"Carl, babe, loved that vampire thing you did," the executive says, giving the director's hand a quick wring and motioning him to a seat. "Listen, I've gone over that Joan of Arc picture you made, and it spoke to me. Seriously. Goosebumps. I can only guess what you'd do with sound and a Joan who's a little less butch. I've gone over your treatment, and I think we're on the same page here. Now, where'd I put those notes...."

"Notes?" asks the director, nervously pushing his glasses back on his nose.

"Yeah, just a few. You know, you've got a great story here. A girl who hears voices, who fights like a man, who goes into battle and gets tossed on a bonfire--it's Braveheart meets Carrie. But your picture just starts with the trial. A bunch of ugly extras and that babe with the bad haircut. You're missing out on a load of backstory. I want to know what makes this Joan tick."

"Tick?" Dreyer replies, fighting back a growing panic. "She hears voices from God."

"Glad you brought that up," the executive says, producing a red pen. "Look, you've got this peasant girl who says God tells her to take France back from the British, and she's going to lead armies and whatnot. The talking-to-God thing works, don't get me wrong, but she also needs some kind of...payback. Suppose she's got some kind of sex trauma in her past? I see it now: She's a kid, and her sister's hiding her in a wardrobe from the British. All of a sudden, these big ugly rapist guys come in. While Joan's in the cabinet, one of 'em takes her sister, nails her to the door with a sword, and just starts banging her right there while the kid's inside. I can see the tagline now: 'Joan of Arc--This time it's personal.' "

"Dear God," says Dreyer, rubbing his eyes.

"About that," the executive says. "Without showing God, you did the best you could back then, with the spiritual close-ups, the upturned face, the yadda-di-yadda. But Carl, buddy--we've got ILM now! We'll do a CGI guy-in-the-sky, some time-lapse Close Encounters clouds, even this slow-motion dance I saw in a Sarah McLachlan video."

"But--but the presence of God is there in Jeanne's face!" Dreyer sputters.

"Jesus, Carl," says the executive, sounding hurt, "I'm starting to think you've never seen The Ten Commandments. But that's nothing. The battle scenes--nobody's ever shown what those fights were really like. Arms flying, blood spilling, all those catapults and cannonball contraptions--it'll be like that big fight in The Phantom Menace where all the robots got carved up. And believe you me, we've got guys who can do a decapitation that'll loosen your lunch."

Dreyer opens his mouth but cannot form words.

"Now the casting will be the key," the executive continues. "We need a Joan who can kick ass and wear short hair without looking like some Bulgarian women's pole vaulter. We got that chick with the duct-tape bra from The Fifth Element. Plus we've added a conscience who appears from time to time in the form of a stern cleric. I bet you're reading my mind on this one: Dustin Hoffman. As for the French king, only one actor could give the role of a treacherous 15th-century French monarch the kind of power and credibility it needs."

Dreyer looks up hopefully.

"John freakin' Malkovich," says the executive.

"Why are you doing this to me?" whimpers the director.

"Actually, Carl," says the executive, "I didn't want to break this to you, but it's already done. That French guy, Luc Besson--you know, La Femme Nikita? The Fifth Element?--wanted a crack at the story. He not only anticipated every suggestion we had to make, he added things we never dreamed of. I mean, who else would've thought of showing Joan's face getting roasted in the fire? And the scene where the guards rip off Joan's clothes? The guy's a French Joel Schumacher. He called his picture The Messenger. We'll have this baby on multiple screens in a thousand megaplexes come Friday."

"At last, I understand," says Dreyer, gathering his dignity and walking to the door. "I am in hell."