The neon is dead under the hazy L.A. sun. ALICE (19, innocent but jaded, wearing a crocheted tube top and frayed bell-bottoms) sits by a fountain, sketching a wilting daisy in a spiral notebook. She’s bored. The summer of love is a decade old; now it’s just litter and bad deals.
“I’m late,” he whispers. “For a very important date… with my sponsor.”
The Caterpillar sings a sultry, meandering tune about transformation. As Alice takes a hit, the screen splits into three panels: in one, she’s a nun; in another, a rock groupie; in the third, a weeping bride. The harmonies are dissonant. The word “explicit” flashes. The neon is dead under the hazy L
A bored flower child follows a strung-out producer into the psychedelic underbelly of 1970s Hollywood, where every euphoric high comes with a dark, explicit price. FADE IN:
Alice is passed a martini glass filled with blue liquid. The Hatter leans close. She’s bored
She sees Alice. A slow, predatory smile.
“OFF WITH HIS PAYCHECK!” the Queen screams. Two CHESHIRE CATS (twins, identical to the first, shirtless and oiled) drag him away. “For a very important date… with my sponsor
“No children or animals were harmed. Only consenting adults and one very confused producer.”
The choreography is a lurid, stylized tableau of carnality: playing card soldiers stripping to g-strings, the White Rabbit (Cheshire’s twin) doing a pole dance on a grandfather clock, the Caterpillar conducting the chaos with her hookah like a baton.
He points to a derelict theater: