Well folks, we gotta cut corners somewhere, so rather than pouring the same inordinate amount of time into our storyboards as we have into all the other aspects of this protracted production, we’ve opted to bang them out quick and sloppy, like the war in Iraq. What? The war’s still going on… well, that certainly doesn’t bode well. For a lot of things.
Like so many of the most profound and enduring films of our generation, Frown Town opens on a closeup of a pile of garbage and a squirell puppet very nearly getting set on fire. Submitted for your consideration, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.
A little later, we meet our hero — James Rumsey — who is promptly hit in the head with a rock. So it goes in Frown Town.
Here’s rather an extended sequence in which the bullies steal James’ suitcase, hurl some fairly creative American Indian epitets at him and then chase him through a hole in the fence. It’s a battle of strong beliefs and little sense. Once again, the similarities to Iraq abound.