The Fountain

<p>Two no-talents nobodies have each created a masterpiece in a kiddie art exhibit at a museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago. That critic over there wants to rep them. Be their manager. Guide their careers.</p><p>That critic? He's going to find out that maybe just maybe they both drank from a fountain on the third floor of the museum. <em>Maybe</em> it's the water that made them geniuses. Regardless their legacy is secure. They will be remembered. Celebrated.</p><p>How jealous would you be? Just one drink. And you could be the celebrated one. But shortly thereafter you die.</p><p><em>Maybe.</em></p><p>The Fountain follows four characters pulled into an existential riptide.</p><ul><li><em>Jasper P. Duckworth</em> a washed-up art critic and failed playwright who wants to champion the fountain.</li><li><em>Ross Robards</em> a successful TV show artist and veteran who wants to destroy the fountain.</li></ul><p>Caught in the middle of this impending minor apocalypse are two underground artists:</p><ul><li><em>B</em> a middle-aged sculptor always on the verge of a big break. Will he drink?</li><li><em>Jawbone</em> B's talented but self-destructive rival. Will she drink?</li></ul><p><em>Would you drink? </em></p><p>If you've ever had a creative idea urge or just wanted to call bullshit on something hanging in a museum you might feel the pull of <em>The Fountain</em> a literary dramedy in the vein of Vonnegut Palahniuk and Monty Python.</p><p>Introduction by Pinckney Benedict</p><p><em>Warning: Side effects may include: ego inflammation FOMO flashbulb eyes aphenphosmphobia loss of privacy stalkeritis champagne lips laryngospasm combat finger IBS loss of common sense cocaine tongue chronomentrophobia and a slight chance of a minor apocalypse. Consult your spiritual advisor before imbibing.</em></p>