Had the unflagging perseverance of Tom Tykwer and the Wachowski siblings not shown them through their trying development prior to "Cloud Atlas," its existing pitch materials and visionary test footage likely would have elevated the project into cinema's tragic archive of could've beens. Like Samuel Fuller's haphazard, ash-covered collection of unproduced scripts, the absence of product, sitting idly by the raw materials required to construct one, can coat an enigmatic gloss over the entire endeavor.

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With the lithe grace of a seasoned athlete, Peter Finch lifted the tea bag from the teapot and, holding it by the trademark at the end of its string, dropped it into an ashtray. His aim was accurate, and he permitted himself a dour smile.

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