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LOOP PARADISE

—

by

Peiyao Wang
in

About the Graduation Short Shattered Paradise

At first, I set out to make a short film about the Seven Deadly Sins. Lately I’ve been reading The Divine Comedy, digging into the Key of Solomon, and obsessing over Hell, Heaven, angels, demons, and the Sins—hoping to build a series that reflects on human vice.

To understand how people think about these ideas, I also watched the TV show Lucifer. It offers an interesting angle: Hell torments souls by looping their most painful regrets—endlessly. Heaven, on the other hand, is barely described; the so-called Silver City is imagined as eternal peace and bliss. But that’s another loop: without contrast, how could one feel the self at all? Without happiness, how do we recognize pain? Without pain, how do we feel happiness?

Schopenhauer and Camus both wrestled with what I’ll call the “Heaven Paradox”: if Heaven is a state of perfect, eternal completion, there is no conflict and no desire; without conflict and desire, human presence and meaning dissolve. Eternal happiness becomes eternal nullity and boredom. If the Silver City is truly “ever-happy,” then why does Amenadiel, in Lucifer, fall in love with the human world and call it home? Why does Eve find Heaven dull and run off to play with Lucifer on Earth? Maybe Heaven is a prison more terrifying than Hell—no conflict, no longing, no humanity—while Hell, ironically, feels closer to the living world.

My starting point was simple: to question the idea of “Heaven.” Religions (and our pop imagination) often sell Heaven as the ultimate comfort: no pain, no strife, eternal calm. That premise feels buggy. If there’s no change and no choice—just singing, smiling, and repeating—how is that different from a software loop? Would anyone truly love that “perfection”? That’s the seed of my short.

But once I tried to expose “Heaven as illusion,” I hesitated. It felt like cutting open a tender place in someone’s heart. Even if it’s an illusion—if it soothes—why rip it away? Would I be forcing pain onto others?

From World of Warcraft: to stop the Scourge, Death Knights slaughter their own city and become monsters in people’s eyes. In The Devil’s Game, Cheng Mo detonates gas early to thwart the Joker, killing thousands and carrying the blame. During the siege of Changsha, the city is burned to deny the enemy a foothold; later the Japanese do not occupy it, and the commander is executed. History calls this “winners write the story,” but to me it’s tangled: were they preventing catastrophe, or imposing pain preemptively?

This confuses me. They “acted early,” perhaps necessarily—yet they still chose for others, delivering pain that wasn’t consented to. Heads or tails—it’s the same coin. If the outcome is bad, they’re damned; if they “win,” they’re rarely praised. What I struggle with is the logic of “victor or villain.” The pain wasn’t chosen by those who suffered it.

So I turn back to my short: am I choosing for the audience? Am I saying, “Look, Heaven is fake—wake up”? If so, am I also that person who acts “for your own good”? I don’t want to force pain under that banner. Real understanding and growth must be voluntary. My job is to place the possibility in front of you—like laying a knife and a lamp on the table. One can sever comfort; the other can light truth. Whether you pick them up is your choice.

But if I were forced into those impossible positions—what would I choose? Maybe I’d do the same. I don’t care about infamy, but when it comes to a “small thing” like a film, I agonize—maybe because the stakes are different, the reward to my conscience is smaller, and because in art I don’t have the right to choose for others. Why, then, presume to choose in matters of life and death?

This ties to the framing effect. With “small” matters, I frame it negatively—“If I do this, someone loses comfort”—and loss aversion kicks in. With “big” matters, I reframe: “If we act, we save 30%.” Now I focus on what’s preserved, not what’s lost, and I choose the burden. The contradiction isn’t really me—it’s human cognition. For individuals, we protect freedom; for existential crises, we compute trade-offs. It looks like a double standard, but it’s two instincts.

That’s why, in art, I insist on “not choosing for the audience.” There’s no survival pressure; no “act now or everyone loses choice.” I can plant doubt and critique—but the final choice returns to the viewer. If we ever reach an extreme circumstance, perhaps I too would be that scapegoat; at that moment I’m no longer an artist, just a survivor cornered by context.

First Draft (short fiction)

“Welcome to Paradise Resort—where glory never ends!”

He raises a glass; laughter swells. Sunlight is always perfect. The air is warm and clear. Children chase balloons; lovers whisper; a long table overflows with fruit and wine. Peace settles in his chest—this must be Heaven. No pain, no regret. Perfect, beyond question.

But perfection breeds suspicion. Odd things emerge: the kid catches the balloon in exactly the same pose, every time; lovers repeat their lines like a recording; the fruit he bit returns to pristine form. He shrugs it off—until he knocks over a glass. Drops stain the floor and do not reset. He stares at them, uneasy for the first time.

He starts to break things: flips the table, screams, runs. Yet the party continues. Laughter turns tinny, like a scratched record. The air presses in.

“Stop!” he shouts. The garden freezes—and tears like a stage backdrop. Golden light, laughter, music, warm faces—all ashen, dissolving into black.

Alone in the void, he whispers:

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.”

Light blooms; the garden again. Children with balloons. Lovers murmuring. Laughter like before.

Revision ideas:

  • Each loop, the clock spins a full circle. The turning point is a Rube-Goldberg chain: a tiny hiccup triggers a cascade (a dancer’s slip, a tray tipping, the juggling ball arcs, strikes the hall clock, and—after thousands of loops—shatters it at high noon). The world “bugs out.”
  • Because prior loops are identical, animation can be split: a “static” pass (unchanged) intercut with a “domino” pass (the breaking sequence and the clock smash), then NPCs stutter; the protagonist weaves through, causing more glitches.
  • Each “day” closes with a chat between MC and the angelic female lead. She says there’s a cliff by the wheat fields—“I’ll be there at twelve.” He runs there before noon; she never appears. He rests on the edge, dozes off, wakes to the same opening line. Loop.
  • On the final day, after spotting the bug and the clock smash, he asks the girl, “Are you okay?” She smiles, repeats: “I know a place… see you at twelve~” The repetition terrifies him. He sprints to the cliff, tests the step into the void—everything cuts to black. In the void, a hollow voice speaks; camera closes on his mouth; he and the voice finish together: “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.”
  • Black—then bright. A new day. “Welcome to Paradise…” Freeze on his smile.
  • The joy sequence can play like a musical: ensemble choreography, balloons, juggling, near-miss collisions, big finale; then the girl whispers the west-cliff secret, cut to MC basking on the cliff, eyes closed… reset.

Synopsis 2.0

“Welcome to Paradise Resort—where glory never ends!”

In Heaven’s banquet hall, time repeats the same track. The clock circles; days stitch together with toasts, laughter, and dance.

Until a tiny mistake—or a program bug? A last spin, a skirt brushes a vase; a dancer slips; a tray flies; a cat panics; a clown on a trellis stumbles; the juggling ball arcs; the trellis collapses; the ball smashes the clock. Gearwork litters the floor.

The MC notices the conveyor-belt dialogue, the mechanical laughter, the objects that always reset—except now they don’t. The loop accelerates; glitches multiply. Every “yesterday” mirrors “today.” Only his inner fracture deepens—until he runs for the edge. The hall burns to ash; space blanks to void.

In darkness, a final line echoes: “Welcome to Heaven.”
Light floods back; the party returns. He smiles, closes his eyes, and drifts into the next loop.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate. (Abandon hope, all who enter.)

Note to self: short form can only hold one central contradiction; the “you need contrast to feel happiness” theme might need a longer format.

3.0 The Best Things Are the Ones You Never Get + The Heaven Paradox

From Lucifer and Inferno:

  • Hell loop: eternal reliving of your deepest regret.
  • Heaven loop: eternal reliving of your happiest moment.

But without shadow, no light; without pain, no joy. Both collapse into paradox if defined by monotone eternity.

Beat-board style outline:

  1. Tight shot on the MC’s mouth curling into a grin; pull back to a table of delicacies, a garden party of “angels” (ordinary people). He shouts, “Oh my God—welcome to the Paradise Resort! Let’s enjoy the party!!” Music hits; whip to an aerial—floating island, silver ribbons, semi-open silver castle; dissolve into cloud curtains; the vocals begin.
  2. Musical number: one take, characters singing lines linked to their activities; all praise perfection—the Silver City—while betraying that none has language for sorrow. Finale tableau with MC + leading lady.
  3. After the song: push in to the couple. She whispers, “I know a place… I’ll change and meet you there.” He flirts back. They spin apart; set hands wheel away the garden backing to reveal a wheat field backing as he spins, eyes closed.
  4. He sprints through shoulder-high wheat, calling for her, stops at a cliff, stretches, lies back, smiles at the sky, closes his eyes—hard cut back to the opening.
  5. Montage loops accelerate; B-roll of the garden clock spinning faster; music distorts; four hard ticks; on the chime, the clock hits the hour—smash cut.
  6. New round ends. She repeats her lines. This time, his face falters. He stammers; her smile grows exaggerated; she snatches a champagne, he startles and knocks a tray—chain reaction—trellis collapses—clock obliterated—smoke clears.
  7. He dusts himself, asks, “Hey, you okay?” She repeats the same line verbatim. He looks around—everyone, everything is looping three seconds forward/back. He shoves her—he slides backward instead. Fisheye panic; he breaks through the crowd—cut to the cliff.
  8. He tests a step into the void—world goes transparent to black. “Anyone here? Where am I?” A light-orb answers: “Oh boy, why questions? Isn’t it all happiness here?” He murmurs, entranced: “It’s wonderful… but what do you mean by ‘happiness’?” Orb: “Read with me—” Camera pushes to his mouth; the orb speaks first, he mouths along: “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.” The shot eases to zero speed; his lips settle into the opening smile; snap-zoom out to nothing.

Technical notes (abridged):

  • One-minute Heaven loop musical (AI-assisted composition + simple cheer choreography; motion capture per character; ensemble end-pose; background swap gag by two “attendants”).
  • Three sets: garden, Silver City wheat field, cliff with ink-wash infinity.
  • Characters: quick CC builds for everyone but MC; MC rig via AccuRig/ARP; facial via head capture; final stylization in Blender; AI voice-tone tweaks ok.
  • Rube-Goldberg crash: design the mid-chain; cheat the clock (whole vs. broken models + 2D smoke + SFX).

4.0 Loop, Loop, Loop

If we only show Heaven’s happy loop, it’s empty. If we let viewers freely “switch” Heaven/Hell, it kills agency too—people feel controlled and push back. The deeper the theme, the more we must express it at the limit of what audiences accept, without forcing conclusions.

I toyed with a flip: maybe Heaven, sung in endless praise, is boring—that’s the paradox. The passage into Hell might feel “more alive,” but that’s just contrast speaking. The thrill is the transition, not Hell itself. Hence few works tackle an eternal Heaven loop head-on; it’s more religiously disruptive than psychologically juicy.

4.1 Spiral Ascent or Ouroboros? The “Heaven Administration” Idea

Is the world a loop? If it’s a spiral, it still looks like a loop at higher scales. Cue the meta-idea: a control room that resets lives.

If you fell for a virtual person—knowing she’s code—would you stay? If you met her again with no memory, what would you protect: her face, your shared time, or your dopamine?

We are biochemical math machines. If life is about dopamine, thresholds keep rising. Push too fast and nothing in reality suffices; ruin follows. Or you dynamically raise and lower thresholds through pain and rest—but who voluntarily chooses “less”?

So what is Heaven? A state that can always meet our rising thresholds. Whether it exists or not, most people will chase dopamine in the here-and-now.

Film tangent: define audience; define “Heaven stimuli” for that group.

A brutal operator’s solution: to keep joy fresh, don’t raise stimuli—erase memory. Every time you hit peak joy, delete the record and replay the same event. Heaven on a budget.

Enter: Heaven Administration. A supervisor watches a life, and at “peak,” hits Delete + Confirm. Loop.

Two life-pattern options:

  1. entropy-max dopamine life to self-destruction;
  2. full, dramatic life oscillating Heaven ↔ Hell.
    To emphasize the macro loop, #1 fits better.

4.16 A Life on the Phone?

Another branch: a life controlled by the phone—from online classes and games to feeds, to death—then reset. Or one loop where the MC puts the phone down and steps into nature—but that undercuts the main thesis if the focus is the big reset.

4.17 Back to Heaven

Heaven-as-prison is simply more philosophically potent.

4.18 Reversal, Reversal, Reversal

A micro-horror beat: a girl says her father once killed a kidnapper at the village gate. The boyfriend asks: “Have you considered he wasn’t the kidnapper?” One line flips the world. That’s the energy I want: a final turn that reframes everything.

Two new spines:

  1. The Perfect Day—pack all life’s best joys into one looped day; reveal the external operator only at the end.
  2. The dopamine-to-the-edge life.

The question implied: If your life’s best moments repeated in a single day, forever—would you be happy?

4.19 What Joys Are Universal?

Target audience: 15–30. Collect shared joys that resonate across varied lives. (A survey wouldn’t hurt, honestly.)

4.2 Plot Sketch

Time: the MC’s birthday—friends secretly plan a party.
Places: home → bus → market → travel agency → hitch a ride → home.
People: MC, chance-met heroine, eccentric friends.
Main event: at the agency, he’s the 8,888th customer—wins a free Europe trip.
Side events:

  • Post-it on the mirror: “Vacation starts today.”
  • Bus seat only next to the heroine.
  • Impulse lottery ticket—wins.
  • As he leaves, the heroine asks the agent about Europe too (he doesn’t hear).
  • Bus service is done; a friend offers a ride.
  • A kitten in a box at his door.
  • Lights on—SURPRISE birthday.
  • After cleanup, he sleeps.

Loop frame:

  • Open on an external monitor—MC asleep, progress 0%—camera pushes into the “world.”
  • Night: external UI hits 100% → Delete Memory → Confirm → Restart.

(Feels temptingly live-action.)

4.21 Needs to Be More Extreme

“A lucky day” is too slice-of-life—no staircase rise then plunge. I’ll gather dopamine triggers, rank them by acquisition cost, and escalate them beat by beat.

4.22 MV Format

A high-tempo, escalating track; one-take performance. The MC—like a virtual singer—sings while performing the rising-threshold actions. Stage units and lighting reconfigure in view.

On-screen progress bar hits 100%.
Open with a mouse click on “Play.”
End with scrubbing back to 0 → “Start” → click again.

Refs (one-take, stagecraft, momentum):

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