We always knew The New Yorker was a hotbed of slo-mo's (Joseph Mitchell comes immediately to mind), but are these 'mo's interesting enough to sustain an entire major motion picture?

According to Done Deal, John Krokidas just sold the script for Slo-Mo, which tells (the presumably more grammatically correct) story of "A writer s New Yorker articles have made him a superstar among the literati, who cannot wait for the upcoming book that will cement the writer as an important author. The pressure has blocked him to the point where he has fallen into a parallel reality that operates on a much slower clock than the real world and makes it impossible for him even to communicate."

It's Being John Malkovich meets Joe Gould's Secret, with a dash of C.H.U.D..

We're taking bets on which New Yorker writers are actually closet slo-mo's: Downy 'Talk of the Town' cub reporter Ben McGrath? Octogenarian baseball writer Roger Angell? Wanky film critic David Denby?

You can see a trailer for the short version of Slo-Mo, which apparently used to be about a "struggling writer" (changed because New Yorker writer scans so much better, natch) at Atom Films. Warning: This clip contains exploitation of a turtle and a really good Maggot Brain-era Funkadelic song.