The series is a horror-comedy shot vertical for social. Each episode runs about sixty seconds and plays like a mockumentary — a woman sits for a straight-faced interview about a genuinely minor everyday tragedy, intercut with the events themselves.
In the pilot she leaves her water bottle on a park bench and doesn't realize until hours later. It's played exactly like a documentary about grief.
One shoot day in the Salt Lake City area, two locations. One lead carries the whole thing — there's no one to cut away to.
She's the only person on screen. Half the episode is a locked-off interview, chest-up, static camera, nothing to hide behind. The other half is a frantic search through a house, and a run across a park.
We need someone who can sit still and be funny without doing anything, then throw themselves around a living room ten minutes later.
Do not play this for comedy.
Every line in this script is funny only if you perform it completely straight. She is not in on the joke. She does not find any of this absurd. She is a woman being interviewed about a loss, and she means every word.
The moment the performance winks at the audience, the whole thing collapses. Play the grief for real and let the material be ridiculous on its own.
Three short beats. Perform them in order, straight to camera, as if answering an off-screen interviewer.
"I've never lost a water bottle. Not one. And I own like six… well, now five."
Smug and completely certain. She's proud of this. The correction at the end should land like a small, inconvenient fact she's choosing not to dwell on.
"That's when I realized I left it at the park."
Then hold. Say the line, then stay completely still and blank for a full three seconds before the take ends. Don't fill it, don't react, don't break. This hold is the single most important thing on the tape.
An off-camera interviewer asks, gently:
"If you could tell your water bottle one last thing right now, what would it be?"
"The lid understood me better than most people do. Straw one day, spout the next, with zero judgment. No one else in my life offers that."
Deflated and quiet. Pause first — consider the question far too seriously before you answer. This is a eulogy and she means every word of it. The more sincerely you play it, the better it works. No tears, just tired.
Under two minutes total. One take is enough — we'd rather see one honest attempt than a polished edit.
Everything in one form. Takes about two minutes.
Your submission is in. We're reviewing tapes Monday and you'll hear back either way by Tuesday, October 6.
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cameron@peakexposuremedia.com