Movie Trailer 1 Synopsis:
Open with four crouching creatures scrounging among a prehistoric undergrowth for roots to eat. They resemble humans, but a little more troll-ish, with hairy feet and large Disney-like noses and sunken eyes and long fingers that curl among the large ferns that tower above them. Show a shot of the sun causing the ground to shimmer slightly, insinuating the hot, acrid environment these creatures live in.
Cut to a shore a couple miles inland. The water leaves a salty residue as it crashes against the rocks, the camera bobs at the surface slightly, as if it were floating on the waves. A shadow is barely visible crossing in front of a tropical growth of ferns near the rocks. Below the waves, prehistoric nautili float, tentacles radiating. Cut back to the sun. This time the creatures are peering up at it in awe, as the moon slowly passes across its surface, robbing the forest of light. There is the cry of birds and the shuffling of undeveloped feet as the creatures panic. But suddenly, a human voice emerges, booming and powerful and drenched in an extra-terrestrial reverb. It tells them not to panic.
Black.
Now under the water again. Blinking lights. A large craft emerges from the depths, breaking up the sand and disturbing wildlife as it rises. It sends off a signal that creates waves that break apart corals and cause the delicate undersea flowers to tremble. The scope of the craft is fully realized when it breaks the surface of the water and stretches beyond the frame, seemingly infinite in all directions, it rises upwards out of the water propelled by a technological force beyond the comprehension of the trollish creatures that watch in awe from the edge of the primordial jungle. Again, the human voice calls, louder against the din of the rising machine. It reverberates between trees and underneath the ground to reach every inch of every brain across the entire planet. It speaks soothingly, without menace, in a language full of nuance and articulation. Almost like singing. Cut to black and title sequence.
h_h, by Marcus Rubio (TMT writer), is out now on Already Dead Tapes & Records.
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