Filming The Cask of Amontillado...

Aerial shot of the carnival at night. The sky is pitch black but the carnival emits a sharp contrast as it emanates a hazy glow into the atmosphere. It is blurry and there is an odd hum coming from the carnival below. As the camera descends, rather unsteadily, the strange sound of maniacal laughter is heard which intermingles with the soundtrack: a bizarre harpsichord. Perhaps a refrain or two from a song about revenge. Then, once the camera lands at ground level -literally from the floor- it will appear to be surveying the carnival, via shaky camera pan. As it proceeds to stalk and search the revelers -unbeknownst to them- it will take upon a steadier gate, that of an aristocrat's P.O.V. Suddenly the searching will stop. At the center of the shot, amongst a dense, raucous crowd, will be a figure at a great distance appearing crapulous, overly affable. He will go in and out of focus and carnival goers will pass by the camera frame frequently blocking the jovial man from view but the camera will push relentlessly onward. The camera will proceed slowly, only now with the rhythm, the beat of the music -the aforementioned harpsichord- ever toward this dancing, this gluttonous figure. As it does so, the swarms of revelers will begin to split, indeed, to part, as if repelled by whomever is approaching. Only the eternally daft will not be certain at this point they are seeing the carnival through the eyes of Montresor. There will be groups of gallivanting carnival goers guffawing and dancing but even the wildest will seem to unconsciously move away as the being approaches. Indeed, the whole population will soon part forming a direct path to the crude, the crapulous figure who is now visible to be a man dressed as a jester with conical cap and bells.

Hmm...yes, I must ring up one of my Hollywood connections.

"My dear cat, won't you fetch my little black book? It's by the gramophone in the West Wing, before the veranda."

"What?! Confound it! I know you're not a Labrador I..."

"Mrs. Danvers is busy!"

"What?! I'm not wasting time! This idea is gold, my dear cat! Trust me."

"Pish posh! Book III will get done, don't you worry your whiskers. I can finish that story with my eyes closed, indeed, after twelve High Balls!"

"I'm not overconfident!"

"Well fine, you'll be sorry once Orson Wells rings me up."

"You'll have no chance of being an extra either.
Who's to say Montresor never owned a Sphynx."

"That's it! No Fancy Feast for you!"

"Zounds!"