The music is foreboding and ponderous. We see a No Trespassing sign as we move along a chain-link and ornately wrought fence with a magnificent capital K atop the gates. We continue to move towards what appears to be a castle on a hill, with glimpses of caged monkeys, Venetian gondolas in a canal, a bedraggled golf course. We approach a lighted, high window, and, snap, the light goes out. Later, morning starts to break outside the same window. Suddenly, we see a snowstorm, with the flakes drifting onto the roof of a small cabin. We pull back to reveal the snowstorm is in a snow globe, held by a man on a bed. We see his mustached mouth, as he whispers the echoing word, “Rosebud.” The globe falls from his lifeless hand, rolling from the bed to shatter in our faces. A nurse rushes into the room, reflected in the shards of the snow globe, and slowly pulls a sheet over the man’s form as the day brightens outside.
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