I am currently trying to close some gaping Bildungslücken, embarrassing holes in my knowledge about things I really should know about.
So I sat down the other night to watch Clive Barker’s Hellraiser. It was late at night and most of the lights had stopped working due to a broken fuse, temporarily beyond repair. Furthermore I was alone in a flat that isn’t mine. So far so good.
I admit to not having a clue about the plot, or anything else for that matter, apart from the iconic picture of the man with the needles in his head. Yes I was taken by surprise by the gore. I get grossed out pretty easily and am continuously astonished by the power of unconvincing special effects. The idea is enough. I screamed at the breaking of a wrist in The Fly and cried with disgust watching Videodrome. It works for me. I squeal, cringe and close my eyes. Then I rewind and watch it again, feeling a sense of duty after making a commitment to watching the film not shouting at it. It’s the film’s turn to talk.
I didn’t finish Hellraiser. It was the lurking in dark corners of the utterly revolting brother that pushed me beyond what I was able to deal with. I could not decide whether he appalled me more with or without skin. I am tempted to say with. What scared me most was that I could not work out why I got so frightened. The story is silly and the hooks tearing off the flesh aren’t in the least bit believable effects. I was impressed at the level of repulsion I felt at the creepy sexual tension between the woman and the leaky skeleton. I did not stop watching because I thought the film was bad, I stopped because I was afraid of not getting any sleep after watching it.
Speaking of The Fly and Videodrome. I have for quite some time tried to figure out why I like the films of David Cronenberg so much. It is a late blooming love affair as it only started recently with Eastern Promises, a film that still reigns high among my all-time favourites. I developed a personal obsession with the film after having to convince so many people about its brilliance and succeeding with quite a few. As a result I started to revisit all of his films. I am fascinated by Cronenberg because his films affect me in ways few others do. Dead Ringers had me glued to the screen and once it was finished I was so shaken that I never want have to sit through it again. That is meant as a compliment.
His films involve you, they are dark and compelling. They suck you into your own attraction with what goes against yourself. They aren’t pleasant films but they are brilliant in their physicality. Cronenberg takes the emotional power of the cinema as far as possible, his films hit you right in your gut, momentarily shutting off your intellect by overpowering your senses. It is this tangibility that generates the fascination. They connect right back to the feeling you had as a child finding a dead bird. Horrified as you might be, you can’t leave it alone curious as to how it would feel if you touched it. It is also the shock of something fundamentally beautiful turned into something ugly and frightening. Cronenberg peels away the beauty without destroying it. Like Naomi Watts cannot stay away from Viggo Mortensen and the mob world she stumbles into in Eastern Promises, I will forever return to the films of David Cronenberg.
One of these days I will return to Clive Barker and his Hellraiser as well. Preferably in the morning or at least after the lights have been fixed.
Tuesday, 28 October 2008
Good Morning from the worst cinema on the planet
I have recently discovered the worst cinema on God’s green earth. Been there, done that and really do not want a t-shirt. It was one of these multiplex outlets at the margins of the city, hidden away in a giant shopping mall. Entering it I already encountered a group of fighting teenagers. The woman in front of me in the queue had some trouble with her cinema card and was told rather harshly by the box office clerk “It’s not my fault that you can’t spell you name!” The two women embarked on a futile row as the real fault had taken shelter behind an impenetrable call centre. Speaking of call centres, the other day a call centre operator hung up on me. Shouldn’t that be the other way around?
But back to the cinema. I managed to trick a woman somewhat less accommodating than Little Britain’s Carol Beer, into handing me a ticket and already in a bad mood decided to treat myself to a bag of Revels. It was a bad day anyway and so far the cinema had done little to cheer me up. The man at the sweets counter said “Revels ey? What are those then?” and he wasn’t even kidding as his empty face told me as I giggled politely. I cleared my throat and said “orange and brown striped bag” and he said “oh is it chocolate?” Suddenly a walking profile-neurosis came rushing to the counter yelling “Moin you need to talk to me you need to do this and this and this” now that was funny because “Moin” means good morning should you be familiar with the language of Germany’s north. Also the man trying very hard to be important and authoritative shouting “Good Morning Good Morning Good Morning get your act together” reminded me of the seagulls in Finding Nemo, as they have a similar war cry. This could have cheered me up but it slowed down the poor stressed out “Multifunctional” as the cinema affectionately refers to its employees in his quest for the striped bag of mysterious sweets. Finally Goodmorning managed to find a bag and I genuinely believed him that he had never seen one before.
On entering the hallway that led to the screens a big bag search was in progress which was completely in tone with the general airport cosiness of the place. Luckily I got spared the search and was allowed to roam around for a while until I found my screen. Now the problems did not end there like I had hoped. There was a doorway under the screen leading to a fully lid corridor which was blocked off by neither door nor curtain which is basically the last thing you need in a cinema.
It smelled bad and the seats where unbelievably uncomfortable. Come on then Revels cheer me up! They didn’t really, instead they gave me a bad conscience. The film I saw was How to Lose Friends and Alienate People and frankly the cinema itself did a better job at fulfilling the titles promised lessons. As much as I like Simon Pegg, which is quite a lot, I could not bring myself to like this movie. On returning home I needed a healthy dose of Hot Fuzz to be reconciled. The group of teenagers sharing the screening with me were quite entertaining though. The scene with the transvestite annoyed be because I thought it was overwritten, it was so obvious that there was no need to explain it multiple times in multiple ways. Or so I thought. About a minute after seeing the penis and hearing the line “Penis!” in further explanation, a girl in a back row yelled “hang on was that a man? Oh my God it was! That’s a man A MAN!!!” and her cronies went “oh my God REALLY?!?!” Enough said. I stand corrected apparently the most obvious scene was still underwritten for some. I am not being overly arrogant here, just generally arrogant. Furthermore it was at around that time that the chocolates had gone so I felt stranded and alone.
On returning home I spoke to a friend of mine who asked me how I was to which I literally replied “Ever so slightly suicidal” to which she replied “Oh really? By the way you wouldn’t believe what a party I had the other night.” Thanks for that. I don’t think I count her among my readers, if I do consider youself column-exploited and be proud.
Good Morning.
But back to the cinema. I managed to trick a woman somewhat less accommodating than Little Britain’s Carol Beer, into handing me a ticket and already in a bad mood decided to treat myself to a bag of Revels. It was a bad day anyway and so far the cinema had done little to cheer me up. The man at the sweets counter said “Revels ey? What are those then?” and he wasn’t even kidding as his empty face told me as I giggled politely. I cleared my throat and said “orange and brown striped bag” and he said “oh is it chocolate?” Suddenly a walking profile-neurosis came rushing to the counter yelling “Moin you need to talk to me you need to do this and this and this” now that was funny because “Moin” means good morning should you be familiar with the language of Germany’s north. Also the man trying very hard to be important and authoritative shouting “Good Morning Good Morning Good Morning get your act together” reminded me of the seagulls in Finding Nemo, as they have a similar war cry. This could have cheered me up but it slowed down the poor stressed out “Multifunctional” as the cinema affectionately refers to its employees in his quest for the striped bag of mysterious sweets. Finally Goodmorning managed to find a bag and I genuinely believed him that he had never seen one before.
On entering the hallway that led to the screens a big bag search was in progress which was completely in tone with the general airport cosiness of the place. Luckily I got spared the search and was allowed to roam around for a while until I found my screen. Now the problems did not end there like I had hoped. There was a doorway under the screen leading to a fully lid corridor which was blocked off by neither door nor curtain which is basically the last thing you need in a cinema.
It smelled bad and the seats where unbelievably uncomfortable. Come on then Revels cheer me up! They didn’t really, instead they gave me a bad conscience. The film I saw was How to Lose Friends and Alienate People and frankly the cinema itself did a better job at fulfilling the titles promised lessons. As much as I like Simon Pegg, which is quite a lot, I could not bring myself to like this movie. On returning home I needed a healthy dose of Hot Fuzz to be reconciled. The group of teenagers sharing the screening with me were quite entertaining though. The scene with the transvestite annoyed be because I thought it was overwritten, it was so obvious that there was no need to explain it multiple times in multiple ways. Or so I thought. About a minute after seeing the penis and hearing the line “Penis!” in further explanation, a girl in a back row yelled “hang on was that a man? Oh my God it was! That’s a man A MAN!!!” and her cronies went “oh my God REALLY?!?!” Enough said. I stand corrected apparently the most obvious scene was still underwritten for some. I am not being overly arrogant here, just generally arrogant. Furthermore it was at around that time that the chocolates had gone so I felt stranded and alone.
On returning home I spoke to a friend of mine who asked me how I was to which I literally replied “Ever so slightly suicidal” to which she replied “Oh really? By the way you wouldn’t believe what a party I had the other night.” Thanks for that. I don’t think I count her among my readers, if I do consider youself column-exploited and be proud.
Good Morning.
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