My Perfect Ending for Crash

I lent this one to the High-Pitched Tone to use in an online Oscar colloquium at the newspaper where she works. But given Crash's performance last night, I am compelled to repeat it here. So herewith, the only possible ending to Crash that could have redeemed the sentimental, self-serving pablum that was the beginning and middle:

We launch into the hackneyed Magnolia rip-off that closes the movie, with a C-list Aimee Mann warbling some treacly swill and sad, stoic wide shots of the protagonists thinking very hard and meaningfully about fate and race and the tragedy of it all. Look! There's Don Cheadle, thinking. He's so sad. Why? And then thwok--an arrow strikes him in the neck. He goes down. Look! There's Sandra Bullock! She was a racist, but now her maid who is a different race from her is her only friend. She's sad, too. Thwok. Arrow in the neck. She falls. Hey! It's Ludacris. He's bad, but also good for freeing those slaves he found. Also, he's black. He unlocks the van. Out pour the slaves. Freedom! Thwok thwok thwok thwok. A hail of arrows.

Cut to a close-up of an Indian in full head-dress. A solitary tear rolls down his grizzled cheek. He slings his bow over his shoulder, turns, and slowly walks away into the Los Angeles hills. Sadly.