishes his hard, square-jawed, man-on-top laugh, gazing flintily into the camera.
a shadow is thrown across the screen as a figure steps into the beam. he throws the sharp silhouette of a strict freudian analyst: van dyke beard, pince-nez with chain trailing down to his vest, one thumb hooked into the vest, the other hand holding a cigar wreathing smoke, which he waves for emphasis.
the image onscreen cuts to a close shot of norville on the couch, mouth listlessly agape.