JOSH
GROBAN

BE ALRIGHT

BY STEPHEN WAYNE MALLETT
Rep: Laure Scott

This concept stands for the quiet rebellion of breaking cycles, embracing vulnerability, and rediscovering light in the spaces we once believed were beyond saving.

A house stands still—vast and hollow. Its white walls loom like silent witnesses to memories long faded. Every window is veiled with heavy curtains, draping the space in a cold cyan and deep blue gloom. Light barely pierces through, casting faint beams that dance with drifting dust in the air. This mansion knows no joy—only quiet, suffocating stillness. The air feels dense, pressing in from all sides. Each breath echoes with the weight of emotions too complex to name. The atmosphere hums with overstimulation, but nothing moves. Nothing lives. Not yet.

From the dim haze, a figure emerges—a dancer. Barefoot, delicate yet heavy with the burden of her own mind. She drifts into a sliver of light, her face turned toward a window as if searching for something beyond. But when her reflection stares back, she recoils. The walls close in again. She slinks into the shadows, back into her looping thoughts. Trapped. Her body knows how to move, yet she hesitates. Every step seems too hard, as though the floor beneath her is made of glass, threatening to shatter. The overstimulated world outside feels unreachable, too loud, too fast. Inside, she remains frozen.

Josh wanders through the mansion—an almost ghostly presence. His expression mirrors the same heaviness that weighs down the dancer. His steps are slow, and deliberate. He moves through the moody corridors like a man carrying a silent storm, each room reflecting fragments of unspoken emotions. He doesn’t try to break the stillness; he simply exists within it, singing softly as though narrating the soul’s quiet battle. His voice threads through the air, subtle yet piercing. The house becomes a labyrinth of emotions—each corner a new shadow, each shadow a new weight.

Solo members of the choir linger in the wings singing softly. Everyone is alone for now.

Then, something shifts. The dancer forces herself to move. Her body stumbles, each motion a battle against the inertia of her mind. Frustration sparks in her eyes; her limbs shake with resistance. But still, she pushes. She falls and rises again. With each attempt, the tension in the room swells. The struggle feels raw, visceral—a war against the invisible. And then, a moment—a glimmer of something else. Joy? Hope? It’s fleeting, but it’s enough. Her hand reaches out. Fingers brush against the edge of the curtain. With trembling determination, she pulls.

Light explodes.

The drapes open, and the room is flooded with radiant golden light. Lens flares streak across the frame, jolting the world awake. Cyan and blue are swallowed by warmth—golden hues wrapping the space in something almost divine. Subtle prisms glisten, scattering rainbows in delicate patterns. The air shifts. The dust no longer feels heavy; it dances, alive in the newfound brilliance. And with this light, they come.

The choir emerges from the shadows. Silent figures no longer. Their voices rise in harmony, filling the once-empty halls. As they move through the mansion, they pull back each curtain one by one. Every window uncovered brings another flood of light, another wave of warmth. The walls no longer loom—they breathe. The house transforms from a cold tomb to a living cathedral of sound and color. Josh remains, singing to himself, his voice blending with the rising chorus. He drifts through the shifting spaces, a narrator watching the story finally unfold.

As the song rockets toward its peak, the energy erupts. The dancer, Josh, and the choir gather in a circle—a connection forged in the breakthrough. The camera spins around them, faster and faster. Laughter and movement collide. What was once cold is now alive. What was once isolated is now united. The rhythm of life pulses through the room. They vibe together, breaking the cycle. This is the moment of freedom, of release. The mansion glows in full daylight—a space no longer haunted but healed.

And then, stillness returns.

The camera slows. The energy settles. The dancer stands where she began. The room is quiet once more. But this time, everything is different. Light pours through the open window. She stands in its warmth, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of a new beginning. The burden has been lifted. The loop has broken. She gazes out the window again—but this time, she doesn’t slink back. She stays, basking in the light. In her victory. In her choice to start again.