TIGHT on TWO PAINTED EYES. The pupils are impossibly wide.
Imploring. The watery rims spill a single tear.
We PULL OUT... revealing the eyes belong to a child. A young
girl, fingers clasped pitifully. She's forlorn, alone in a
dirty gray alley. We feel shame. Compassion. Sorrow...
Then -- an IDENTICAL girl SLAPS in front of the first one.
Then another! It's a PRINTING PRESS, the creation of a BLUR
of sad children.
A KINETIC montage! HORDES of gazing WAIFS get lithographed,
Huddling in worry. Floating in space. POSTERS.
We ZOOM into a MAGAZINE AD: A 1960's era come-on -- "IT'S
KEANE! MUSEUM-QUALITY ART, MAILED DIRECTLY TO YOUR HOME!"
A blizzard of NEWSPAPER ARTICLES: "Meet America's Million-
Dollar Painter!" "Keane Masterpiece at World's Fair"
Painted EYES float by. Haunting... questioning...
A family Christmas, a Keane print over the
mantel. Kids play bumper pool, a Keane print in the b.g.
A blurry black-and-white TV: A talk show HOST holds up a Keane
MUSIC BUILDS. FASTER. Keane brochures. Catalogs. A flyer:
"Now Open! Keane Gallery"
MORE orphan's faces. Hungry, unblinking, beseeching.
A CRESCENDO -- then -- SILENCE.