The sensational appeal of easy money can't be ignored by local entertainers, hellbent on avoiding the grind through clever artifice and dissimulation.
A kind-hearted businessperson distantly known to them suddenly has need of traditional labour, steady jobs which the artists know and are capable of doing if thereby tasked.
Several of them find work in the lavish gardens and fertile fields, intuitively observing the distinguished peace of agile mind accompanying the demands.
Yet performance is their goal the sly creation of a play, to be effectively executed with awkward timing and hapless yet industrious wherewithal.
They hope to secure a healthy income through enticing advertising and swift delivery, and hope to convince the commercial architect to wholeheartedly fund their lithe endeavours.
They put on the show.
He takes it in.
And unfortunately notices that it's terrible.
The resigned actors and actresses noticing the same thing.
The group nevertheless applauding.
The actors continue to sincerely pretend that they've created an unmatched masterpiece, the captivating humour all-encompassing as rehearsals eclectically facilitate.
The kind-hearted patron sees no need to deconstruct their false impression, and rather enjoys the creative novelty and its distinct lack of flowing melody.
The question remains, will the public like it?, as opening night quickly descends.
Mutual appreciation shortly giving way.
To critical notice and descriptive admiration.
*Is this how films really get made dad?
**I'm afraid so son, I'm afraid so.
*Do any adults doing anything actually know what they're doing?
**If people like what they do, yes, otherwise, I'm afraid not.
*Sounds like growing up's just a huge waste of time dad.
**Many would agree with you son, although others may contradict you.
*Can we go out for ice cream?
**Yes, son, three scoops each.
