Farewell, Art Bell (Patreon)

In honor of Art Bell's passing--R.I.P. (Rest in Paranormality)--I've decided to share a treatment for a Small Beans film concept that has yet to get made and probably won't until we have a few more movies under our collective belts, since we wrote it before realizing the concept was insanely high-budget for two dudes trying to get their collective feet in the figurative door, literally.

Spoilers ahead! Because we are optimists, and assume we will one day get to make this into a movie!

Watch This Space

Logline: An aging AM radio host leads his unflappable crew on a quest to uncover the secrets of fabled Area 51, prove the extraterrestrial conspiracy, and get his late night talk show renewed for a 29th season.

ACT I

Art Beale is the host of a long-running late-night AM radio show on ghosts, aliens, conspiracies and the paranormal. Ironically, after so many years of the same spooky beat, Art himself has become a tired cynic, wishing aliens existed, but pretty sure he and his band of misfits are doing little more than beaming low-fi entertainment to kooks. But his listeners are loyal, his team has come to love him over the years, and the job is all he’s ever been good at.

One late Odessa, TX night, Art is skating through a particularly rowdy recording session, wherein he and his Andy Dwyer-esque co-host and protégé Javier field a call from an angry chemtrails believer, use an in-studio medium to confirm the latest alien autopsy rumors, and prove conclusively that Johnny Depp is a government sleeper agent. During an ad/smoke break, the station manager (who is there so rarely they don’t even have an office in the building) pulls Art into Kristen’s office, where she’s already waiting, looking mightily displeased. 

Kristen—the show’s longtime Producer and paranoid conspiracy-junkie—has been a True Believer since she was a child, having had numerous dreams (or were they?) of being abducted in the night and returned to her bed before morning. But no such abduction will save them from their fates this time. The final call has come down from on high: their dated format, it is thought, will not translate to a satellite radio or internet streaming audience, and the Season 29 finale show they record next week will be their last. They argue with the manager, but “his hands are tied.” He does offer Kristen producing another show on their network—some drive-time DJ pablum—but she steadfastly refuses.

She’s sure this is just another attempt from the Masons (possibly in league with the Illuminati) to keep sheeple from hearing the Voice of Truth, but Art is a lot more worried about where he’ll be getting his next month’s rent and alimony payments. Knowing this possibility lurked on the horizon, he’s been secretly hunting for other broadcasting jobs, but there’s no place in the modern entertainment landscape for a radio alienist, it seems. Kristen is eager to dig into whatever nefarious conspiracy is playing out before their very eyes, but Art tells her she’d spend her time better by packing up some of the UFO, Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot and Chupacabra paraphernalia that make her office almost uninhabitable. 

Before he can get more than three feet out of her office, Art is accosted by Javier, who has heard the news, and also demands they fight the cancellation. He suggests they try to raise Kickstarter funds to convert the show into a podcast format; Art doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about and wants no part of it. Despite the argument, it’s clear the two are close, and that Javier looks up to Art in a big way, which makes this all the harder for Art. He’s “saved by the bell” when Kristen announces that it’s time to get back on the air. Art asks Javier to vamp so he can take a minute to re-compose himself and smoke a cigarette.

Javier does his best to fill three minutes, then Art returns to the booth, trying not to let his despair affect the second half of the program. Their first call doesn’t make it easy. The call is strange, even for them…an anonymous source claims to have known Art’s father. After sounds of duress, and a password—“Chinook”—the caller cuts off. Clearly disturbed, Art winds the show down early, and announces that next week’s will be a special finale episode. As Art sullenly packs up for the trip home and tries to deflect Javier, the rest of the core team gathers in the cramped room: Kristen, the young stoner tech dude Preston, and…that’s it. It’s a small operation. 

Art finds himself fielding uncomfortable questions about the weird caller, his obvious reaction to it, and his relationship with his dead father, who, common knowledge has it, worked for many years at Area 51 in Nevada. Disappointed and worried for their futures, Art tells them they should be more concerned about their careers, and less concerned about the nut-cases who call in to their useless show. The team is disappointed, angry, disbelieving. He only gets them to back off after promising to “explain everything” after they all get some sleep.

The next day, Art has Kristen, Javier and Preston over to his double-wide trailer park home, festooned with paranormal paraphernalia and the detritus of a life in AM radio. He’s readied a presentation, of some of the most convincing evidence concerning alien technology and bodies being dissected at Area 51 they’ve come across over the years. Everyone has some to share (many of the examples pulled from the real world), but the coup de grace is a faded manila envelope Art pulls from a small safe with a letter-lock. The combination is “Chinook.” 

Art explains that the caller last night triggered some buried memories of his, including the existence of the safe—stuck in a closet for thirty-five years—and its contents. Spellbound, the group watches Art produce a single old photo, crumpled and torn, of what appear to be government doctors wheeling a wounded alien Grey into a sophisticated operating room. One of them is wearing a blurry pass-card that reads “EAF-51.” In other words, the fabled Area 51. Despite Kristen being even more into alien conspiracies than Art is, and much more Internet-savvy, she’s completely unaware of the very clear and real-looking photo, which has a crude overhead map scrawled on the back.

Art explains, and we see his story in flashback. His father, from whom he inherited his signature radio voice, became demented toward the end of his life, and would sometimes ramble about his time working at Area 51. Right before his death, there was a moment where he seemed to regain his faculties completely. He came to Art, whose show was just taking off then, and showed him the photo in the folder. Just as he was handing it to Art, he suffered a massive brain aneurism and collapsed to the ground, clutching the image compulsively. Art dialed 9-1-1, but after hearing strange electronic sounds, seemed to be transferred to a government agent who told him to remain calm and that “responsible people” were already on their way. 

Freaked out, Art ripped the image out of his father’s hand and stuffed it back in the envelope. Noticing he was struggling to speak through the pain, he leaned down to hear his father’s last word, the same word scrawled on the envelope in his shaky hand: “Chinook.” He stuffed the envelope in the safe, set the combination, and promptly sat on this information for the next three decades. The gang is puzzled by this last bit, but Art tells them that despite his best efforts, he somehow forgot the password by the next day, and forgot the entire incident until the caller the previous night jogged his memory. Clearly, Men in Black have been tampering with his parietal lobes.

Kristen’s response, as usual, is dramatic and immediate: This proves conclusively that intelligent alien life, presumably hostile, has had extensive contact with the U.S. government (also hostile), Area 51 is the key to it all, and it is their duty, nay their destiny, so see that information made public. She insists they take over the radio station by force and start a guerilla anti-government broadcast bringing this all to light, but Art has a better idea…to sell his trailer in order to buy the station’s tech van, travel to and infiltrate Area 51, and recover conclusive physical evidence of alien life and technology on Earth. He argues that it could change the world, and even if it doesn’t, trying and getting arrested would make a great publicity stunt to help them all find new jobs or get interest around a new stunt/reality show. Kristen loves the idea; everyone else is reluctant.

Preston says he’s not gonna narc or anything, but he probably also won’t come to their funerals after they get put down from 1000 yards by Air Force drones, for safety reasons, opting instead to take advantage of his newfound joblessness to go on tour with his crappy band. Javier is more interested in saving the show or staging some kind of grand comeback, but not in anything that could get Art thrown in jail. Art is understanding, but doesn’t think the plan works without the whole team, and calls it off. Everyone heads home. 

On the drive, Javier notices a dated black sedan following him, and receives some unsettling texts from a number that reads out on his phone as “EAF51.” The same night, Preston and his pothead Mom deal with a solicitor in a black suit and dark glasses who asks strange, vaguely threatening questions and claims to be a representative of some “highly responsible people.”

On the day of the Finale show, things go as planned, with Art and Javier recalling some of the show’s finer moments from the current era and when it was Art’s show alone. A couple radio execs watch through the booth glass and discuss plans to fill the programming slot with Howard Stern reruns. Art is in the middle of a touching final speech thanking his unflappable crew and joking about his plans to drive his trailer around the country hoping to get abducted, when Javier pointedly encourages Art to “tell them about the van.” Art is hesitant, but after a nod from Kristen and an encouraging fart sound effect from Preston in the booth, he tells the audience he will indeed be purchasing the “Galaxy Wagon,” which has become something of a show mascot, and fans should feel free to come by the next Friday at noon to watch he and the team “ride off into the sunset.”

Back in Art’s office, Javier and Preston share their recent experiences with the Men in Black. Javier feels Art’s story has been corroborated, and Preston, an avid anarchist, can’t stand the thought of a shady cadre of g-men flexing nuts on his doorstep (also his band broke up and are re-forming as a The Books cover band). He agrees to tag along for the road trip to Nevada and handle any tech needs, but will stop short of actually infiltrating the base, hoping instead to document their persecution by the MIB. Kristen seems disappointed she wasn’t visited by any threatening dudes in suits. The execs pop in to gently remind them that they need to vacate the building in the next hour. Art excitedly pitches the concept for their grand comeback show blowing the lid off Area 51, and they are, again, asked to please leave the building. The team decides to re-convene at a more secure location.

Meanwhile, Stephanie Hauser, a young newspaper journalist working out of New Mexico, interviews the septuagenarian who’s the last living person claiming to have witnessed the famous Roswell UFO crash (6 years old in 1941,78 now). She’s clearly interviewed him many times before, but if she’s going to work her way out of the “zany sidebar news” department of her paper’s failing office, she needs to find a way to draw attention to herself. Just then, the old coot insists they pause the conversation to tune in to the last moments Art’s show. 

Hearing Art describe his plans, she is touched by his natural pathos as a human-interest topic. She calls her editor to let her know the interview has been completed, and the editor tries to put her onto another “zany” assignment. In desperation, Stephanie mentions the Art Bell story as a possible substitute. The editor genuinely doesn’t care, as long as she can fill her four inches of column-space. Stephanie hops right in her disaster area of a car to head to Odessa.

On the day of the big departure, Art is cramming a few of his belongings from home into the back of the van, and discovers that only a couple weird locals have shown up to see he and the gang off. It’s pretty depressing, until Stephanie approaches them and asks if she can tag along to write her story. Art agrees, but tells her she’ll have limited access to the van and she’ll have to split off from them after a few days of interviews. She pushes for more access but he begs off with talk of liability and how cramped the van is already. Stephanie agrees to follow the van in her car, but is surprised to find the whole crew traveling with Art, and asks around about what it is that they’re actually doing, or their destination or goal upon driving out of the lot. Not having conferred, everyone makes up a different lie, but Stephanie decides not to press further for the time being. At the same time, she and Javier seem to take a shine to one another, flirting a bit during their chat.

On the other side of the van, Kristen confronts Art about inviting a journalist on their secret mission, but he argues that she can be out of their hair before they hit Area 51, and her presence and the story she’s writing actually give them a fairly good cover for traveling together. He asks her to tell Preston and Javier the cover story: that they are on an impromptu publicity tour, meeting fans across the country, maybe even putting together a retrospective documentary DVD. Art then laments the passing of VHS, and asks aloud if anyone knows how to fix a broken trunk-mounted 10-cd changer.

The lone weirdos wave goodbye as the packed van, swirling cosmos and a hitchhiking alien painted on the side, pulls out of the lot and starts heading East. Stephanie follows in her Yaris, a watchful satellite far overhead follows it all closely, and the weirdos wander off to do whatever it is weirdos do to celebrate.

ACT II

Road trip! As they traverse the lower-left quarter of the U.S. over three days, our heroes stop at a number of themed desert locations: a dingy Motel 6 near Las Cruces, the Grand Canyon, a haunted hotel in Flagstaff, an anonymous gas station adjoining an equally anonymous diner in the middle of nowhere, the Alien Jerky stand on the way to Vegas, and finally a dingy Motel 6 far off the Strip, where they stay the night before their B&E attempt. During their travels…

-Stephanie and Javier obviously start sneaking off to fuck. No one cares, but everyone indulges their poorly conceived excuses for being in each other’s areas or looking disheveled and sweaty at lunch.

-Art struggles to come up with a plan to infiltrate Area 51, with somewhat erratic input from the less stable elements of the team. Preston wants to create a black-hat trojan to topple their mainframe and say Anonymous did it, Kristen wants to use magnets to disrupt the chips all G-Men have in their skulls, and Javier has very few ideas other than looking handsome, being generally agreeable, and promising to shed his blood for the mission if need be, maybe even a little too willingly.

-All the while, the team struggles to keep their planning secret from Stephanie, simultaneously taking turns keeping her busy by granting interviews about the show, their personal beliefs around the paranormal, and Art’s impact on their lives. It becomes abundantly clear that despite being an eclectic group of misfits, there is a lot of love between them, and some kind of mystic understanding that they are all people whom, without each other, would have nothing in their lives. Even Javier, the most “normal” of the bunch, has some strange opinions based largely on having grown up in foster homes without a family. Stephanie sees a kinship forming between herself and these people, especially the one she is fucking. 

-During one group meal, while Art is using the facilities, the team confides in Stephanie that they genuinely fear for Art’s future, and Javier, for instance, is mainly along to try and keep him out of trouble. Kristen believes, but everyone else is there to support Art.

-Returning from one of their “secret” bone-sessions, Kristen and Javier set ground rules with each other about her access to privileged information on Art. It’s clear they have progressed from simply boning to some kind of budding relationship. Nevertheless, Javier is loathe to betray Art’s confidence, which creates some friction between them.

-As for her story, Stephanie gets a lot of humorous detail and personalizing background, but can’t stop stumbling into conflicting stories, suspicious inconsistencies, and mysterious hints that the folks she’s riding with have a sinister goal in mind. She puts in occasional calls to her editor begging for more time. Fearing this could all be leading to an attack or bombing or suicide cult thing, she resolves to break into the van while everyone else is arguing whether the alien jerky is made from the meat of aliens, or jerky meant to be ingested by aliens. Due to her intense paranoia and borderline O.C.D., Kristen has kept secret recordings of all of the team’s planning meetings, which Stephanie looks through, realizing the full truth of the situation. When Art and the crew return to the van, she’s waiting with the “Chinook” folder and a lot more questions.

Meanwhile, the same information Stephanie discovered is being pored over by Men in Black at a secure wing of Area 51. They have been keeping tabs on the group at least since an NSA watch program picked up Stephanie’s call to her editor, and a routine hackground check turned up Kristen’s files. We see Art’s father’s confidential service record, a schedule of upcoming chemtrail drops, GPS satellite records of their travel route, and finally hidden camera recordings Kristen made of the team planning, as well as Kristen’s own private video notes about how ironic it would be if the government were listening to these tapes and that’s how they got caught. They are confident the issue can be dealt with quickly and quietly at The Fence.

At the Motel 6 way off the Strip, the team fills Stephanie in on their plan and appeals to her to keep their secret. She declares the whole enterprise insane…so insane that it will make the perfect set-piece for her story, maybe even convince her editor to blow it up into a real feature. She has no interest in stopping their attempt, just in covering their inevitable arrests, and promises to keep the secret up until she turns her story in, giving them a fair chance to exact whatever brilliant infiltration plan she assumes they’ve concocted. Art is relieved to hear this, although it does underscore the fact that they are within spitting distance of the base now, and their plan will face the Reality Test in a mere 12 hours. Javier is hurt that Stephanie is clearly more dedicated to the story than his penis. Turning in, Kristen tells Art to take heart, that the plan is sound and will work, calling it “brilliant in its simplicity.” 

Smash cut to the Galaxy Wagon tearing ass through the desert, blasting glitch-core music out the open windows as it prepares to ram the main gate of Edwards Air Force base. Preston, joint-in-mouth, is at the wheel, screaming into a roof-mounted speaker about the iniquities of the military-industrial complex. Jeeps filled with dudes with guns intercept him about a mile out from the Fence and pop his tires with deployable spike-strips. The van spins out across the desert and lurches to a halt. Preston hops out, surrendering immediately, and one of the soldiers radios the incident in, telling his superior that they’ve only apprehended one suspect, and the van is a probable diversion.

Elsewhere, Kristen has just finished cutting through a fence and signals Art and Javier to crawl through the small hole she made. Each of them wears a sand-colored blanket over their heads. In addition, Kristen wears a tinfoil hat so the “psy-squad can’t ply her mind,” and a pair of night vision goggles even though it’s the middle of the day in the desert. Art consults the back of the alien autopsy photo (the corner of which has been torn off), and they head towards a building that seems to correspond to one on the map. Kristen explains to a frustrated Javier that the blankets are necessary to keep the observation drones from spotting them, which is the same reason they had to roll around in dirt. As long as they follow her lead, she promises they’ll remain completely undetected.

Inside the Area 51 secure wing, a soldier calmly reports to the Man in Charge that a human-sized hole has been made at a certain point along The Fence, and they dispatch some troops to recover the three trespassers. They can easily track them, it turns out, by their heartbeats, making it impossible for them to hide as long as they’re…you know, alive. The troops are reminded not to scare them too much while making the arrest, since one of them is kind of famous and they don’t need any Twitter backlash bullshit right now. The four-man squad files into a massive lift chamber that rockets up into the ceiling. One of them makes the purely philosophical point that getting shot in the back of the head isn’t really that scary, if you don’t know it’s coming. None seem too worried.

Art, Javier and Kristen have reached the edge of Art’s map, and he’s not even sure what to do once they get to wherever it is the map seems to be leading them. Kristen bets “Chinook” is a code-word they can use to access the base. Javier bets they have to invoke a dry wind from the East of the Rocky mountains (an alternate definition of “Chinook”), but is unaware Nevada is West of the Rockies. While being informed of that disappointing reality, he notices some dots on the horizon, which Kristen scopes out with her night vision goggles, blinding herself, but also confirming the presence of troops. Without knowing which way to go, Art picks a direction he “feels good about” and they start running, losing their blankets, with a blinded Kristen piggy-back on Javier.

The soldiers radio in that the trespassers are headed toward “the old Hangar 3 elevator,” and are ordered to run and intercept them. Signing off, the soldiers decide to take a cigarette break while they walk instead, since it’s fucking 115 degrees, they’re wearing body armor, their boss is a dick, and there’s no way a civilian can access the elevator anyway, which two of them are pretty sure was cemented up in ‘97. Besides, it’s only a five-minute walk.

Inside what appears to be an abandoned hangar with some decaying adjoining offices, Javier, Kristen and Art argue about what to do. Art assures them that the answer is in this building, but is evasive about how he’s so sure, instead urging them to “just believe.” Javier, worried there’s a chance he’ll be killed, decides to call Stephanie, against Kristen’s protests. After all, they’re already caught, aren’t they? But, as soon as she picks up, Stephanie tells Javier that she’s been trying to call him all morning, only to get mysteriously blocked over and over again, to tell him…Art is lying. Before she can elaborate, the call drops. 

Back at the Secure Wing, someone reports that an outgoing cell call was detected and quickly canceled, and the Man in Charge feels confident that his prey is getting ready to surrender and accept the consequences of their illegal actions.

Art and Kristen argue, Kristen yelling “Chinook!” at various things in the room, hoping to unlock them. Javier is blowing on things to test his “dry wind” theory. Suddenly, Art discovers that one of the desks in the building bears a placard with his father’s name on it. Kristen interrupts his reverie, demanding he answer for what Stephanie said, his inconsistencies, and how he knew to come to this room even though it’s off the map. Art, knowing they will be captured and maybe killed, breaks down and admits to everything: the whole trip has been based on lies.

Although Art’s father did work at Area 51 and die handing him the photo from the envelope, Art has long since discounted it as the final ravings of a demented mind. Being reluctant to share his thoughts, encouraging the team to pursue this crazy adventure, the mysterious caller “dredging up his past” and the person questioning and following Preston and Javier (a sleazy private eye) were all events concocted by Art to convince them to buy into his quest, part of a plan he put into action the week after he was told the show was canceled. Kristen asks how he can possibly know the photo isn’t real, and Art angrily produces the missing corner of the photo from his wallet.

On it, aside from the missing portion of map, is a reflective surface upon which can be seen the distorted—but unmistakable—image of a professional’s photography flash-box. Next to it, what looks like tins of makeup. Kristen, still blind, gets Javier to describe what’s been revealed, and is understandably outraged. Art says that though he lied, it was because he wanted the dream to be true, wanted to believe. But he kept that corner in his wallet as a constant reminder not to buy into this shit, and maybe he should have looked at it a little more often. He apologizes and determines to head outside and surrender himself, hoping to spare Kristen and Javier harsher punishments. 

Just then, Javier happens to say “Chinook” to the right thing on the wall, and a machine springs into life. Kristen wins her bet. A fractured computer voice welcomes Art’s father (who, as mentioned above, has a strikingly similar tambre) back to the Secure Wing, and a door opens from nowhere. The three tumble inside, and the room, spewing dust and shaking violently, starts to plummet into the Earth. Kristen, her vision finally starting to return in the pitch dark of the busted-ass express elevator to Hell, muses aloud that this might have not been the best idea.

At HQ, the Man in Charge is shocked to hear that the trespassers have activated an elevator, and demands all old passwords be purged and the system rebooted. Once the information is transmitted to the four-man group above, they spit out their cigs and run toward the outpost as if their jobs, lives, and the safety of the world depended on it. They switch from non-lethal sidearms to automatic rifles and don gas masks. A klaxon and jeeps criss-crossing the base assure them they’ll have plenty of backup in their search.

MIDPOINT

Kristen, Art and Javier peek out of the elevator, and are immediately greeted by a huge light show and cheesy pre-recorded voice welcoming them to “experience technology beyond man’s wildest dreams, and know that we are not alone on this cosmic journey.” House lights come up on a cavernous, dust-caked room full of displays, cases, plaques, and row upon row of strange alien artifacts, pictures of scientists shaking hands with aliens, Johnny Depp’s CIA commendations...in short, a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream. While Kristen and Art grapple with the repercussions of the find, and to reconcile how this could be happening despite Art having lied all the way here, Javier pokes around and plays with alien devices. He futzes with one and eventually it springs to life, emitting sound through three small tubes. He brings two tubes to his ears and hears strange alien music, delighted.

Meanwhile Art, filming shots of the room with a GoPro, reasons that this must be some kind of defunct display wing for visiting Area 51 VIPs, and from the age of everything, expects they are safe for the time being. Just then, four gas-masked soldiers C-4 their way through a wall and start shooting at them and tossing flashbangs into the room. This time, Art is blinded, while Kristen is able to shield her face from the grenades. Operating on instinct, Art still tries to carry her, but she quickly throws him over her shoulder and moves to cover.

It seems certain our heroes will be annihilated, but Javier, still with “headphones” in and unaware of the danger, activates another alien device. This one resembles a chrome Speak n’ Spell, but instead of teaching you what the cow says, it temporarily swaps Javier’s consciousness with whomever he points it at. As he turns around to see the mayhem, he tenses up and “fires” the device, hitting the commander of the unit of soldiers. The commander, now in Javier’s body, drops the device, rips the headphones out of his ears, and generally freaks out. Javier, now in the commander’s body and also freaking out, tackles one of the soldiers next to him. In the struggle, another flashbang pin gets pulled and all three soldier-bodies are blinded. At that moment, a glowing timer on the Speak n’ Swap reaches zero, and Javier and the soldier revert to their original bodies.

Kristen, still hefting Art, yells at Javier to grab as many devices as he can carry and follow her down a corridor, which he does, managing to nab eight and drop three, which blast lasers or emit strange noises as they hit the ground. The trio of soldiers, all blind, radio in their condition, and the Man at HQ relays orders to the base staff, now on full alert and diverting all manpower to the breach. He locks down the facility completely, and orders that the interlopers are to be killed on sight, as their path is taking them deeper into the base’s research and development labs, where the government’s most closely guarded secrets are held. 

Our gang find themselves, after running down several corridors at random, holed up in a gleaming lab space where an amalgam of Earth technology is being used to study and reverse-engineer aspects of alien tech. It’s a large underground hangar, with a number of lab personnel still being evacuated and soldiers searching for them. They hide behind some equipment, trying to make sense of their situation and see what Javier was able to steal while Art’s vision slowly recovers. Kristen films a confessional with the GoPro, wanting to make sure the information gets out to the world whether they are captured or not. Art points out that the base’s staff have probably blocked their signal by now, and they go over the alien devices in their possession instead. 

Of the eight strange devices Javier grabbed, one is the three-pronged iPod thingie he had been listening to, and another is just a small screwdriver from a glasses-repair kit. The remaining six vary wildly in shape and description, and none have any clear indication, at least to Earthlings, of what they do or how they are operated. Javier points out that he does know how one of the devices is operated, and plays some of the alien music for them. They listen for a minute, each with their own headphone, grooving on the space jam. Then Kristen reminds them that they are in hiding from ruthless soldiers and should stay quiet. Javier fiddles with the device, but instead of turning it off, triggers the emission of a sonic frequency that immediately gives them all intense vertigo. All three start vomiting profusely, giving their position away to soldiers across the hangar. The troops charge at them, but Art is able to kick the still-active alien device at them, and they too start to wobble dizzily, topple over, and throw up inside their gas masks. 

The gang quickly divvy up the devices and Javier leads them, at a sprint, towards a distant exit. They are waylaid by an evacuating scientist who pleads with them to give themselves up, arguing that people, on average, don’t have the maturity to grapple with the level of technology the crashed ship has brought to Earth. Instead, in a secure environment like Area 51, trusted scientists can slowly research these devices to find out what they are capable of. The government long ago embraced a no-tolerance policy when it comes letting the public or our political allies in on the alien pie, and have been slowly implementing technologies spun off from alien designs in a “responsible manner.” Kristen responds by shouting “sic semper tyrannis!” and firing at the scientist with an alien contraption that looks a lot like a rifle, but instead sprays the scientist down with a rapidly-expanding breathable Safety Foam. The scientist, rendered helpless, rolls off like a Veruca Salt blueberry, shouting that this really just proves their point. 

Meanwhile, the vomiting soldiers have managed to destroy the sonic device, and are advancing quickly. Kristen fires at them with the Safety Foam, but its range isn’t nearly far enough. Javier grabs a random alien cylinder off a table and hurls it. Activating in mid-air, it forms a laser-sword a la a light saber and lands, spinning, in the middle of the room, cutting a large hole through the floor and falling into the room below.  Javier bemoans not having held onto it as the floor starts to collapse into the lower level, widening the hole between them and the soldiers. The troops raise their rifles and fire. Javier and Art hit the deck. Reflexively, Kristen dives behind the scientist-ball and discovers, at the same time as the rest of the people in the room, that the Foam can easily absorb the impact of a bullet. The energy of the bullets, however, being conserved, sends the scientist flying around the room, safely but terrified, like a giant bouncy ball. 

Art screams for Kristen to shoot him and Javier, which she does, similarly enveloping them in Safety Foam. Bullets strike them and send them bouncing around the room. They hit a few of the soldiers, destroy all the equipment in the room, and finally bounce into the now-gaping hole in the floor. Kristen jumps in after them, spraying foam below her, which seems to expend the last of the gun’s ammunition. She’s almost killed when she bounces back up into the hanger and the soldiers take a few shots at her, but then the heights of her bounces level off and she gets to her feet to look around.

Javier and Art have come to rest, but are still encased giant blobs of foam. Around them is a much smaller lab with a number of corridors branching off in different directions. Above them, through the hole, are soldiers peering down and debating whether to fire down at the enemy or just toss some grenades and sacrifice the lab equipment. Art and Kristen confer in desperation. Not really listening, Javier idly remarks that he “wishes he could get out of this foam,” and it abruptly dissolves, depositing him on the ground to scrape the leftovers off. Art realizes the foam is intention-controlled, and wishes the same aloud. Once they are both mobile again, Kristen points out that they are no longer protected from bullets, and they all run for it, followed by gunshots. Some soldiers rappel down into the room to give chase, while others radio in their position and request reinforcements to head them off.

As they run through a maze of corridors, our heroes plan their escape. Kristen drops her foam gun, now useless, leaving them with five alien artifacts and a small screwdriver; Javier calls dibs on the screwdriver. Kristen asks about Art’s lying earlier, and he insists that his admission was true, but clearly the fact is Area 51 and the Alien Conspiracy are real, whether his father’s picture is genuine or not. He’s not sure if it was a dying man’s last word that led them here or just a series of accidents, but now that they are here, his primary goal is to keep his crew alive. To that end, they pause in an alcove and examine the five remaining artifacts: an oddly shaped ball that is half-orb, half-blob, dubbed “The Blorb;” a tiara or ringlet-looking headpiece with an adjustable size; a rubber sac with several tube-like attachments—”weirdo bagpipes;” a wristwatch with no face and only one button; and a handle with a finger-guard around it, like the hilt of an old rapier. They debate what each could be and whether it’s safe to activate any of them, even if they are able to activate any of them.

Ultimately, against Art’s advice, Javier puts on the watch and Kristen puts on the tiara. The watch has no effect, but Kristen is transformed into a hideous outer-space slime monster. The guys freak out, but the monster acts confused and attempts to calm them in its horrible alien grunt-language. Just then, a grenade—not a flashbang—rolls to a stop in front of them. Thinking fast, Art shoves the monster onto the grenade, and it explodes in a mass of slime...which then transforms back into Kristen, or what’s left of her, the tiara blasted from her head. The guys freak out a second time. As soldiers rush in to finish them off, Javier’s watch-button glows red. Figuring there’s nothing left to lose, he hits it.

Suddenly, it is fifteen seconds earlier. Kristen is alive, in the form of a hideous slime monster, and protesting in grunts. Instead of freaking out, Javier expertly sticks one foot out of the alcove, kicking the incoming grenade back at their attackers, then lifts the tiara off of Kristen’s head, revealing her true form. The grenade explodes, scattering the soldiers for a moment, and Art and Kristen stare at Javier in amazement. He coolly explains that his wristwatch is able to set time back about fifteen seconds, but can only be activated when someone near it dies, and that the tiara is some kind of translator that cloaks the wearer in a full audiovisual disguise as any number of alien species. Art is ecstatic, sure that with the power of the time-watch, they can’t lose. Javier, a bit sheepishly, admits that it seems to be out of juice now, as it took him twenty or thirty attempts to get this right. Every other time, one or both of them was horribly exploded.

Thinking quickly, Kristen flips some of the controls on the tiara and puts it back on, turning into what appears to be a giant squid in a kilt. She shrieks and runs down the corridor at the regrouping soldiers, sending them running. Art and Javier follow after, and all three duck into another area of the base. They come to a sudden stop at a railing that overlooks a deep pit. They are in a huge chamber, a long vertical shaft, a hundred feet across and ringed with central balconies. There aren’t any stairs and the elevators are all locked down, but if they are to get to the surface, getting to the top of this room seems like the best bet for survival. Above, the room disappears into darkness. Below, the same.

Elsewhere, the Man in Charge gets reports of the squid running amok through the lab level and his soldiers being injured in a grenade blast. Furious, he orders in a squad of three assassin androids/murderbots. The scientist who was a bouncy ball earlier calls to his attention the fact that this isn’t in the facility’s charter and they are banned from using un-tested alien technology against American citizens, or in fact, at all. These are specially build automatons, never before deployed, proficient in the use of what few alien technologies the government has been able to reverse-engineer with success. They each sport a special cybernetic gauntlet, and carry no other weapons. It’s unclear what the gauntlets do, but the Special Ops team seems collected and confident as they head down to the lab level to handle the situation.

Kristen, Art and Javier scramble to find a way up the shaft. Art insists Kristen remove the tiara because she’s freaking him out, which she does, having forgotten it was on. Meanwhile, Javier has discovered what looks like three jetpacks hanging from pegs against the wall. “Wow, that’s lucky,” observes Art, rushing to strap one on. Javier, already a step ahead of him, triggers his “jet pack,” which projects a force-field around him. He’s disappointed it isn’t a jet pack and takes it off, but Art wonders if they could survive the fall to the bottom of the shaft by using the shield-packs. Even if they can, Kristen shoots back, they’re trying to get up, not down.

Just then, the Special Ops team literally steps out of a wall, seemingly by magic, and orders them to stand down. Art pulls up the Blorb and threatens to activate it if they take another step. The Ops team hesitates, unsure what the device will do. Art, just as unsure, looks to Kristen and Javier, who nod. He triggers the Blorb, which extends a protuberance that vibrates briefly and then goes quiet. He drops it, disappointed. Javier surmises that it must have been the anal probe. 

Emboldened, one of the Special Ops team raises their gauntlet, which seems to form a very small, directionally-oriented black hole housed in their palm. Art, Kristen and Javier feel themselves painfully pulled forward, away from the railing. The Man in Charge speaks over the PA to tell them to come peacefully for memory-wipes and summary dissection. Down to his last device, Javier blows into one of the tubes on the Weirdo Bagpipes...and an insane amount of fresh water shoots out of another. The torrent knocks the Special Ops team off their feet, but washes our trio over the railing, and sends them tumbling hundreds of feet down the shaft.

In mid-air, Art recovers the Bagpipes, and keeps blowing as hard as he can. Thousands of gallons of water shoot out around them, and Kristen is able to latch onto Art’s leg and start blowing into one of the tubes as well. Tons of fresh, nutrient-rich soil shoot out another hole in the bag. They fall into the massive mud pit they’ve just made of the lower levels of the complex, and struggle their way to the surface. Javier’s head pokes up as well, but Kristen has lost her tiara and the Bagpipes have sunk into the mud. Looking up, they see the three now-shielded Special Operants hovering down the central shaft to intercept them, each wearing one of the shield-packs, which it turns out were also jetpacks after all. This upsets Javier immensely.

All three swim to the edge of the mud pit and climb up onto a piece of lab equipment. Art reasons that they at least have some time to regroup, since the Operants in the jetpacks are far above them and descending pretty slowly. Just then, the second Operant raises their gauntlet and creates a portal in a wall high above. The soldiers fly through it and magically hover out of a wall on the heroes’ level, directly across from them. The last Operant raises the last gauntlet, and Art, Kristen and Javier suddenly find themselves trapped in a sticky resin, held immovably in place. Luckily, Art was struck while pulling the final device—the rapier handle—from his pocket. Arm extended, glued in position, he squeezes it and it springs to life in his hand. Rays ripple out, penetrating the soldiers’ force-fields, and they all fall unconscious, dropping out of the sky and plopping into the mud. Kristen mumbles, through her amber-frozen mouth, that she hopes the bastards are dead. Javier goes over to check, which takes great effort and a tremendous amount of time, as he can only move slowly in the sticky goo. Art observes that this whole adventure has involved much more actual, literal slime than he expected it to.

The Man in Charge, having lost touch with his Special Operants, grimly considers his final option, which is to evacuate who he can and trigger a sequence that will destroy the entire facility. He holds off for now, but decides he’ll have to do so if his soldiers can’t reach the intruders before they discover “the ship.” He orders a stealth helicopter readied for his evacuation if need be. If they depart, he says, they’ll be headed directly to the Pentagon.

Down below, more soldiers arrive, guns drawn, and fire down at them from the railing above. Art keeps his frozen arm trained at the only entrance and zaps everyone who comes through, until there’s a large pile of immobile bodies blocking the doorway. Javier, finally reaching one of the downed Operants, reports that they aren’t dead, just sleeping, and in fact look to be having incredibly pleasant dreams based on their facial expressions. Art is pleased to learn he didn’t just kill a hundred men, and that whoever the aliens are, they seem to be peace-loving, since so many of their technologies are safety-oriented or non-lethal. The Bagpipes looked to be some kind of terraforming device, and even the Operants’ gauntlets weren’t designed to kill explicitly, until government agents repurposed them for human use. 

Kristen reminds him that all that aside, what they really need is an escape plan, and tells Javier to strip the Operants of their weapons. He starts with the resin-glove, putting it on himself and quickly figuring out how to un-stick Art and Kristen. He even finds he can turn patches of mud into a hard surface, so they can walk through the room without sinking. The device, it seems, can change the state of matter of anything you point it at. Art and Kristen follow the trail he makes from their little island of lab equipment over to the other two sleeping Operants, and recover their gauntlets as well.

Javier puts on the only jetpack that seems un-damaged. Kristen gets the portal glove, which she starts to try and figure out, “accidentally” teleporting one of the sleeping bodies through the floor and out of a side wall, letting it plop into the mud from a great height. To keep the robo-soldier from drowning (if indeed they can drown), Art uses his vacuum-glove to lift the unconscious body out of the mud and hurl it up over a railing onto a floor above. Still getting the hang of the gauntlet, he tosses the body with more force than he meant, and also scoops up more mud than he meant to. While doing so, something buried in the sludge catches his eye—an unmistakable curve and gleam that obviously excites Art to no end. Kristen announces that she’s pretty sure she could teleport them out, or at least up, and wants to try that plan. Javier really really wants to use the jetpack instead, arguing that they can hold onto him and he can blast them all upward, then use his glove to turn the ceiling into pudding and shoot through. Art refuses both, saying he saw something beneath the mud that he needs to excavate, a truth that must be dragged into the light. 

At the same time, a fresh battery of soldiers start to push through the pile of unconscious bodies, as well as cutting holes through the walls. Soon, it’s clear, there will be more firepower in here than even an alien dream-gun will be able to protect them from. Kristen opens a portal to another floor a few hundred feet above them, and begs Javier and Art to jump through before they are all shot. Art haggles for more time; Kristin angrily demands he follow her instructions. Javier points out that even if they get up to a higher floor, they still don’t know their way around the facility or how to get out, but Kristen insists again. Just before Javier is about to relent and step through the portal, Art finds what he was looking for under all that mud...the ship. A classic, honest-to-goodness Flying Saucer.

Art is thrilled. He uses his glove to pull the massive ship out of the mud and into the shaft, noting that he is able to do so in far less time than it took Luke Skywalker to learn how to pull his X-Wing out of the swamp on Dagobah. As a mob of soldiers emerge from holes in the walls with all manner of weapon trained on the intruders, Kristin closes the portal to the floor above and instead opens one in the side of the ship. Bullets fly at them, bouncing off of the personal shield Javier has just activated. Kristen fires back and puts a few of the troops to sleep, but not nearly enough of them. Fleeing, both tumble into the portal and come out inside a gleaming spacecraft, in what looks like the bridge of the vessel. Art follows, de-activating his glove to do so, and warps into the ship just in time to feel it fall back into the mud below and begin to sink again. Kristen closes the portal. Bullets rain down on them, even a few explosions are heard, but mere bullets can’t penetrate the ship’s hull.

The controls are absolutely indecipherable, and Kristen notices some small pods on a wall that kind of look like hoverboards with Segue handles stuck to the front. She says maybe they should use those instead, since they look more intuitive, but Art will be damned if he doesn’t get to fly a UFO after they’ve come this far. He fumbles with what he assumes are the ignition controls, and some kind of weird alien snack is dispensed. It’s a vending machine. Javier has gotten a screen to light up, but he’s not sure if it’s a navigational read-out or alien porn. 

Kristen, desperate, snatches the dream-gun and points it at Art. She demands that he let her make a portal in the ship wall and they’ll all jetpack or segue through it. To enforce this plan, she’s willing to put Art to sleep and sling him over her shoulder if she has to, which she’s already proven she can do. Art, crushed, says she better put him to sleep then. She’s about to fire when Javier triggers his jetpack, immediately on-board with Kristen’s plan. Having failed to connect the proper straps, however, the pack flies off his back and careens around the room, triggering a number of controls at random and smashing itself to pieces. 

One of the triggered controls causes the ship to start spinning, flinging mud in all directions, burying many of the soldiers outside. Inside, our heroes can’t feel the rotation of the craft, but can tell they have powered up. The saucer lifts up, up, up, past dozens of levels...gracefully emerges from a hidden hatch in the desert floor, and hovers in perfect zero-balance a few yards above the ground...until the auto-launch AI abruptly cuts out. Then it starts to wobble like a plate-spinner’s worst nightmare. Area 51 Forces, already arrayed around them at ground level in vast numbers, fire all manner of person- and vehicle-mounted projectiles at the craft. They all fail to penetrate the force-field the ship apparently has, but our heroes are enveloped in a continuous hail of explosions and gunfire. 

Inside, Art fights with what he hopes is the throttle—It’s a stick that started violently wobbling about the same time the ship did, anyway—while Kristen and Javier engage more console controls at random. Javier finds a tiny little hole, so he pulls out the tiny screwdriver he’s been carrying this whole time and sticks it in there. Suddenly, the ship zooms forward dozens of miles in an instant and buries itself in the side of a mountain. The only witness, aside from the soldiers at Area 51, is the lone old crank Stephanie interviewed in Act I. He is, needless to say, agitated. 

ACT III

At Area 51 HQ, panic reigns, but eventually the Man in Charge is able to get a fix on the telemetry of ionized particulates in the air and infer a velocity for the craft. It didn’t go up, so it’s still on Earth, and satellite reports of an unidentified shape blurring past their field of vision provide further clues to its whereabouts. Not wanting to draw too much public attention, he sends one stealth helicopter, a jeep with four soldiers, and a town car with two Men In Black to follow the trail and track down the ship. He gets in the back of the town car, wanting to oversee the situation personally. He orders that the President and Chiefs of Staff not be informed until he deems it necessary.

Back at the crash site, Kristen and Art scrape dried mud and Safety Foam off of each other and debate their next move. Javier staggers out from behind the crashed ship, disoriented but physically fine, and they wonder aloud how he survived without any foam getting stuck to him. Then Javier’s crushed and lifeless body falls from an overhead hatch, and they all scream. The mud-caked body is still wearing the alien wrist-watch, also crushed. They eventually surmise that the ship is able, as a safety precaution, to instantly clone any crewmembers killed in a crash. Javier’s clone accepts this without trouble and re-joins the party, lamenting only the loss of his belly-button stud, as he now has no belly-button.

Regrouped, the trio plan to make their way back to civilization and try to intercept Preston before the government does. They elect to abandon the ship rather than search it for parts or working technology, in the interest of speed. They only pause to pose Javier’s dead body in a way that will hopefully throw the soldiers off their track. They briefly argue about what the best pose for the body is, before the chopper from Area 51 arrives and trains a massive minigun on them. Kristen points the alien dream-gun back at them, but sees Stephanie and Preston through the open side hatch of the helicopter and realizes she can’t fire or it will likely crash. Hearts sink. Art, Kristen and Javier give themselves up to the soldiers, who confiscate the dream-gun. Moments later, a black jeep approaches in the distance, and as the chopper lands, Preston and Stephanie hop out, in cuffs and lead by stern-looking government agents. 

Soldiers cuff them all and set up a remote op center inside the crashed ship, while Preston explains that he’s been held idly in a cell since last they saw each other, and Stephanie was scooped up and put in her own cell only a few hours ago. Preston admits that’s his fault, as he told the Men in Black “absolutely everything, immediately, in a frenzy of pants-wetting hysteria.” Art apologizes for getting them all into this, whatever their fates are now. The town car with the Man in Charge pulls up, and one of the MIBs opens his door for him. He orders the prisoners brought into the ship. Preston, seeing evidence of alien life with his own eyes for the first time, marvels over the technical innovations apparent in the ship’s design.

During a brief interrogation, it becomes clear to the Man in Charge that Preston’s story is largely true, and it becomes clear to the five hapless heroes that they are going to be shot in the head and incinerated, then their ashes will be buried in the desert and suitable cover stories involving embarrassing deaths that befell them on their road trip will be written and enacted. At a measured pace, one of the soldiers shoots Kristen in the back of the head, then Javier, then Stephanie. In tears, Preston apologizes to Art, telling him that he had tried to set up a closed-circuit time-release YT feed of the GoPro footage the camera automatically hot-synched him once they were out of range of Area 51’s signal-dampers, but he guesses it didn’t work if the G-Men are so willing to kill them. Just then, he is executed, to Art’s horror. 

The Man in Charge, losing his composure for the first time in the movie, stops his gunman moments before he would have killed Art, demanding to know what the FUCK Preston was talking about. Art stammers that he has no idea, and it seems the execution will continue. Suddenly, Javier and Kristen clones stagger out from the cloning chamber, leading an astounded Preston and Stephanie-clones. Art breathes a sigh of relief, and even the Man in Charge grudgingly admits he “did not know it could do that,” before training his own gun on Preston and demanding information. He promises to kill Preston enough times that he stops coming back.

Preston, terrified, explains that he set up several cheap laptops in equally cheap hotel rooms dotted around town, all relaying Art’s GoPro footage from inside Area 51 on a Wifi server of his own creation using a modded copy of the Android Periscope app, each set to post the footage as “Public” on Youtube in about twenty minutes from now. He thinks. Or maybe twenty minutes ago? He genuinely doesn’t remember, because he’s quite frightened, and assumed the great and powerful government had disassembled his network shortly after arresting him. Soldiers find and destroy the GoPro, and start to download a copy of the Periscope App, but no one immediately present understands exactly what Preston is describing, and spotty reception out here is making the app download frustratingly slow. 

After Preston giddily explains to his friends that he thinks they’ve won and the government is fucked, the Man in Charge becomes willing to strike a deal: instead of being killed, the five captives will agree to having their memories of the last 48 hours wiped and replaced with false ones of getting waylaid uneventfully in a shitty desert town on their way to Nevada. In exchange, Preston will stop all the uploading before any of their footage goes live. One of the soldiers asks why they don’t just shut Youtube down for the day, and the Man in Charge explains “even we don’t fuck with Google.” Javier and Kristen both agree to have their memories wiped. Art, however, takes a moment to lament the loss of this Great Truth to the world, and wonders if they shouldn’t be willing to give their lives to ensure that information gets out to the people. 

Since none of the others are willing to die for the cause—like, even a little bit—Art goes along with the vote and the group accepts the deal. Preston asks only one more token in payment—that the Man in Charge say, to his face, “I am the Man...and you made me your bitch.” The Man in Charge argues that the memory is going to be almost immediately erased, but ultimately gives in. Two Men in Black enter and set up a device designed to alter memories. Art realizes with shock that the device looks exactly like the one on the photo in his wallet. Comparing the photo to the real thing, he surmises that his father must have taken it shortly before his own memories were altered. Art laughs to himself, contented at the cosmic irony, and volunteers to be the first strapped into the device. His consciousness fades as otherworldly anesthesia takes hold.

What follows is a step-by-step, but hugely abbreviated, repeat of much of Act I. Rapid-fire, we see funny, awkward, and stupid moments that transpired between the time the Galaxy Wagon left Odessa and the time the team spent their last night at the Motel 6 way off the Strip. They stop at some of the same gas stations, where at least one attendant thinks they are assholes for not remembering him. We even see Kristin, Javier and Art infiltrate the abandoned wing of the base through a convenient hole they find already cut in the fence. Kristen gets blinded yet again, and Art admits his lies yet again. But this time, when they are ordered to surrender and Javier says “Chinook,” nothing happens—well, actually, the door to the elevator does jiggle a little, but it has a bike lock on it now and no one notices.

Detained and reunited with Preston, the gang get their GoPro confiscated, are briefly questioned, and then are deposited at the gates and told they’re free to go. Preston admits the government agents seemed like “super nice guys,” which irks him. Stephanie intercepts them as they sullenly pull the Galaxy Wagon back into the hotel parking lot, asking what they discovered. Kristen angrily informs her of Art’s deception, and their failure to find any evidence of alien life, then storms off to her room. Stephanie isn’t surprised about the latter, but is pretty upset about the former. Art blows them off and retreats to his own room, and Preston suggests they go to his room to watch what GoPro footage he did get from his remote terminals before the feed went dead. Stephanie can use the footage of Art giving himself up as part of her story, and she still thinks she can cobble something together out of all this—the story of a broken and desperate man at the end of his professional life, pulling those around down with him. It’s not First Contact, but it’s something. Javier tags along hoping to score with Stephanie again before the group disperses.

In Preston’s room, they huddle around the laptop and start watching footage, but almost immediately, the computer goes dead for a moment, then a fullscreen HD video feed of a well-dressed alien aboard the bridge of a saucer takes over. The alien announces, in computer-produced English, that this message is being beamed to all devices on Earth capable of audiovisual transmission, in the respective languages of each listener, and the volume will now be amplified. Preston finds that he has no control over the computer, and indeed, the volume then goes all the way up as the alien Leader continues their speech. 

Through the wall, Art watches, mouth agape, as the same feed plays on the TV in his room. His father’s photo is in his hand and a forgotten bottle of liquor has been dropped to the floor. The alien Leader explains that they come in peace, and in the interest of what we would call a “humanitarian mission,” they are excited to share many technological and medical boons that will improve and enrich our lives greatly, and allow our species to, in due time, ascend to an equal place in the galactic community. Through another wall, Kristen sings loudly to herself while taking a soothing shower, completely missing First Contact as it unfolds on her laptop screen, hotel TV, and phone all at the same time. On her various screens, the Leader goes on to say that all they ask in exchange for their treasures, as a measure of devotion, is that each human provide...three bones.

We see the rest of the speech from within the alien ship itself. After a moment, the Leader laughs into his viewscreen and says they’re just messing with us, and that everything is free. They have come at the behest of the Blorb Beacon, deposited on Earth half a century ago and activated last night. As tradition dictates, they will communicate primarily through the member of the human species who was granted the incredible honor of activating the Beacon. The Leader expresses some surprise that they have selected one Art Beale as their Beacon-Host, a relatively obscure American late-night radio personality, rather than a scientist, engineer, or leading political figure, as most species do. But so be it. Welcome to the neighborhood. The feed clicks off.

Back on Earth, Art, who had just recovered the bottle he dropped on the floor, drops it again. He can hear Javier, Stephanie and Preston shouting from the next room. He can’t make out what they’re saying, but he gets the idea, and runs outside to meet them. From the outside of the hotel, we see Art, the three in Preston’s room, and Kristen, now in a towel and loudly demanding to know what she missed, burst from their respective rooms. It’s a cavalcade of incoherent shouting that abruptly stops short as everyone sees, for the first time, the dozens of flying saucers hovering low around the hotel parking lot. Several are busy zapping Area 51 jeeps and choppers, freezing them harmlessly in place. A saucer lands, and bright light billows out. The Leader emerges, traveling effortlessly on one of the goofy Segue-looking things the gang earlier chose not to use. It actually looks surprisingly efficient, and a few odd missiles that target it are turned into puffs of steam as they get into range.

Having experienced First Contact for the second time, the group inches forward to meet the alien. The Leader greets Art, who stammers that they must have made a mistake, that he didn’t activate any Blorb. The Leader cuts him off: “It’s okay, Art, you’ve all done well. We’ve been watching you since you signaled, and I’m sure you’re confused. We can explain. Bring your friends aboard. There’s a lot of work to do.” Once in fondling range, the Leader touches Art on the forehead, and Art’s mind is instantly flooded not only with memories of their time inside Area 51, but also with volumes of privileged alien information and knowledge of the entire galactic civilization that exists outside Earth’s influence. 

Scared but excited, all five of them step onto the ship’s gangplank, walking right by the Man in Charge, who himself has been zapped and frozen with a stupid look on his face. Preston idly mentions that his laptops have probably posted the video of Art’s freakout to Youtube by now. Art is miffed. Cut to black.

Alongside the film’s credits, we see an extended promo for Art’s new TV show, now the dominant news program on Earth, Watch This Space. It’s translated into every language, and dispenses information that the aliens beam directly into Art’s brain before each episode. It’s evident from the promo that Preston, Kristen, Stephanie and Javier comprise the show’s primary crew, and that the aliens have already affected life on Earth for the better: ending wars and traffic, curing intractable diseases, reversing environmental damage and aiding us in our attempts to colonize Mars and alleviate the population boom Earth is soon to experience. Kristen is the show’s producer, Javier and Stephanie have three kids—all accidents—and Art keeps his grandfather’s photo framed on the wall of his huge penthouse office. 

We end on an Andy Rooney-esque “rant” about what’s wrong with alien culture from none other than the Roswell coot Stephanie interviewed in Act I. He’s all for our integration into a higher society, but do they need to make that gross “florping” sound whenever they open their mouth-holes? And whatever happened to stamps? The ansible is all well and good, but for his money, you can’t beat the feeling of licking a small portrait of Teddy Roosevelt.

All is well in the Universe!