Iin 2009, there was a book of humor essays by Sloane Crosby titled, "I was told there would be cake."
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Write a treatment for a short story in the style of Dorothy Parker, based only on the opening line, in quotation, “I was told there’d be cake.”
Provide the first paragraph.
"I was told there’d be cake," Evelyn Monroe remarked, her voice carrying a blend of jest and disappointment as it cut through the haze of cigarette smoke and idle chatter of the jazz club. The promise of cake had lured her here, not because of a particular fondness for dessert, but because it hinted at a celebration or at least an attempt at one, and Evelyn was in dire need of something to celebrate. As she leaned against the bar, sipping her gin rickey with an air of detached amusement, she surveyed the room. It was filled with the usual suspects: writers with their egos thinly veiled behind layers of tweed and cynicism, socialites fluttering about in feathers and pearls, all of them dancing around the edges of genuine happiness. In a world where appearances were everything and substance was an afterthought, Evelyn found herself pondering the absence of the cake as if it were the missing piece to an ever-elusive puzzle of fulfillment.
Expand to a treatment, as if by Dorothy Parker.
Title: "Cake and Other Disappointments"
Opening Scene: A smoky, dimly lit jazz club in New York City during the roaring twenties, where the glitterati of the era congregate to escape the mundane realities of life. The protagonist, Evelyn Monroe, a sharp-tongued, quick-witted young woman with aspirations of becoming a writer, navigates the complexities of urban life and the literary elite with a cynical yet hopeful perspective.
Act 1: The Promise
Evelyn attends a gathering at the club, lured by the promise of an illustrious cake, symbolic of the grandeur and opulence that her life lacks. The story opens with her realization that the cake, much like many promises made to her, remains unseen. “I was told there’d be cake,” she muses to herself, setting the tone for a narrative filled with unmet expectations and disillusionment. Through clever dialogue and introspective monologues, Evelyn critiques the societal norms and the facade of happiness perpetuated by those around her.
Act 2: The Search
Driven by a mixture of curiosity and a desperate need for something to write about, Evelyn embarks on a metaphorical search for the cake, which represents her quest for fulfillment, recognition, and perhaps, love. She navigates through a series of comedic yet poignant encounters with various characters: a disillusioned poet, a charming yet unreliable jazz musician, and a cynical older woman who sees through the veneer of societal expectations. Each interaction is laced with Dorothy Parker-esque wit and insight, revealing the complexities of human nature and the often fruitless pursuit of happiness in material things.
Act 3: The Revelation
As the night wears on, Evelyn comes to the realization that the cake was never the point. The true essence of life, she concludes, lies in the journey and the connections we make with others along the way. In a moment of clarity, she decides to write about her experiences, channeling her observations and encounters into a narrative that critiques and satirizes the world around her.
Epilogue: The Legacy
Evelyn's story ends with her achieving modest literary success, her writings appreciated for their wit, humor, and poignant critique of early 20th-century society. She remains a fixture at the jazz club, her sharp wit and keen observations making her a beloved, if somewhat feared, member of the literary elite. The cake remains a running joke among her friends, a symbol of life's unmet expectations and the sweetness that can be found in the most unexpected places.
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The treatment for "Cake and Other Disappointments" offers a snapshot of Evelyn Monroe's life, blending Dorothy Parker's signature wit with themes of disillusionment, search for meaning, and ultimately, self-discovery. Through Evelyn's eyes, readers are invited to explore the contradictions and complexities of human nature, all while navigating the vibrant and tumultuous backdrop of New York City in the twenties.
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ANOTHER TWIST ON "I WAS TOLD THERE'D BE CAKE"
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Another use of the phrase, I was told there'd be cake.
The setting: Edward Albee, playwright, has written WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLFE, which will catapult him to awards and fame. The iconic first line is (in the real play and movie), "What a Dump!" which Elizabeth Taylor says as the movie begins and she enters her disheveled house. SHe proclaims "WHAT A DUMP!" several times, and pesters her husband by asking what movie is that from, is that from a Betty Davis movie. Now, in our surreal version, we rewind, and the play (or movie script) as as the real one, except the first line is now "I was told that there'd be cake." This line is absurdly bad and has no connection to any iconic betty davis movie, either. Edward Albee is still the young genius author of WHO'S AFRAD OF VIRGINIA WOOLFE, but in this version, it has a stinker of an unfathomable opening line. We have either a writer's room or a sound stage, and young genius director Mike Nichols gingerly proposes what we the audience or readers realize is a far better line, "What a DUMP!" Nichols is tortured trying to figure out how to get Albee to realize the replacement line "What a DUMP!" is far better, but in our parallel universe, Albee is unable to realize this, and least not soon. Exchanges ensure, perhaps Elizabeth Taylor enters the [writers room or soundstage] and creates a bit of confusion but settles on a preference for "What a DUMP!" The comedy is that there is one thing awry, that Albee has come up with the stinker opening line and Albee is comically dense to realize so. This is the core humor, a comedy with an absurd motivation. Eventually Nichols and/or Taylor get ALbee to go along with the new line, perhaps by flattering Albee in some way. OK, go ahead and give me a treatment of this vignette. By the way, the picture you just made is very good and conveys the mood well.
ChatGPT
In an alternate universe where the absurd is king and logic takes a back seat, we find ourselves on the precipice of cinematic history—albeit with a peculiar twist. Edward Albee, still the bright-eyed genius behind the seismic play "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?", has penned what would become a cornerstone of American theater and cinema. However, in this quirky reality, the play's iconic opening line, delivered with caustic zest by Elizabeth Taylor, is not "What a Dump!" but rather the inexplicably mundane, "I was told there'd be cake."
The setting is a soundstage that feels as if it's caught between worlds: one foot in the bristling energy of creativity and the other in a farce only the universe could have scripted. Mike Nichols, the young, visionary director, is the first to sense the discordant note in Albee's opening gambit. Around him, the set buzzes with the usual pre-production chaos, a perfect backdrop for the unfolding comedy.
Nichols approaches Albee with the delicacy of a diplomat broaching a peace treaty. "Edward," he begins, "your script—it's brilliant, groundbreaking. But this line about cake, it's... unexpected. What if, and hear me out, Martha were to exclaim something more...befitting her disarray? Say, 'What a Dump!'?"
Albee, ever the stalwart defender of his literary choices, raises an eyebrow. "Cake, Mike, is a metaphor. A deep, existential cry for the unfulfilled promises of life. It's comedy, it's tragedy—it's the human condition."
The exchanges that follow are nothing short of a masterclass in comedic tension. Nichols, armed with nothing but his wits and an unshakeable belief in the sanctity of "What a Dump!", embarks on a Sisyphean quest to sway the playwright. He attempts logic, charm, and even a poorly executed metaphor about frosting as the façade of societal expectations.
Enter Elizabeth Taylor, the veritable force of nature, her presence instantly transforming the soundstage into her personal court. Initially bewildered by the cake debacle, she listens, amused, as Nichols and Albee duel with words. Finally, with the air of a queen bestowing knighthood, she declares, "Darlings, 'What a Dump!' has a certain... je ne sais quoi. It's deliciously dramatic. It's us."
Nichols, seizing the moment, plays his final card—a flattery so finely tuned it would make Albee's prose blush. "Edward, only a writer of your calibre could conceive such a line. It's audacious, it's raw—it's genius."
Albee, caught in the glow of Taylor's endorsement and Nichols' praise, begins to waver. "Well," he muses, "if Liz sees the brilliance in 'What a Dump!'—there may be a layer of cake... I mean, complexity, I've overlooked."
The mood on the soundstage shifts from tension to triumph, as Albee concedes, rewriting the opening line to its now-iconic state. Nichols and Taylor exchange victorious glances, their alliance forged in the comedic crucible of cake.
In the end, "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" premieres to rapturous acclaim, its opening line "What a Dump!" hailed as a stroke of genius. Albee's cake line, meanwhile, becomes the stuff of legend—a whimsical footnote in the annals of theatrical history, a delicious reminder of the comedy that almost was.
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As the credits roll in our alternate universe, we're left to ponder the whimsy of creation, the serendipity of collaboration, and the curious case of the cake that was promised but never delivered. It's a comedy of errors, a testament to the unpredictable journey of art—and a celebration of the absurd motivation that drives it all.
