Anjelica Angwin
INT. EVANGELINE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT.
EVANGELINE (mid-20s), dressed from the neck down in her
fursona - a Pink Husky Dog Fursuit in Shibari bondage - paces
around her room. She sits at her desk and stares into the
glowing ring light affixed to her phone, which stands ready
to record. In the background, the documentary All Watched
flickers on a large LCD Over by Machines of Loving Grace
screen, muted with subtitles. Evangeline pays no attention.
She watches her video reflection as she reaches over and
places the husky headpiece on.
INT. LONDON GALLERY. NIGHT.
Inside a small but busy art opening, several grotesque AI
generated artworks adorn the walls, blown up to massive
proportions. Free cans of Bang energy drink (Cherry Blade
Lemonade flavour) are fished from an ice bucket. The crowd is
edgy and mostly very good-looking in an effortless but not
effortless way. A nervous hum fills the air.
Evangeline crosses the room, dressed coquettishly in a little
white dress, cardigan and glasses. Absorbed in the room
sheet, she accidentally knocks into an anthropomorphic furry
sculpture with a massive erection, spilling her drink.
EVANGELINE
Sorry! Shit. Shit. Sorry!
Evangeline pulls a tissue from her pocket and wipes the
sculptural cock tenderly. Suddenly, as if possessed by an
overriding impulse, she makes a beeline for the bathroom.
INT. TOILET CUBICLE. NIGHT.
Evangeline sits down on the toilet and pulls out her phone.
She tweets: "surrounded by giant furry sculptures pulled
straight from the DeviantArt hivemind. horny or nah?" She
posts the tweet and lets it sit before quickly deleting it.
Instead, she posts: "sentient art technologies, memetic
discourse, parapolitical critique - none of these words are
in the bible". She flushes the toilet and takes a deep breath
before exiting the cubicle.
INT. LONDON GALLERY. NIGHT.
Evangeline is sardined between excited gallery-goers in fake
Balenciaga, waving their vapes as they talk. She snaps a few
iPhone photos of the art.
BLUE CHECK GIRL, an emaciated micro-celebrity in a Praying
'main character' cap, is caught candidly in one shot. She
locks eyes with Evangeline and they share an awkward, knowing
glance.
Evangeline approaches the exhibiting artist, RIVER (late-
30s), tattooed and dressed in an expensive bomber jacket and
distressed cap. He stands talking to an ART BUYER sloppily
dressed in an ill-fitting suit jacket, jeans and loud yellow
Nike Dunks. They discuss the art.
RIVER
(Speaking to a handful of admirers)
For the contemporary zeitgeist, it
seems that the demarcation between
highbrow and lowbrow art and culture
has become rather tenuous. The idea
that certain things are culturally
significant while others are not has
lost its hold on our collective
imagination.
We see an early 2000s rendering of a Sims 2 themed Puss-in-
Boots, snarling and pissing in the mouth of a BDSM furry. The
two are surrounded by a cheering crowd of teenagers wielding
AR-15 rifles.
ART BUYER
Mmmmm, you can really see these as
hybrid beings, plucked from the anals
of mythology -
RIVER
Sorry, do you mean annals?
ART BUYER
(Laughing)
Oh yes, of course!
(Gesturing to the artwork)
Alternatively, we can see their
envisioned futures, embarking on a
valiant quest for enlightenment. But I
also feel like there's a quality of
nihilism too?
RIVER
(Shrugging)
I stick my finger into the arsehole of
existence and it smells of nothing.
They all chortle knowingly and Evangeline interjects.
EVANGELINE
And boredom is the root of all evil.
RIVER
Pardon?
EVANGELINE
Kirkegaard, right?
RIVER
What?
EVANGELINE
I think you were quoting Kirkegaard.
You know, existence, boredom,
nothingness?
RIVER
Did I?
EVANGELINE
I mean I agree, it's very nihilistic.
Desperate kids in the burbs, nu-metal
and guns... I think this piece is a
metaphor for the overproduced art
world. And the use of raw amateur
technologies feels like a throwback to
simpler times. While it also provokes
the "culture war" discourse, it's
certainly not the first time we've
experienced one.
RIVER
Interesting. And because of this,
there's an underlying feeling of
impotence towards making true,
revolutionary critiques. We feel
trapped by the ambiguity and obscurity
of an unidentifiable, centralist
monster called authority.
EVANGELINE
(Smiling)
An anti-fascist artist taking on the
neoliberal Leviathan! Is your art
going to save us all?
RIVER
(Going for a handshake)
River.
EVANGELINE
(Pointing to exhibit wall label)
I noticed.
Beat.
RIVER
You look insanely familiar. Have we
met at Shoreditch House or something?
EVANGELINE
I think it was Hinge.
RIVER
(Coughs on his vape)
Ah. Greta?
EVANGELINE
Evangeline.
RIVER
That's the one! How have you been?
EVANGELINE
Excuse me. One moment.
Irritated, Evangeline darts away, back towards the bathroom.
INT. TOILET CUBICLE. NIGHT.
Evangeline swings the cubicle door shut, takes a seat and
tweets: "art? just another black pill" with a photo from the
gallery. She thinks for a second and then deletes it. She
types another one: "who do I have to fuck or suck to get my
first solo show?" and hits post. She uploads a cropped
screenshot of River's Hinge profile that reads, " My therapist
need to stop dating nietzschean red scare sugar would say I:
babies" with the caption: "kill thyself". She posts it and
locks her phone.
INT. LONDON GALLERY. NIGHT.
Evangeline hurries back into the throng of patrons, her phone
pings and she reads a comment on her latest tweet: "being
cancelled turned him gay".
She grabs two Bang Energy drinks and hands one to River.
EVANGELINE
So what are you reading at the moment?
RIVER
Um, I'm actually rereading Hemingway.
EVANGELINE
Awesome. So I was thinking, you kinda,
like, left me on read.
RIVER
Sorry, pardon?
EVANGELINE
On Hinge. You sort of never replied to
me. Ghosted me or whatever.
RIVER
Oh, I'm sorry. I've been super busy
leading up to the show, you know, that
London hustle, sig-
EVANGELINE
-sigma grindset? Yeah, it must be hard
work making furry porn on Cuckjourney.
River's face contorts.
EVANGELINE
No, sorry. I mean -
RIVER
I am sincere when I say that AI
represents the anarchic psyche of the
internet and, therefore, reveals our
own present-day reality.
EVANGELINE
Of course. I meant to say -
RIVER
Believe it or not, we live in a
Baudrillardian hyperreality -
EVANGELINE
No, absolutely. I get it.
RIVER
I apologise for any emotional pain -
Evangeline brushes past River and through the crowd. She
begins furiously typing out a tweet: "Computer art is
retarded" and hits post. She drafts another with a slight
smile. "AI could never replicate the farce of art. We are
safe". She posts it and sculls a Bang Energy. She tosses the
empty can aside, and it clatters noisily across the floor,
creating an awkward, confused silence in the room.
Evangeline strides over to the furry sculpture and knocks it
to the ground. In one deft movement, she straddles the shiny,
plastic erection of the beast and begins slowly grinding on
it. The onlooking crowd stands and watches in silence.
Evangeline touches herself and rips open her dress, grunting
and moaning in a theatrical display of pleasure. She picks up
a Bang Energy drink and pours it all over her face and body.
A pool of blood begins to gather on the floor.
The gallery-goers start filming on their iPhones, flashes
going off periodically. Evangeline dismounts the sculpture
and snaps off its anamorphic penis, wielding it like a
microphone as she leans down to interrogate her audience.
EVANGELINE
Why are you here?
BLUE CHECK GIRL
Um...
EVANGELINE
Why are you here?
ART BUYER
I... uhh...
The Art Buyer looks to someone else for an answer.
EVANGELINE
(To River)
Why are you here?
River stands there in silence, maintaining eye contact and
stroking his chin furiously.
Evangeline resumes making love to the beast. Her moans grow
louder, and her pace quickens. The gallery audience murmurs
excitedly, growing into a confused cheer as Evangeline moves
faster.
Evangeline begins squealing and contorts in a full-body
orgasm, concluding with a roar that seems to come from both
her and the sculpture. She slips off the statue and
collapses, panting in the puddle of Bang and blood.
The audience stands in silence, looking around. River is
motionless and wide-eyed. Tears streak his face, and he wipes
his eyes quickly with his sleeve.
INT. LONDON GALLERY. NIGHT.
A few hours later. The gallery is empty of people, except for
a lone cleaner among the sculptures. She devotedly scrubs the
dry, congealed blood on the floor with a mop.
THE END.