Picture this: a crowded subway where every person is wearing a giant, oversized 70s disco ball as a hat, dancing to a silent orchestra, and the train stops mid‑track so the whole station becomes a silent film set – everyone’s frozen mid‑step, just waiting for the invisible cue to resume the absurd ballet. The camera pans over the bewildered commuters, and a lone street musician plays a kazoo solo in a tiny tuxedo, while a news anchor in a superhero cape delivers the latest weather report in a dramatic, yet utterly irrelevant, voiceover. The scene ends with the train door opening to reveal a stage‑set of a giant, over‑the‑top popcorn machine, and everyone suddenly erupts into a synchronized, yet completely ridiculous, popcorn‑eating contest.

So you’re telling me that if you stare at the popcorn for long enough, you’ll see the real groove, right? Sure, that’s a great way to keep a whole city awake. I’d start with a scene where everyone’s sitting in a circle, eyes closed, breathing in popcorn aroma while a lone drummer plays a metronome that only tick‑tocks when someone blinks. When the rhythm drops, the whole grove sways, but then someone forgets to close their eyes, and the whole thing dissolves into a chorus of confused pigeons. Just perfect irony for a documentary that never quite knows if it’s a satire or a lullaby.