1972 - 'Last Tango in Paris.' 2025 version - 'Last Mango in Paris.'
A simple lesson in how 'not to' outline a movie script at 2 am.
Okay, I’ll admit that, as per usual, I woke up at 2 am this morning for ice cream. To the right of the fridge, I noticed a single, somewhat ageing mango (you should, by now, have some idea of how random my creative mind is for absurdity. Especially in the wee small hours). By the time I got back to bed, my subconscious had plucked the film title ‘Last Tango in Paris’ out of nowhere, and ‘Last Mango in Paris’ suddenly came to ‘fruition’ as the outline for a 2025 version.
So, here goes.
Alright, buckle up. This is going to get gloriously weird.
"Last Mango in Paris (2025)" - Script Outline
Logline: Two hyper-vegan, mango-obsessed individuals, one a BDSM enthusiast, the other a bird-fighting nymphomaniac, descend into a chaotic frenzy over a single mango in a Parisian apartment, culminating in a bizarre avian confrontation.
Characters:
Merlin Brando: A meticulously groomed, middle-aged vegan with a penchant for elaborate, mango-themed BDSM rituals. Think of a cross between a tech CEO and a dominatrix.
Latia Schneider: A young, intensely energetic woman, fresh from "mango-related trauma" therapy. She possesses an unnerving attraction to both mangoes and violent avian encounters.
Marcel "The Gull Whisperer" Dupont: (Replaces Jeanne's fiancé) A local Parisian "eco-influencer" who claims to have a psychic connection with seagulls. He is completely inept.
Madame Heloise: (Replaces Jeanne's mother) Latia's overbearing, organic-cosmetics-peddling landlady, with a hidden stash of forbidden non-vegan treats.
Scene Breakdown:
The Empty Apartment:
Merlin and Latia meet in a stark, minimalist Parisian apartment, both drawn by an online listing advertising "mango-adjacent living."
Their initial interactions are a mix of awkward vegan small talk and thinly veiled sexual tension, all centred around their shared mango obsession.
The apartment is mostly empty, except for a single, ripe mango sitting on the kitchen counter.
Mango Mania:
The sight of the mango triggers an immediate, primal response in both characters.
They engage in a series of increasingly bizarre and suggestive mango-related rituals, incorporating BDSM elements and intense, almost animalistic cravings.
The tension is so high, that the mango is almost a religious artefact.
The Seagull Heist:
Just as the tension reaches its peak, a lone, opportunistic seagull swoops in through an open window and snatches the mango.
Merlin and Latia erupt in a shared rage, pursuing the bird with a ferocity that defies all logic.
Avian Anarchy:
The initial pursuit escalates into a full-blown seagull invasion, reminiscent of "The Birds."
Latia reveals her disturbing fascination with bird combat, gleefully engaging in hand-to-talon combat, her skin becoming ripped, and her eyes shining with manic delight. She must, at all costs, save the mango.
Merlin is horrified, yet also aroused.
The Great Exposure:
Desperate to save Latia, and retrieve the mango, Merlin, in a moment of utter madness, drops his vegan leather trousers, and exposes himself.
The gulls, in utter disgust, take flight.
Latia, covered in small talon marks, looks at Merlin with a new found level of respect, and lust.
The Aftermath:
Marcel "The Gull Whisperer" Dupont arrives, claiming he can "sense the gulls' emotional distress." He proceeds to get attacked by a lone pigeon while offering it counselling.
Madame Heloise discovers the carnage, and in a moment of weakness, reveals a hidden stash of foie gras. This creates a new level of conflict.
Merlin and Latia, bonded by their shared trauma and mango-fueled desires, retreat to the apartment, their relationship forever altered. They begin to use the pigeon that Marcel was attacked by, in new and interesting ways.
Ending:
So, there they were, Merlin and Latia, a tableau of victorious chaos. Tiny cuts and stray pigeon feathers adorned their skin like badges of honour, while the sweet, artificial tang of mango-flavoured vegan gelatin filled the air. Their eyes, though, were glued to the spectacle unfolding before them. Marcel, a figure both tragic and hilarious, stood amidst a cloud of indignant pigeons, a patchwork of white droppings painting his clothes. He flailed at his phone, amidst a desperate symphony of coos and frustrated Google Translate searches echoing across the square, a truly bizarre and oddly beautiful end to our pigeon-filled adventure.
Ps. For the record, I do not use any mind-altering substances, prescribed medications, or over-the-counter drugs that could impair my cognitive function. I maintain a clear and rational thought process at all times. This is actually how I am, and possibly why I’m still single. Honest!
