My film opens with a painfully poignant shot of a happy, young child chasing a balloon—an adorable redheaded six-year-old boy who will immediately remind us of a young Opie Taylor in an era of unbridled innocence.

That shot lasts a full second before I purposefully jump cut to a familiar scene with a different tone. We see a wide shot of the floor of the New York Stock Exchange at the exact moment it is announced that the economy is in ruins. Over the course of the next second, we pan down to a nameless young every-trader in whose face we see the fear and panic that precedes a global moral apocalypse.

Cut to a luxurious half-second shot of a puppy in front of a volcano. Followed by a suspenseful half-second glimpse of a baby crying for humanity.

If you’re at the edge of your seat, then you’re actually in the palm of my hand.

These are the groundbreaking first three seconds of my latest seven-second film, No, You Didn’t, which takes the viewer down a chillingly dark road with a tale of a world gone mad represented as a passion play whose characters are the societally-damaged guests at a child’s backyard birthday party (explored fully in the last four seconds). These guests ride an emotional seesaw with deep betrayals, explosive secrets, and ironically named “goody” bags.

I’m letting you in on my vision, because today is the final day to raise the money we need, I need—nay, the FILM needs—to be brought to life. We need you to be our partner in crime, and by “crime” we mean “magic.” And by “partner” I mean “new friend with money.”

The seven-second movie art form is at the forefront of the cinematic world right now – exploding past the five-second pioneers and the lazily ambitious six-second auteurs who, in my humble opinion, might have added a second, but left innovation behind (with the exception of “Six-Second Godfather,” which I’m a fan of by the way).

I won’t reveal too much about the epic last four seconds of the film, but I guarantee that even the most jaded of the “Sixth Sense”-overdosed viewers will be surprised by the twisted connection between Coriolanis (the six-year-old redhead) and Spanish Bobby (the mysteriously doe-eyed stock trader with a past). The tension builds to a crescendo at the 6.5-second mark when my dystopian vision of the future combines with the three coolest words I’ve ever written to give the audience the relief they’d longed for—and their deepest fears realized. The last half-second puts an exclamation point on the film and the audience won’t be able to suppress the chortle of universal recognition that I’ve led them towards throughout the film.

I’ll stop right there to let you catch your breath.

I’m reaching out to you for help because I believe that seven seconds is not only the perfect amount of time needed to tell a story rich with characters unburdened by subtlety that will make cineastes wet, but it also accommodates the “everyperson” film lovers who dream of having their souls stirred by a film they could watch entirely in an elevator ride to their humdrum office cubicles.

I hope you are one of those visionary souls willing to invest in the future, a philanthropic mensch willing to support the next wave of cinematic artists—and by “cinematic artists” I mean “me.” And by “wave” I mean “I really need you to give me some of your money.”

To hear more about the life-changing last four seconds of my film, No, You Didn’t AND to donate even just the smallest amount of money to a project that I know—I KNOW—will re-invent the seven-second film genre, please visit my fundraising page and contribute what you can. I’m excited to announce that I now take Discover.

Over the last 30 days, I’ve raised just over $74, but I feel confident, that with your help I can meet my goal of raising $56,000 by tonight. That’s only $8000 per second of film. The movie Titanic cost over $32,000 per second, and I still don’t think that boat looked real. Also, I’ve recently secured a promise from my mom to let me use the paved part of her backyard, so at the risk of sounding very James Cameron, I think I’m going to nail this thing.

Remember, anything you can contribute makes you a movie producer and your name will be on screen during the two-second credit sequence. Imagine that!

With the help of the pre-movie producing community, I feel confident that we’re going to finish this film. And then you, my new friend, can link it, tweet it, digg it, and share it with pride on the most social of medias announcing to the world that you are a movie producer. You produce movies. You.

We also need an old-timey fax machine, if you know of one.

Thank you!

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Gary Rudoren’s funny book
Comedy By Numbers
is available in our store.