Shit. I’ve been too busy/procrastorbatory to get to the gym this week, so I’ve got a booked class at 6.30am tomorrow. If I want to have some modicum of sleep and face work tomorrow that means I’ve gotta write fast. Promptly. I seem to be writing quickly, but I guess that’s less important given that my word count within 30 minutes doesn’t matter. Somehow that isn’t easing the frantic rate at which I write. Guess it’s gonna be oen of those entries. So what’s on my mind?
I saw Gone Girl. Spoiler alert, it was seen by me. That’s it. It’s the kind of film you’re best going into blind. Well, unknowing. If you went in visually impaired at least you’d be buoyed by the transcendent Trent Reznor/Atticus Ross score. Egads, the unholy trinity they form with David Fincher always seems to emulate my kind of religious experience. The film’s making me seriously question what my favourite of 2014 is. Between Boyhood and Gone Girl, I don’t know if I’ve been taken by movies quite like this in some time. I say “some time” because the feeling is so hyperbolic I don’t have the words for it (thanks, I’ll be here all week. Or every day as the case may be. Kind of the M.O. of the site). Two entirely different pictures that hit me deep in the recesses of my being. Two movies that I never wanted to end. At every moment I was compelled utterly. Every twist, turn and plot development lit up the pleasure centers of my brain, illuminating up neural pathways which contemplated potential outcomes. Both film makers in each case lapped me, so distantly ahead I could do nothing but sit and absorb. I’ve always felt that if I’m no great creative mind. If I’m able to identify where a story is heading, then the people who constructed it haven’t tried hard enough. If something throws enough feints in my face and adequately misdirects me, I’m putty in their hands. It doubles for comedy. If a comedian or good comedic writing takes the path I could never have conceived, they’ve got my attention.
That’s not easy to achieve in this world of sensory overload. Everything tries to pull us in these days. Flashing lights, bold colours, visually arresting designs, soundbites and so much more. Our society is crafted to pull us in, yet so much static means a truly immersive experience is elusive to say the least. I don’t watch movies at the cinema much these days, but when I do it conditions me to give the screen my sole focus. With my phone off and lips sealed, I have no chance to check social media, to open tabs in my life. I can’t dial (who calls these days though? Really?) or text a friend. The only communication occurring is between the text and my mind, forming connections and analysing the data ahead of me. $5 Tuesday films might be the incentive I needed to start watching these scripts in their native environment instead of on a 24 inch screen half a metre in front of my eyes.
I love movies, but our ever competing world wants our attention span to be whittled to the size of a toothpick. We’re meant to be spread out and diluted in an effort to contort and mould us like soft clay. We’ve made it ourselves so easy to control and sedate and we’ve done it willingly. When did we become okay with being a commodity? Numbers on a page? Data to be bought and sold? When did we get so complacent? If happiness is a warm gun, is it necessary for it to have a touch screen and internet access? When did the limitless potential of the internet become endless top ten lists of cats who think they’re people? Why is it that we take so much comfort in being pacified rather than standing out, standing up and taking a stand? How come the only time I ever seem to get activated and actualised is at the end of 30 minutes when I desperately need to sleep?
I guess the 3 hours of social media didn’t help.