The flaming pamplet hit the cross, and unceremoniously burnt itself out.

“Cut!” screamed Quentin. “Where’s the pyrotechnics? Why is the god damn church not burning to the ground?”

“There’s a short somewhere, Mr. Tarantino. We’ll need a few minutes to reset it.” replied one of the techs as several of them ran towards front of the church.

“I could use a bottle of water over here.”

“Ok, Megan, dear.” Quentin’s eyes rolled to look at the star of the film. “Will someone from fucking craft services get Ms. Fox a fucking Evian before she dehydrates.”

Within minutes the tech boys had the canisters and launchers reset. Quentin walked back behind the cameras, “We’re going back to where Marybeth pounds on the church doors. Megan, turn on the teenage angst and hatred. And…. Action!”

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Marybeth knocked on the thick wooden doors of the holy place with the kind of authority usually reserved for SWAT teams. Nobody answered. She wadded the pamphlet up in her clinched fists as tears poured down her cheeks…