"It's a starfield," Henry said.

Kyle's eyes lit up. "I love that movie! The special effects were way ahead of—"

"No," Roman sighed. "The lesson is that billionaires will pay any amount of money to feel something—even if that feeling is watching a spaceship look like a Lego brick."

"Nobody cares, Kyle," Roman cut him off. "This is the literal end of civilization. We're serving canapés to a man who could have funded a new Solaris but instead chose to make a 1984 cult film slightly sharper. It's not art. It's not even commerce. It's specs ."

Walking back to the Party Down van, Kyle asked, "So what's the lesson? That low-res is more human?"

"Worse," Ron said, emerging from the walk-in fridge holding a single, sad-looking carrot. "A tech billionaire's 'intimate viewing party' for the 1080p remaster of The Last Starfighter ."

Ron saw his moment. He marched to the media console, unplugged the $50,000 player, and plugged in a dusty VCR he'd found in the guesthouse. "Sometimes," Ron said, slipping in a worn tape, "the idea of clarity is better than clarity itself."