Duller than dried arse.
**
Monday, 7 December 2009
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Films I like
I've decided that I like happy films. Just thinking of films we have watched in lectures recently:
Blow-Up: I hated this. It wasn't necessarily unhappy, but it was quite glum. And very "take me seriously, for I am a film".
Veronica Guerin: She dies. Enough said. Miserable. And boring.
The Third Man: Funny and clever. Not a happy ending, but bouncy enough to enjoy.
To Die For: Again, not a happy ending, but a sunshiney film.
The Devil Wears Prada: What's not to like? Funny AND a happy ending.
I do not like miserable, dour films. Even if it is very offbeat comedy that is really just poking fun at how crap life is, that's good enough for me.
So, no more Haneke for me. I will be filling my life with the remaining Disney films I have yet to see. Not quite, but I feel like I would be a much happier person if I didn't immerse myself in desperately miserable, serious films.
I was going to watch Grave of the Fireflies, but I don't want to cry for the next two hours, I want to enjoy something. That is what films should do. Fuck misery, bring on the smiles!
Blow-Up: I hated this. It wasn't necessarily unhappy, but it was quite glum. And very "take me seriously, for I am a film".
Veronica Guerin: She dies. Enough said. Miserable. And boring.
The Third Man: Funny and clever. Not a happy ending, but bouncy enough to enjoy.
To Die For: Again, not a happy ending, but a sunshiney film.
The Devil Wears Prada: What's not to like? Funny AND a happy ending.
I do not like miserable, dour films. Even if it is very offbeat comedy that is really just poking fun at how crap life is, that's good enough for me.
So, no more Haneke for me. I will be filling my life with the remaining Disney films I have yet to see. Not quite, but I feel like I would be a much happier person if I didn't immerse myself in desperately miserable, serious films.
I was going to watch Grave of the Fireflies, but I don't want to cry for the next two hours, I want to enjoy something. That is what films should do. Fuck misery, bring on the smiles!
Saturday, 28 November 2009
Paranormal Inactivity
Last night I watched "the scariest movie of the decade" - Oren Peli's Paranormal Activity.
Quick plot summary - Katie thinks she is haunted. Her boyfriend Micah is skeptical. He buys a camera to film everything. Turns out she is haunted, just not in a very interesting way.
To clear up one major point: this is not the scariest movie of any decade, let alone one that has produced films such as El Orfanato, Rec and The Others. This film is tedious beyond belief. Episodic night-time scenes are not enough to maintain a narrative where the only other points of interest are Katie (Katie Featherstone) screaming "I don't fucking care! I want that fucking camera out of my house!" and Micah (Micah Sloat) taking the piss out of a psychic investigator.
The handheld camera gimmick is now beyong the point of getting old. Blair Witch did it well; Rec and Cloverfield did it fairly well, even if it didn't really feel necessary, Diary of the Dead was poor, mainly because of the arsehole holding the camera, and now Paranormal Activity, which is the worst of all. I don't know if this is my interpretation or if it is intentional on the part of the directors of these films, but it seems to me that they believe this technique puts the audience into the action, therefore upping the intensity levels. Not so, Mr Peli.
To me, the use of handheld camera, especially in a film as dull as Paranormal Activity, gives the same effect as watching your boring friend's boring home video, where he films his girlfriend all day, trying to get her to have sex in front of the camera. It's not something we need to watch.
I'm not saying that a film has to be full of gore and screaming to interest me - I do think that this was better than Saw VI - but it has to be full of something. Reading Peter Bradshaw's review in The Guardian I was struck by his opening gambit: "It has been some time since I physically jumped at a scary movie. Horror has become a predictable genre - these days maggoty skulls can leap out of wardrobes all they want and we merely yawn. But in this film, all it took was one bedroom door to move 12 inches, unaided - just that, nothing else - and I felt like leaping into the arms of the person next to me." Yes, horror is a very subjective genre, but I am yet to read a negative review of this film. I cannot be the only one who was not scared by this. And for the record, ghosts/supernatural beings are generally what gets me the post - The Blair Witch Project, El Orfanato and The Haunting are the three movies that have shit me up the most, and they are all about similar subject matter, and similar ways of scaring the audience.
Unfortunately, there is a sequel to Paranormal Activity, due in 2012, and it is safe to say that I will not be first in line.
Quick plot summary - Katie thinks she is haunted. Her boyfriend Micah is skeptical. He buys a camera to film everything. Turns out she is haunted, just not in a very interesting way.
To clear up one major point: this is not the scariest movie of any decade, let alone one that has produced films such as El Orfanato, Rec and The Others. This film is tedious beyond belief. Episodic night-time scenes are not enough to maintain a narrative where the only other points of interest are Katie (Katie Featherstone) screaming "I don't fucking care! I want that fucking camera out of my house!" and Micah (Micah Sloat) taking the piss out of a psychic investigator.
The handheld camera gimmick is now beyong the point of getting old. Blair Witch did it well; Rec and Cloverfield did it fairly well, even if it didn't really feel necessary, Diary of the Dead was poor, mainly because of the arsehole holding the camera, and now Paranormal Activity, which is the worst of all. I don't know if this is my interpretation or if it is intentional on the part of the directors of these films, but it seems to me that they believe this technique puts the audience into the action, therefore upping the intensity levels. Not so, Mr Peli.
To me, the use of handheld camera, especially in a film as dull as Paranormal Activity, gives the same effect as watching your boring friend's boring home video, where he films his girlfriend all day, trying to get her to have sex in front of the camera. It's not something we need to watch.
I'm not saying that a film has to be full of gore and screaming to interest me - I do think that this was better than Saw VI - but it has to be full of something. Reading Peter Bradshaw's review in The Guardian I was struck by his opening gambit: "It has been some time since I physically jumped at a scary movie. Horror has become a predictable genre - these days maggoty skulls can leap out of wardrobes all they want and we merely yawn. But in this film, all it took was one bedroom door to move 12 inches, unaided - just that, nothing else - and I felt like leaping into the arms of the person next to me." Yes, horror is a very subjective genre, but I am yet to read a negative review of this film. I cannot be the only one who was not scared by this. And for the record, ghosts/supernatural beings are generally what gets me the post - The Blair Witch Project, El Orfanato and The Haunting are the three movies that have shit me up the most, and they are all about similar subject matter, and similar ways of scaring the audience.
Unfortunately, there is a sequel to Paranormal Activity, due in 2012, and it is safe to say that I will not be first in line.
Sunday, 15 November 2009
The Uninvited
The Uninvited is a remake of the Korean film A Tale of Two Sisters. It is, somewhat a tale of two sisters. It is also the story of a crazy bitch whose craziness is apparently enough to explain every single flaw in the film.
The crazy bitch in question is young Anna, played fairly ably by Emily Browning (of Lemony Snicket ‘fame’). Anna is in a mental institute following an attempted suicide after the ‘accidental’ death of her ill mother. At the start of the film she is released back to her family, including new step-mother Rachel Summers (Elizabeth Banks – another example of a more than competent actor lowering themselves to a very poor standard), father Steven (David Straitharn), and her sister Alex (Arielle Kebbel).
The plot centres on Anna’s suspicion that Rachel had something to do with the death of her mother, as Rachel was nurse to the mother at the time of her death. She manages to get Alex on the side of her theory, but Rachel manages to get in the way every time Anna tries to communicate this to her father, or to (brief) love interest Matthew.
Given that this film runs at a very short 83 minutes, you may be forgiven for thinking that something would have happened by around the 50 minute mark. Not so. There have been a few scenes of tension between Anna and Rachel, as well as a fairly standard “Dad, I know you won’t believe me, but your new girlfriend killed our mum” “Don’t be crazy. You need to learn to love your new mum, because I love her, and you should be happy that I’m happy” type scene, but nothing else of any note.
All the supposed drama occurs in the last few minutes, and given how straightforward the plot has been up until this point, it seems fairly academic to point out that there is a twist at the end. It isn’t a great twist. Or even a good one. To reveal it, while doing you the favour of not making you watch this atrocity, would still be slightly amiss. However, it is safe to say that this is not a new twist. In fact, imagine a cross between the twist in Shrooms and the twist in the remake of My Bloody Valentine, and you are pretty much there.
The Uninvited is directed by The Guard Brothers – Thomas and Charles – a British pair who have only existed in the medium of short film before this, and while it may be slightly harsh, it would make sense for them to stay away from feature film for a while longer. The immaturity in their direction – somehow succeeding in creating a horror film devoid of tension, dread or indeed horror only adds to the failings of the script, written by Craig Rosenberg, Doug Miro and Carlo Bernard.
This is a terrible film. There is no disputing that fact. Like most films, this has a redeeming factor, in that the four main performances (Browning, Kebbel, Banks, Straitharn) were all more than competent. Good performances do not a good film make, however, and this has to go down as the worst film of 2009 to this point.
*
The crazy bitch in question is young Anna, played fairly ably by Emily Browning (of Lemony Snicket ‘fame’). Anna is in a mental institute following an attempted suicide after the ‘accidental’ death of her ill mother. At the start of the film she is released back to her family, including new step-mother Rachel Summers (Elizabeth Banks – another example of a more than competent actor lowering themselves to a very poor standard), father Steven (David Straitharn), and her sister Alex (Arielle Kebbel).
The plot centres on Anna’s suspicion that Rachel had something to do with the death of her mother, as Rachel was nurse to the mother at the time of her death. She manages to get Alex on the side of her theory, but Rachel manages to get in the way every time Anna tries to communicate this to her father, or to (brief) love interest Matthew.
Given that this film runs at a very short 83 minutes, you may be forgiven for thinking that something would have happened by around the 50 minute mark. Not so. There have been a few scenes of tension between Anna and Rachel, as well as a fairly standard “Dad, I know you won’t believe me, but your new girlfriend killed our mum” “Don’t be crazy. You need to learn to love your new mum, because I love her, and you should be happy that I’m happy” type scene, but nothing else of any note.
All the supposed drama occurs in the last few minutes, and given how straightforward the plot has been up until this point, it seems fairly academic to point out that there is a twist at the end. It isn’t a great twist. Or even a good one. To reveal it, while doing you the favour of not making you watch this atrocity, would still be slightly amiss. However, it is safe to say that this is not a new twist. In fact, imagine a cross between the twist in Shrooms and the twist in the remake of My Bloody Valentine, and you are pretty much there.
The Uninvited is directed by The Guard Brothers – Thomas and Charles – a British pair who have only existed in the medium of short film before this, and while it may be slightly harsh, it would make sense for them to stay away from feature film for a while longer. The immaturity in their direction – somehow succeeding in creating a horror film devoid of tension, dread or indeed horror only adds to the failings of the script, written by Craig Rosenberg, Doug Miro and Carlo Bernard.
This is a terrible film. There is no disputing that fact. Like most films, this has a redeeming factor, in that the four main performances (Browning, Kebbel, Banks, Straitharn) were all more than competent. Good performances do not a good film make, however, and this has to go down as the worst film of 2009 to this point.
*
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
Year One
Harold Ramis. Jack Black. Michael Cera. Hank Azaria. Paul Rudd. Christopher Mintz-Plasse. Just some of the names that star in/direct one of the biggest comedies of 2009, written by Gene Stupnitsky (The Office) and Harold Ramis (Ghostbusters, Groundhog Day and Animal House to name but a few). Somehow, despite the stellar names and a fairly watertight premise, Year One doesn't quite deliver.
Perhaps the episodic nature of Zed and Oh's quest through the early days of man is to blame for the failings of Year One. The almost sketch-like quality of some scenes makes this play out as a cheap imitation of Monty Python more than an original comedy operating of its own will.
The joke writing is, as expected, fantastic. As are the deliveries from both Michael Cera and Jack Black, with it looking like the film was written specifically for the pair (a more than possible suggestion). Cera's naive awkwardness combined with Black's extroverted showmanship makes for an excellent comedic combination, and some of their exchanges deserve to have been put in a better film.
It is always slightly saddening to see TV stars toiling away in bit parts in movies that aren’t fit to wipe the shoes of the shows that comprise their day job. Here we have Olivia Wilde (Thirteen from House) and Xander Berkeley (George Mason of 24) in roles that are far beneath them. Berkeley spends his time on screen gurning like a fool, while Wilde’s input is apparently to look sultry and put on a fairly poor English accent, or at least I think that’s what she was doing.
Year One is by no means a bad film. In a year that has seen the likes of Bruno and Lesbian Vampire Killers, at least this manages to stay on the side of good taste. Having said that, it does seem to be stuck in the past. Cera’s other major feature of the year, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, symbolises a new wave of comedic films, supported ably by Sam Mendes’ Away We Go and (500) Days of Summer, from Marc Webb. These are comedies based around believable, likeable characters. Year One is a series of events that doesn’t lend itself well to the feature film format.
This is certainly not the worst film of the year, nor is it even close, but coming from the range of names that it does, Year One can only be seen as a disappointment. Jack Black will always keep people amused, but this film smacks of a lazy vehicle created solely for his improvisational comedy to take centre stage.
As I write this, I am aware that a sequel is on its way. One can only hope that a little more effort is put into it than there was first time round, and that there are less gaps in the script where it says “Roll camera on JB for five minutes, see if anything good comes up.”
**½
Perhaps the episodic nature of Zed and Oh's quest through the early days of man is to blame for the failings of Year One. The almost sketch-like quality of some scenes makes this play out as a cheap imitation of Monty Python more than an original comedy operating of its own will.
The joke writing is, as expected, fantastic. As are the deliveries from both Michael Cera and Jack Black, with it looking like the film was written specifically for the pair (a more than possible suggestion). Cera's naive awkwardness combined with Black's extroverted showmanship makes for an excellent comedic combination, and some of their exchanges deserve to have been put in a better film.
It is always slightly saddening to see TV stars toiling away in bit parts in movies that aren’t fit to wipe the shoes of the shows that comprise their day job. Here we have Olivia Wilde (Thirteen from House) and Xander Berkeley (George Mason of 24) in roles that are far beneath them. Berkeley spends his time on screen gurning like a fool, while Wilde’s input is apparently to look sultry and put on a fairly poor English accent, or at least I think that’s what she was doing.
Year One is by no means a bad film. In a year that has seen the likes of Bruno and Lesbian Vampire Killers, at least this manages to stay on the side of good taste. Having said that, it does seem to be stuck in the past. Cera’s other major feature of the year, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, symbolises a new wave of comedic films, supported ably by Sam Mendes’ Away We Go and (500) Days of Summer, from Marc Webb. These are comedies based around believable, likeable characters. Year One is a series of events that doesn’t lend itself well to the feature film format.
This is certainly not the worst film of the year, nor is it even close, but coming from the range of names that it does, Year One can only be seen as a disappointment. Jack Black will always keep people amused, but this film smacks of a lazy vehicle created solely for his improvisational comedy to take centre stage.
As I write this, I am aware that a sequel is on its way. One can only hope that a little more effort is put into it than there was first time round, and that there are less gaps in the script where it says “Roll camera on JB for five minutes, see if anything good comes up.”
**½
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Dry River Road
Leo Whitlock, the main character of Rory Haines’ short Dry River Road, is clearly a very troubled man.
He is living out of his car, shaving in the bathroom at a highway petrol station, and lying to his estranged wife about his (un)employment status. The reason for this, we don’t know. He is a veteran of the Iraq war, this much we do know, but after that it all becomes a bit muddy.
Is he a violent man? His constant badgering of Akeem for a job at said petrol station is pushy enough that it borders on the “one more rejection and he might just lamp you” side of things, but his absolute horror at what later happens might equally suggest otherwise.
He certainly isn’t the smartest man around; stealing money from a dead man, smearing blood on himself and tucking the murder weapon into his jeans doesn’t suggest that all his bulbs are burning at their brightest, but maybe he is really just that desperate.
Perhaps Leo has been dishonourably discharged from the US Army. This could explain his apparent lack of self-discipline (and vice-versa). It would also go some way to explaining why he is having such a hard time finding a job.
A dishonourable discharge may even account for the lack of contact with his wife and son, and why his wife has no interest in entertaining him at all.
Of course, what it all comes down to is whether or not Leo could ever make anything of himself. There is absolutely nothing here to suggest that he is comfortable with meeting the standards that society expects of him.
The case in point: his attire. He has gone to Akeem to ask for a job, but has completely neglected to spruce himself up in any effort to impress his prospective employer.
His absolute lack of respect for Akeem is symptomatic of something altogether more sinister. While we aren’t told of Akeem’s heritage, it is safe to assume that he is of Middle Eastern origin, and the underlying menace of the interaction between the two comes from Leo’s instinct to play with a small American flag while talking to Akeem.
Leo may not consider himself a racist, but his actions in the scene convey a sense of racial tension that could explain everything about Leo and his character.
The thirteen minutes that we see here are the thirteen minutes that change the life of Leo. The lack of any sort of “crash bang wallop” force-feeding of dramatic impact is one of the film’s major strengths.
Through both the way it is shot – conventional, trendy handheld style – and the lack of dictatorial music, the film manages to achieve both a subtlety and a harrowing bleakness that takes it to a higher level, particularly impressive given it is a first time effort from Haines, as well as a first time effort for writer Sohrab Noshirvani.
***½
He is living out of his car, shaving in the bathroom at a highway petrol station, and lying to his estranged wife about his (un)employment status. The reason for this, we don’t know. He is a veteran of the Iraq war, this much we do know, but after that it all becomes a bit muddy.
Is he a violent man? His constant badgering of Akeem for a job at said petrol station is pushy enough that it borders on the “one more rejection and he might just lamp you” side of things, but his absolute horror at what later happens might equally suggest otherwise.
He certainly isn’t the smartest man around; stealing money from a dead man, smearing blood on himself and tucking the murder weapon into his jeans doesn’t suggest that all his bulbs are burning at their brightest, but maybe he is really just that desperate.
Perhaps Leo has been dishonourably discharged from the US Army. This could explain his apparent lack of self-discipline (and vice-versa). It would also go some way to explaining why he is having such a hard time finding a job.
A dishonourable discharge may even account for the lack of contact with his wife and son, and why his wife has no interest in entertaining him at all.
Of course, what it all comes down to is whether or not Leo could ever make anything of himself. There is absolutely nothing here to suggest that he is comfortable with meeting the standards that society expects of him.
The case in point: his attire. He has gone to Akeem to ask for a job, but has completely neglected to spruce himself up in any effort to impress his prospective employer.
His absolute lack of respect for Akeem is symptomatic of something altogether more sinister. While we aren’t told of Akeem’s heritage, it is safe to assume that he is of Middle Eastern origin, and the underlying menace of the interaction between the two comes from Leo’s instinct to play with a small American flag while talking to Akeem.
Leo may not consider himself a racist, but his actions in the scene convey a sense of racial tension that could explain everything about Leo and his character.
The thirteen minutes that we see here are the thirteen minutes that change the life of Leo. The lack of any sort of “crash bang wallop” force-feeding of dramatic impact is one of the film’s major strengths.
Through both the way it is shot – conventional, trendy handheld style – and the lack of dictatorial music, the film manages to achieve both a subtlety and a harrowing bleakness that takes it to a higher level, particularly impressive given it is a first time effort from Haines, as well as a first time effort for writer Sohrab Noshirvani.
***½
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
Nick, Norah and Dave's Infinite Playlist
I love Nick and Norah. Do you know who else I love? Tom and Summer. Juno and Bleeker. I love Burt and Verona. I even love Jim and Pam. Why? Because they are all me and us and everybody we know. Everybody everywhere sees themselves as the slightly off-centre person that no-one quite gets but is really the best person in the world, and we all deserve to have our happiness.
There are some differences in the way the five above relationships evolve.
Nick and Norah: they fall in love in one night and miss catching their own white whale just to be with each other.
Tom and Summer: absolutely right for each other, but destined to be apart.
Juno and Bleeker: two friends who are forced to realise how much they love each other by a mistake.
Burt and Verona: a perfect couple in an imperfect world.
Jim and Pam: absolutely right for each other, but manage to miss each other several times before it works.
Of course, it could be because I love Michael Cera, John Krasinski, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Kat Dennings, Zooey Deschanel, Ellen Page, Maya Rudolph, and (most of all) Jenna Fischer that I want to be these people, but I think there is more to it. I think there is something in misery that attracts me to these people.
The most effective couples here, for me, are Tom and Summer, and Jim and Pam. Not pregnant Jim and Pam, engaged Jim and Pam, or happy Jim and Pam. Jim and Pam when it's Jim (and Karen) and Pam, or Jim and Pam (and Roy). I love misery.
I loved wallowing in the misery of watching Tom waste his time with Summer, and thinking "Yep, that's right" when he eventually lost her. I loved the misery of Jim having to watch Pam and Roy set a date for their wedding. I've come to realise that (as Motorhead so succinctly put it) the chase is better than the catch.
Of course, when Nick and Norah finally got the chance to watch Where's Fluffy? they left to spend time with each other. They didn't need to see this band, they just needed to see that they could see this band if they wanted to.
Why should Nick and Norah watch this band now? At least a small part of the attraction was the mysticism that went along with them. When (presumably) a few normal guys walks out on the stage...where's the fun in that? When Dorothy finally meets the wizard and he's one small man surrounded by smoke and mirrors, where's the magic in that? When Willard finally meets Kurtz and he's one fat guy surrounded by a horde of drug-addled children, where's the awe in that? When Tom finally gets to be with Summer and she doesn't want to be with him forever, and doesn't want to grow old with him, and doesn't want everything he wants, where's the true love in that?
For me, I can take this in one of two ways. Number one:
When man finally figures out who Jesus/God/Allah/whoever is/was and he's just one guy with a beard who did some good in the world, we will destroy our idols. The chase is much better than the catch. It doesn't matter if there is a god or not. Some guy does believe it, I don't. We both enjoy our sides of the argument, until the day one of us is right or wrong, and then nobody cares anymore.
Version two goes like this:
Who needs to have everything they want? There comes a point when you get a better TV and it's just a slightly sharper image. You get to be with the person of your dreams and they aren't the same person as was in your dreams. They share the same body, but this person doesn't care about whether you want to go out or stay in. It doesn't matter to them. Again, the chase is better than the catch. For all the promise something might hold in mind, it will never fulfil it.
There is no point to dreaming. I suppose there is no real harm in dreaming either, but one has to be realistic. As for the misery I mentioned earlier, I just enjoy misery. I am a miserable person. It works for me. I have friends who manage to counterbalance the way I am and that works for me too.
That's why I love all those people. They, for me, are the chase. Their chase is my chase. I don't know what the catch will be for me. Maybe one day it will happen and it will be just as good as the chase. Maybe one day something will happen to me and I will catch the bug of optimism. Or religion. Or love. But I hope not, because I like the chase. I like to be miserable, to wallow, and to wait. And that is why I love Nick and Norah. They know the chase is better than the catch.
There are some differences in the way the five above relationships evolve.
Nick and Norah: they fall in love in one night and miss catching their own white whale just to be with each other.
Tom and Summer: absolutely right for each other, but destined to be apart.
Juno and Bleeker: two friends who are forced to realise how much they love each other by a mistake.
Burt and Verona: a perfect couple in an imperfect world.
Jim and Pam: absolutely right for each other, but manage to miss each other several times before it works.
Of course, it could be because I love Michael Cera, John Krasinski, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Kat Dennings, Zooey Deschanel, Ellen Page, Maya Rudolph, and (most of all) Jenna Fischer that I want to be these people, but I think there is more to it. I think there is something in misery that attracts me to these people.
The most effective couples here, for me, are Tom and Summer, and Jim and Pam. Not pregnant Jim and Pam, engaged Jim and Pam, or happy Jim and Pam. Jim and Pam when it's Jim (and Karen) and Pam, or Jim and Pam (and Roy). I love misery.
I loved wallowing in the misery of watching Tom waste his time with Summer, and thinking "Yep, that's right" when he eventually lost her. I loved the misery of Jim having to watch Pam and Roy set a date for their wedding. I've come to realise that (as Motorhead so succinctly put it) the chase is better than the catch.
Of course, when Nick and Norah finally got the chance to watch Where's Fluffy? they left to spend time with each other. They didn't need to see this band, they just needed to see that they could see this band if they wanted to.
Why should Nick and Norah watch this band now? At least a small part of the attraction was the mysticism that went along with them. When (presumably) a few normal guys walks out on the stage...where's the fun in that? When Dorothy finally meets the wizard and he's one small man surrounded by smoke and mirrors, where's the magic in that? When Willard finally meets Kurtz and he's one fat guy surrounded by a horde of drug-addled children, where's the awe in that? When Tom finally gets to be with Summer and she doesn't want to be with him forever, and doesn't want to grow old with him, and doesn't want everything he wants, where's the true love in that?
For me, I can take this in one of two ways. Number one:
When man finally figures out who Jesus/God/Allah/whoever is/was and he's just one guy with a beard who did some good in the world, we will destroy our idols. The chase is much better than the catch. It doesn't matter if there is a god or not. Some guy does believe it, I don't. We both enjoy our sides of the argument, until the day one of us is right or wrong, and then nobody cares anymore.
Version two goes like this:
Who needs to have everything they want? There comes a point when you get a better TV and it's just a slightly sharper image. You get to be with the person of your dreams and they aren't the same person as was in your dreams. They share the same body, but this person doesn't care about whether you want to go out or stay in. It doesn't matter to them. Again, the chase is better than the catch. For all the promise something might hold in mind, it will never fulfil it.
There is no point to dreaming. I suppose there is no real harm in dreaming either, but one has to be realistic. As for the misery I mentioned earlier, I just enjoy misery. I am a miserable person. It works for me. I have friends who manage to counterbalance the way I am and that works for me too.
That's why I love all those people. They, for me, are the chase. Their chase is my chase. I don't know what the catch will be for me. Maybe one day it will happen and it will be just as good as the chase. Maybe one day something will happen to me and I will catch the bug of optimism. Or religion. Or love. But I hope not, because I like the chase. I like to be miserable, to wallow, and to wait. And that is why I love Nick and Norah. They know the chase is better than the catch.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
