Commercials. Oh, my God, is that Dawson's Creek's Henry in the new Sandra Bullock movie? In, like, a key role? Let me just get out my Signs of the Apocalypse For Dummies book here, because I think I remember something about this. Furthermore, it looks like he still hasn't washed his hair. Note to the next people who hire this kid: Please pay him in shampoo.
Xerox tries to wave down some help. As they voice over that "people are very friendly," a guy comes over and helps them push the SUV out of the sand, but they're all casting very long shadows right now, so it's obviously getting late. I think they probably spent a lot more time there than you could tell from the way this was cut together. When the SUV is free and clear, the guy even gives them directions to the dune. Thanks, helpful guy! Shola, in an interview, cautions against counting Xerox out too early.
Mary and the Fruit at the Roadblock. The Fruit agrees to do it. "You have to barter," Mary commands, and actually that's not the word she wants, but that's all right. In what winds up being a pretty funny sequence, Mary barks that "everything's negotiable" and that the Fruit should "knock it right in half immediately," while the Fruit gathers her things together and sort of chants to herself, "Yes, Mary...yes, Mary..." I love this team. "Peach, let them go against each other!" Mary loudly suggests as the Fruit walks toward the market. "Okay, Mary, I can do this," Peach calls over her shoulder. Now, in fairness to the Fruit, it's hard to tell exactly what happens here, because there is quite a bit of cutting, but it appears that essentially, she takes the prices exactly as they are rattled off to her. "Sixty? Okay! Forty? Okay!" I find it hard to believe she really did that, given the conversation she just had with Mary, but it looks like she did. She does get all the animals, though, and goes to get the giraffe. "I have to come back here shopping someday," she says.
Boston at the sand dune. They talk about how hard the hike was. As they climb, some crafty editor shoehorns in a shot of Alex -- slo-mo, windblown, side-lit, and rippling with buffness. This shot could not be more perfectly packaged for me if it had a tag hanging from it that said, "To Alli. Love, The Editors." I am utterly unmoved. Perhaps I'm becoming less shallow. Shut up, it could happen.