One by one, the cassettes start fast-forwarding themselves into oblivion. Their tuxedos collapse on the ground like deflated balloons. The room folds inward like a pop-up book. A final cassette, gold and cracked, looks into the camera and slowly presses its own eject button. Suddenly, silence. The ballroom is empty. Only the saxophone plays a single wet spaghetti note as the credits begin to melt down the wall.