We all know the story, right? Seymour Krelborn, the meek Skid Row florist, stumbles upon a peculiar plant. It's not just any Venus flytrap; this one has a taste for something… more substantial than flies. It’s Audrey II, and its appetite for blood, and eventually, world domination, is legendary. The classic Roger Corman film from 1960, and the later, splashier musical adaptation, both paint a rather grim, albeit darkly comedic, picture of Seymour’s fate. But what if things had gone… differently?
In the original 1960 film, the ending is swift and brutal. Audrey II, having grown into a monstrous, man-eating behemoth, devours Seymour. But before it can truly wreak havoc, it’s dispatched by a brave (and rather quick-thinking) Seymour, who uses a can of poison gas. It’s a satisfyingly B-movie conclusion, leaving the audience with a sense of relief and a chuckle at the absurdity.
The 1986 musical, however, took a decidedly darker, more operatic turn. The infamous "original" ending, which was later cut and replaced with a happier one for the theatrical release, saw Audrey II succeed. It unleashed its offspring, and humanity was consumed. Seymour and Audrey, in their final moments, were swallowed whole. This ending, while shocking and true to the plant's insatiable nature, left a bitter taste for many. It was a bleak, nihilistic conclusion that felt almost too much, even for a story about a killer plant.
So, let's play with possibilities. What if Seymour, instead of succumbing or becoming a reluctant killer, found a way to manage Audrey II? Imagine a Seymour who, after the initial shock and horror, starts to see the plant not just as a monster, but as a… unique business opportunity. He’s already feeding it people, after all. What if he developed a more sophisticated, less messy feeding system? Perhaps a discreet delivery service for those who… disappear? He could become the ultimate black market supplier, all while keeping his beloved Audrey (the human one) safe and his shop flourishing.
Or, consider a more scientific approach. What if Seymour, driven by a desperate need to understand and control his creation, dedicated himself to botany and genetics? He could discover Audrey II’s weaknesses, its nutritional needs, and perhaps even find a way to genetically modify it, making it less… homicidal. Maybe he develops a strain that only craves synthetic blood, or perhaps it becomes a highly efficient, albeit slightly unnerving, waste disposal unit for the city’s less savory elements. He could become a celebrated, albeit eccentric, scientist, with his “little shop” becoming a cutting-edge research facility.
Another avenue could involve a more spiritual or philosophical Seymour. What if he saw Audrey II as a manifestation of primal hunger, a force of nature that needed to be understood, not just destroyed? He might embark on a journey to appease it, perhaps by finding a more sustainable, less violent food source, or by understanding its origins and its place in the cosmic order. This could lead to a more mystical ending, where Seymour becomes a guardian or a mediator between humanity and this strange, hungry entity.
Ultimately, the beauty of a story like The Little Shop of Horrors lies in its inherent absurdity and its capacity for reinvention. While the established endings have their own merits – the campy triumph of the original, the chilling finality of the cut musical ending – there’s always room for a little more imagination. Perhaps Seymour, with a wink and a nod, finds a way to make Audrey II a part of his life, not its end, proving that even the most monstrous of plants can be managed, or even… loved, in their own peculiar way.
