In downtown Los Angeles, on the corner of an intersection, stands an old, run down building. The rotting, decayed sign over the door reads “Golden Dragon Karate Dojo”, but its doors haven’t been open since the kung-fu craze of the late 70s. Many other businesses in this area have come and gone, repainted their crumbling facades and so on, whilst this building has stood as a decaying monument to that era; windows boarded up, doors bolted shut and caked in rust. It has always perplexed locals why it was never sold during any of the waves of regeneration which offer false dawns from time to time. It was bought by a man, rumored to be in the movie business, as the karate-dojo folded but he never saw fit to use it for anything, content to let it slowly decay. No amount of money, it was said, could tempt this man away from it.
Were one fortunate enough to get inside, they would find a similarly run down interior. Just past the main door is a short corridor. To the left are some general offices, and to the right is a small equipment shop. Both have a vague Mary Celeste feel to them, desks with phones, pens, papers and other such paraphernalia lie abandoned, covered in a blanket of dust, as if the occupants had just vanished one day. The corridor leads down into the main hall. This is a large, spacious room. Where once it featured rows upon rows of training warriors, now it is empty and silent. Along the walls are a few torn and tatty posters advertising (then) upcoming karate tournaments and others with suitably encouraging slogans for the would-be karate master. This room is sparse and dead now, empty for all but one thing. The Machine.
In the centre of the room, on the floor, sits the Machine. It is a dark grey metal box, roughly similar in size to a fridge that is on its back. Its surface is pristine, brushed metal with clean edges, in start contrast to the decay around it. For the most part the surface of the machine is blank, with only a few items. One is a slit which runs around the entire perimeter of the Machine, half way up. When the Machine is activated this pulses with a red glow.
On one end of the Machine are two panels. One is a blank, rectangular inset panel about the size of an A4 sheet which features one solitary red button, set in the middle of the panel. Once this panel featured a range of buttons, switches, dials and keys for inputing various variables to the Machine. But there are no variables to change any more, just one single button which activates the Machine.
Below this panel is another, smaller panel, similarly inset into the side of the Machine. This panel features one, single slot just wide enough for a CD to emerge from.
The Machine and the room sit still for long periods of time. But occasionally, about once a year, there is a visitor. A man in a dark suit and a brief case enters the building through a locked fire escape at the back of the building. He walks over to the machine, dragging with him a fold-up chair which is rested against the wall. He sets up the chair, puts down his brief-case then walks over to the Machine. He presses the red button and then sits down. The Machine stirs into life. A low, throbbing hum begins to emanate from inside the grey, metal box. The red glow lights up, illuminating rhythmically in time with the whirring heart-beat of the Machine. Occasional blips and bleeps also ring out over the low-hum as the Machine processes its various calculations.
After 3 minutes it suddenly stops. The hum dies down, slowly returning to silence and the red glow fades. After a moment there is a final sound, a short burst of mechanical movements and then a DVD slides suddenly out of the slot. The Man in the Suit gets up, walks over and takes out the DVD. This is the new Jennifer Aniston film. He puts the DVD in his briefcase and leaves the building.
In a few days this DVD will be sent to Jennifer Aniston’s home where she will view it for the first time. Along with the movie will be a package of information, including humorous anecdotes about the filming of said movie, such as pranks her co-star played on her, for use on the interview circuit. Of course these events did not take place as there was no filming. Jennifer Aniston has not stepped foot in front of a movie camera in 5 years. A set has not been built, a roll of film has not been used and a script was never written. The Machine is pre-programmed with all the materials needed to create a Jennifer Aniston film. These are; the Story (this never changes), Aniston’s character’s occupation (an array of Waitress, Fashion Magazine Editor or Art Gallery Manager), level of kookiness (Not-so-Kooky, Kooky, or Very Kooky) and her romantic lead (one of 5 leading men). The Machine then processes all these variables and produces the finished film, along with all necessary promotional material (the poster, Aniston tying the tie of her leading man, set against a blue sky, and title in sans-serif font, one word bold, the other normal weighting can be produced in under one second). All Jennifer Aniston films are created by the Machine.
The Machine must be destroyed.
