An Off-Off-Off Broadway actor in a dystopian society finally gets a role as a masked Kabuki Artist in some Homeric Caribbean play in some crumbling post-Soviet theater past a boardwalk that no one walks on or will ever see as he destroys himself to find truth and meaning in the 36 characters he must play while obsessing over the one Israeli audio hypnotist in the audience and his IRA clad Hollywood mentor who take him on a psychological journey inside himself to master the Kabuki.

SYNOPSIS:

THE UNMASKING OF A KABUKI ARTIST IS A CINEMATIC PSYCHOLOGICAL EXPERIENCE THAT COMBINES FILM, THEATER, SENSE MEMORY, AND AUDIO HYPNOSIS

Hispaniola. Haiti.

A man with a dictator’s mustache draped in colorful rags sings on Haiti’s Northern Coast, just west of the Dominican Republic where Rusty Worth has been filming underwater migratory fish culture unaffected by calamity knowingness or

UMFUCK

1980s Communist logo advertisement complete with the Russian- looking Stewardess. For National Geographobic. Junior.

Rusty's contents are thus:

Thirty years of life, Paul Newman’s eyes, a pocketful of wintergreen mints from China King Restaurant in New Jersey, one unopened fortune cookie, a current handful of fresh sardines, a 1978 khaki Brushman tent he lives in while taking “culture photos” for National Geographobic. Jr. He grew up in Atlantic City scouring the piers for mussels and clams. He trained as a blackjack dealer when he was sixteen, printing himself a federally passable fake ID. He wears his grandfathers’ silver Timex for good luck. The hands haven’t ticked in some time. But, the look has never run out.

The same amount of time in which

Rusty received the dead man’s watch, reaffirming the thought that his grandfathers’ time had in fact run out, and one day, some destitute, mixed race, blue-eyed outcast will be sucking on a stale mint that tastes like death or Robitussin from Shanghai’s Best, riding a motorcycle down the Pan American highway, which will still feel incredibly Pan American, with big rigs still moving oil from Texas to Nicaragua or open backed pickups laced with steel or copper piping and poorly strapped-in canisters of flammable nitrogen, still transporting a dozen Guatemalans to Archie’s side of the road chicken joint or moving them further north for the hopes of a better life. And, that cocksure adventurer whose name is Worth will possess the same blues that will allow him to charm his way through, while wearing his grandfather, Rusty’s, good luck watch with hands that no longer tick in time, however late in luck it may be. A whacked night of voodoo and Rusty’s inoperable need for finding the uncharted led him to this church built on top of this ancient slave burial ground on what used to stand an enormous, colorless, stark white, British plantation home to centuries of gross indecencies. Rusty’s lips pucker as his tongue is reminded of the cheap, sugar- free Velamints that his grandmother so lovingly fed him on the boardwalk in Cape May. After they’d cook the crabs. Rusty Worth laughs to himself, constantly finding himself in weird situations with puckering lips from subpar mints on ancient slave burial grounds, and at this point can merely roll his Caribbean blue eyes that seem like when you’re looking at them, you’re staring awfully deep into the depths of the ocean. In the retina, you see the little fish.

We realized Rusty is just a character in the Karibuki. The Caribbean Kabuki that our actor, let's call him some kind of Jake, has finally gotten cast in, but of course he has to wear a mask, play 36 characters, and, no one gives a shit or will ever see this show.

That doesn't stop his IRA clad, old school Irish, Hollywood producer neighbor from taking Jake into a psychological deep dive into sense memory and what it really takes to act.

"I tortured Daniel (Day Lewis) for two days. On The Boxer he would't film it until he could do one million jump ropes, so I threw him out of a helicopter. The IRA thought we were terrorists flying the helicopters over Belfast, Hollywood thought we were terrorists, the drug dealers in Hells Kitchen thought we were cops or worse drug dealers, we acted the part. Act. Sean Penn's the only motherfucker LEGALLY allowed to smoke on an airplane."

He reminds him, acting is a deeply psychological journey

IT IS A GIFT AND A DUTY. YOU FAIL TO CONNECT, YOU DIE.

So, they go through awful sense memories.

But, no one ever goes to the show.

Until one day,

HE SEES THE SHADOW OF SOMEONE SITTING IN THE THEATER.

She looks like a Kabuki doll

He

chases

her

down

the

street.

HIS MASK RUNNING AFTER HER IN THE RAIN

She was a surveillance audiologist at the Gaza Strip. She's now a refugee who records adult fairy tales at two different frequenies in the ears of mannequins to put humans into trance-like states to reprogram their minds.

She puts him under

we enter the world of the

holograms

FEELS PURE & AUTHENTIC

THEY ENTER THE CLOUD FOREST AND MUSEUM OF HOLOGRAMS (BASED ON THE WORK OF DR. LLOYD GLAUBERMAN)

we RELAX the reader / viewer.

He becomes obsessed and addicted.

Needs her. Her technique. Psychobabble.

Nye dies.

He destroys himself on stage. She can no longer watch. She is losing her hearing, which is why she goes to the visual Kabuki.

He must choose. Continue the deep dive destruction or lose her. But, now he has become Rusty Worth, and his semi-comical demon, and the old lady, young boy, lizard, and wearer of the mask. There is no way out besides entering The Kabuki.

THE UNMASKING OF A KABUKI ARTIST