“Now, my dear, I’ll give you one last chance!” The villainous Smedly Blackheart said, twirling his mustache. “Will you give me the deed to your father’s ranch and agree to marry me?”

 The object of his menacing threats, dear Doris Penderton, lay atop a large log, lashed to the wooden obelisk by a dozen or so turns or rope about her chest. Her hands and feet had likewise been cruelly bound. She squirmed and struggled, all to no avail. “Never!” She said, shaking her perfect golden curls. “I would rather die then marry such a cad as you!”

 “Well then...you shall have your wish, my dear!” Smedly replied. He spun around, his opera cloak flourishing in a dramatic billow. “Say your prayers! I’m sorry I won’t be able to stay and watch your imminent demise, but I have a little surprise planed for your fiance, Harry Dashing! Muahaha!” His hand went and seized the large lever controlling the sawmill. He paused, savoring the moment for a second before throwing the lever. As the mill began to start up with a clatter of machinery, the villain spun once more and flounced out, stage right.

 Meanwhile, the large circular saw spun up once more. The conveyor belt began to move, sending the struggling damsel backwards, headfirst into the impending peril. “Geez!” Doris cried in a loud voice. “Talk about a reversal of fortune!”

 “Cut!” The directors voice range out. As quickly as it had started up, the mill quieted back down. “How many times to I have to tell you…” He told the leading lady. “That kind of corny joking was alright in the Silent Films, but we’re making talkies now. People can actually hear your dumb gags. Ok…” He spun around and gestured to the rest of the film crew. “Let’s reset! From the top!” He sank into his chair. “Oh and somebody get her a gag…”