NØTATIØN

A FILM BY STEPHEN WAYNE MALLETT

PREMISE:
A mother's thirst for POWER & opulence leads to the DEATH OF HER DAUGHTER, THE COLLAPSE OF HER ESTATE, AND A VIOLENT HAUNTING ON HER FAMILY.

SUMMARY

In a world where ambition knows no limits, Ellie Owens (Dove Cameron) is caught in a triangular web of paranormal complication. After a decade of working on her craft as a dancer, Ellie has finally entered the gates of her dream dance company run by Martha Velmont ( Michelle Pfeiffer) her son Reid Velmont (Timothée Chalamet) and her daughter Anna Velmont (Elle Fanning) The timing and terms are stacked against Ellie as The Velmont’s once thrived in the upper echelons of the modern dance society, indulging in a life of excess and influence however after the tragic mid- performance death of Martha’s daughter, Anna, the estate is in shambles. Ellie is given the choice to help rebuild the empire for her shot in the spotlight, or run from the evil forces out to kill her and anyone who dares fight the curse upon the family.

THIS IS Black Swan meets The Conjuring

WITH A SPLASH OF EYES WIDE SHUT & ENTER THE VOID

Anna is the most celebrated dancer of the past two decades. She is an effortless beauty on and off the stage with a pure and angelic nature. You would never guess she is related to her dance mom from hell. In a unique realm of performing, Martha and Anna maintain their name to fame with powerful mother daughter duets. Martha reverts to her pure self on stage with Anna and it’s the only time their relationship shows true love. Reid is the fallen dancer who suffered a career ending leg injury induced by Martha’s reckless rehearsal style. Reid cannot help but envy his sisters place in the spotlight. His addiction to opioids often compromises his integrity.

The film begins outside of inherited opulence with Ellie by the ocean holding a small urn. With tears in her eyes, she debates pouring it out - not today. She quickly gathers herself placing the urn into a camera case. Snug in place next to an arsenal of prime lenses. She grabs her camera, and whips around greeting two clients; a bride and groom for a photo shoot. She is a cold blooded shooter burying pain into the side hustle that keeps her afloat. She pivoits her emotions from crushed to poised like an F1 car. Here she is - a widow photographing couples in a peak condition of love. It’s a depressing juxtaposition she endures to make a living.

Ellie exits the beach walking towards a common dance studio in the bitter cold. She is a vision of contradictions. Her fierce, penetrating eyes hold a quiet fragility beneath their intensity, captivating and unsettling in equal measure. The way Ellie’s unkempt hair frames her face gives her an air of elegance, but there’s something deeper—a resilience softened by a hint of vulnerability. She steps into the studio, rain tracing down her coat as she peels off layer by soaked layer, revealing a poised elegance beneath the storm’s chill. She reveals a vintage iPod mini and wraps her headphones around the device before stepping in to join the group. Around her, an unusual tension fills the lobby—students cluster in tight groups, exchanging glances and hushed murmurs, a nervous energy vibrating through the room. She pauses, her gaze sweeping over their anxious faces, confusion tightening her brow,

What’s got everyone so on edge?

The answer comes with the sudden hush that falls over the room.

The sound of sharp, deliberate footsteps and the clanking of a cane cuts through the buzz like a knife. The doors at the far end of the lobby open, and in walks Martha Velmont, a force of nature cloaked in elegance. Her every move is deliberate, her presence commanding. She’s fitted in black catching the light as it sways with her movements. Her heels click in perfect rhythm, her gaze scanning the room with an unrelenting sharpness that makes everyone stand a little taller—or shrink a little smaller.

Reid trails behind his mother limping in pain. His presence quieter but no less striking. He moves with a cane, the tap of its metal tip on the tiled floor punctuating his slower pace. A matte black leg brace boughe enough for bruce wayne glints outside of his tailored slacks, lending him an air of vulnerability and militant edge. He may be a fallen dancer, but his mamba mentality for creative direction and Velmont dance standards remain sharp.

Martha stops mid-room, pulling off her gloves one finger at a time with an almost theatrical precision. She hands them to Reid without looking, their silent exchange a testament to years of partnership. Ellie learns they are looking for an understudy for their next show.

“Let’s not waste time,” Martha says, her voice sharp and resonant.

The room springs into action. A flurry of movements as the dancers grab their assigned numbers, pinning them to their clothes. Ellie moves to grab hers, her fingers brushing against the paper as the significance of this moment sinks in.

This isn’t just any audition. This is the dance company she’s dreamed of for years.

As she pins the number to her top, she glances toward Martha and Reid, who watch the room with hawk-like intensity. Reid leans slightly on his cane, his face unreadable, while Martha’s sharp eyes assess every movement, every hesitation.Ellie straightens her posture as she prepares herself. You’ve worked for this. You’ve earned this. Show them. But even as she steels herself, a small ripple of unease creeps in, like the faint tremor before an earthquake.

Ellie is the clear choice by Martha & Reid but in a switch of power, the parents of the wealthiest dancer slip Martha a check cutting Ellie out of the equation. Reid is furious at his mothers sellout approach - the motive for money is a slap in the face for everything he stands for. It’s time like this when Ellie finds solace in the occasional black American Spirit to take the edge off.

Cut to the Velmonts black Escalade slicing through winding roads. Martha at the wheel, weaving through towering trees, the glint of wet pavement reflecting its powerful frame, close-ups of its wheels kicking up sprays of water and a nervous Reid in the passenger seat gripping the car handles.

They arrive at the gates of their estate—a towering structure of wrought iron, crowned with baroque flourishes. The gates creak open with a mechanical groan, revealing the grounds: a place of contradictions. Tungsten bulbs cast warm halos over freshly painted walls, clashing with harsh, dramatic shadows that stretch like claws across the white stone pathways. The rain pounds relentlessly, pooling in the cracks that whisper a century of power. The estate itself looms like a fortress, its walls thick and impenetrable, whispering stories of inherited power. In the distance, an iconic outdoor theater comes into view: concentric white circular platforms stacked like a surreal wedding cake, their design exuding the exclusivity of a high-fashion runway. Marble pillars surround the stage, each adorned with intricate sculptures that seem almost alive under the storm's flickering light. Beyond the theater, rows of dark durif grapes glisten in the moonlight, their sturdy vines defiant against the howling wind and pounding rain. The vineyard, ancient and regal, is a stark contrast to the modern decadence of the estate.

The Escalade pulls up to a private wing of the estate, where Martha steps out first, her heels striking the wet stone with absolute ownership. Reid follows more slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, the faint squeak of his leg brace underscoring every labored step.

Inside the estate’s private dance studio, clinical lighting bathes everything in sharp brilliance. Anna (Elle Fanning) stands poised at the center of a photo shoot on a raised platform, her movements fluid and deliberate as the camera clicks rapidly. Her long, flowing dress cascades like liquid silk, every fold engineered to mesmerize. Assistants quietly adjust lights, a makeup artist dabs powder on her cheek, and the photographer calls out precise directions.

Anna glides over to the computer to review the shots, smiling softly at the collaboration, when the door bursts open. Martha sweeps in like a gathering storm, shrugging her coat off into Reid’s waiting hands without a word of greeting. She strides straight to the side bar, pours a generous glass of inky Petite Sirah, and drinks it down in one commanding gulp. The rim of the glass catches the light, revealing an etched pentagram. A subtle shift ripples through her—an unmistakable descent into something colder and more menacing—as she sets the glass down and advances on the photo shoot.

At the photographer’s DIT station, Martha demands to see the images. The photographer steps aside reluctantly while she scrolls through the fresh captures, her finger slashing across the screen to delete the ones she rejects. She criticizes the lighting as too warm for a piece that needs to feel cold-blooded and dramatic, ordering immediate fixes.

Reid lingers by the door, offering a warm smile before moving to Anna. He wraps her in a gentle, protective hug, whispering that she is glowing. Anna manages a faint chuckle and smile in return, though the visible strain in her eyes reveals the tension beneath the surface.

Before Reid can continue, the double doors swing open once more revealing the understudy Karen and her parents. Their smiles wide but paper-thin, filling the studio with an instant chill of unearned arrogance.

Martha’s head snaps toward Reid, her eyes blazing. She hisses at him under her breath, demanding to know why they are here. Reid sighs, calm and unflinching, and explains that part of the family’s contribution includes featuring Karen in the promo material—it has already been arranged.

Martha’s wine glass slams down onto the marble table, dark drops splattering across the white surface. She steps closer, voice slicing like a blade, ordering him to keep them out of her sight. Reid gently reminds her that this family wants to become a major player with them. In an instant, Martha’s posture shifts; her eyes sharpen into pure business mode as she tells him to make them feel important, but under no circumstances to compromise the image for some shitty understudy.

Reid nods smoothly, his showman’s smile never wavering. He glides over to Karen’s parents with exaggerated warmth and guides them toward a quieter corner, promising a separate set of solo shots for Karen so she can truly stand out. It will be spectacular, he assures them; the images will be sent by tonight. The parents exchange a satisfied glance and nod in agreement.

As Reid returns, Anna pulls him aside, her voice low and edged with disbelief. She asks why the hell their mother is taking money from an understudy like Karen. Reid leans in close, whispering his speculation that Martha’s spending habits have grown more reckless and extravagant than ever—private jets, rare wines, and unseen indulgences that drain the accounts faster than any single deal can refill them

Karen steps onto the platform and immediately begins setting up her own cheap plastic ring light, its harsh, uneven glare cutting through the studio’s refined lighting. The photographer tenses and asks what she is doing. Karen waves him off dismissively—she needs to post a reel, hold on.

She adjusts her phone, then launches into a series of wildly exaggerated poses. The elegant fine-art atmosphere collapses into pure cringe as Karen dances awkwardly to a trending audio clip, the garish glow of her ring light clashing violently with the professional setup and turning the entire shoot into a mockery.

From across the room, Martha watches in silence. Her knuckles turn bone-white around the stem of her wine glass, lips pressed into a razor-thin line while rage simmers just beneath her polished surface. Karen’s parents, oblivious, smile and clap enthusiastically like proud spectators at a children’s soccer game.

The flash of a camera strobe transitions to Ellie shooting a wedding.

Ellie travels home to her small and run down loft, flips on the lights and begins importing her photos to lightroom. We hear the tapping of tiny feet and a chirp from Ellie’s pet bird named Chewy. His charming and cartoonish demenor is a welcoming and much needed drop of joy. Ellie opens her phone one more time and sure enough the algorithm takes her to a live video of Karen at the studio flexing the velmont clout with the utmost amount of cringe. Chewy mimics Karen making the both of them laugh. Ellie clicks her phone, rolls out a yoga mat, and stretches her body next to a cheap space heater.

Her movements are calculated, almost feline, her camera an extension of her body. The wedding reception is alive with chaos—laughter, clinking glasses, the thump of bass-heavy music—but she navigates it effortlessly, her keen eyes spotting moments of intimacy and joy. She crouches low to frame a shot of the couple’s hands intertwined, then pivots smoothly to catch the grandmother wiping a tear from her eye. Her 70-200 lens swings across the dance floor, zooming in on the flower girl twirling like a tiny ballerina. Sweat beads on her temple as she adjusts her settings on the fly, the low light of the venue challenging but invigorating. She thrives in the speed, the precision, the artistry of capturing fleeting moments.

Ellie pauses to download her footage onto her laptop. Holding her phone and sipping a cocktail, she scrolls through social media.

Karen’s TikTok pops up on her feed.

Ellie freezes, her brows furrowing. The poorly lit video, the exaggerated poses, the absurdity of the moment inside the world she will never be a part of—it all floods her with frustration. She gently closes her laptop keeping her rage at bay. She packs her gear, hugs the bride goodbye, and heads out shaking off the pain.

MARTHA’S PSYCHOSIS

SCENE 02 - A