Society is a cacophony of metaphorical fountains. Whichever one we drink from can help to guide us through our often bewildering everyday lives, and in all manner of ways. being highly social (in a physical and/or commercial sense) is a fountain for keeping fit and maintaining contact with the important folk in our lives. Alternatively, working from home (whatever one's vocation) is often an ideal way to unwind, especially for the more introverted who call themselves humans. Whatever rocks your pad.
Now, me, being something of an ambivert, I'm known to drink from both of those "fountains" at various times, but another fountain which, for better or worse, I often embrace which is closely related to the second form (and no pun intended here) is the pub. That being said, I certainly don't mean here to sanitize or glorify the downsides of pub culture but rather to emphasize the "fountain" any pub can be AND the positive occurrences that can subsequently spawn despite the cons of pub culture like alcoholism, problem gambling and alcohol-related violence.
Firstly, a watering hole can be a fountain for prolonged creativity. How many legendary artists (from whatever field and known for whatever creative tones) must have crafted their greatest works while seated in a pub making their livers and bladders work overtime? I'd say thousands of them. For just one example, Mozart relentlessly frequented the pubs and coffeehouses of Vienna to open the creative floodgates (and to socialize), but here I must digress: drinking is just one fountain for creative thinking, with many much healthier ones being equally creatively inspiring.
Secondly, a pub can be a fountain for revolution. This word frequently has a dark connotation, due to the violence underpinning many uprisings, but like drinking culture, revolutionary action has as many pros as cons, both now and historically. Here a few modern examples of the connection between the drinking culture and rocking the establishment. Firstly, the famous worldwide student protests of 1968 saw disillusioned, angry young people from all backgrounds well and truly stick it to the man (on various issues), and with drinking a key part of youth culture then and now, it's fair to say many said students decided to rise up while they were drinking up. Secondly, the Beatles (who of course addressed the events of '68 in their classic Revolution) took their first steps to legendary status playing in Liverpudlian pubs, and then irrevocably changed not only pop culture but politics, too. Thirdly, Ronald Reagan once said, "All great change in America begins at the dinner table." To me, all great change ANYWHERE begins at ANY fountain for socialization, like a pub or a dinner table. Why? Because socialization naturally means conversation - the fountain for all plans and ideas we concoct with others.
To close, again, glorifying drinking or sanitizing its cons is hardly my intention here. I mean only to give due credit to the humble watering hole as a fountain for creative and political inspiration - the effects of which can taste just as pleasant as what most of us go to pubs for.
P.S. This piece pressed itself on me by a visit to Melbourne's glorious Young and Jackson Hotel, but was written (ironically) at my friends' house.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
The REAL degree uni's given me.
In '06 I kicked off my Bachelor of Arts degree at CQUniversity, graduating in '09. Soon I'll graduate again with Honours, but bragging is not my intention here. This will be the end of my studies and then time to at last face the daunting prospect of trying to achieve my long-term goal of being a successful writer. Being at a crossroads once again, naturally my current mood is a reflective, pondering one, and thus I have decided to convey this in a reflective piece. Before I delve any deeper, I acknowledge in advance this will likely be quite sentimental and clichéd but only because I feel honesty is necessary in such pieces.
I started my studies straight after high school. High school is often viewed as the stage in life in which that lovely period known as coming of age occurs, however, for me at least it was merely the life stage in which that period began. At the start of my course I certainly knew I would learn a great deal about what I had chosen to study (Film Studies and Cult. and Lit. Studies mainly) but little did I know that was merely a small portion of the immeasurable amount uni would teach me, but I'll discuss that more comprehensively in a minute. Uni and high school were/are both as impactful on me personally but ultimately in quite different ways, as high school worked to prepare me for the adult world to which university belongs, but uni has proven more impactful and influential towards my values and interests, while still influencing my personality in several ways.
My time at uni has broadened my horizons profoundly, and for that I can only thank all the truly amazing people it has introduced me to in whatever form; they are just too many to name. Firstly, I am a lot more politically aware and motivated thanks to several said people, and also many of the courses I undertook, than I was when I commenced my studies. Secondly this, as well as interactions with several overseas students at CQU I feel has enhanced my understanding of and appreciation for others' cultures. Thirdly, my studies at CQU have given me exposure to so many incredible films and books that have deeply influenced me personally and/or creatively. Finally, I seriously never had one lecturer or course co-ordinator who I disliked as a person - I even had one who (and so as to not upset others he will remain nameless) is a fucking talented and passionate rock musician! I recall in an interview in 2007 Andrew Denton asking Bob Hawke what advice he'd give to a young university graduate in my current position, with Bob replying that they must always remember education is a lifelong thing. With all the experience I have gained during my time at university, I truly believe that.
I'd be lying through my teeth if I said my uni experience has been perfect - my grades were usually adequate at best, it has made me more cynical and sarcastic than I used to be and it's even made me quite disillusioned at times. I had a bit of a reputation as the class clown (though let's be honest, that's a pro or a con depending on who you ask) also, which I was very rarely known as in school. Plus, having to watch many of my friends go out and see the world (though they all certainly deserve that) while I slaved away at one assessment piece after another and endured boring text books, lectures and tutorials took quite some getting used to. But I'm sure my time for getting the utmost out of life will come, and ultimately despite those cons (and hey, cons are sadly experienced all throughout life) for me uni has been more than worth it, as it has taught me a huge amount about my areas of study but a huge amount more about myself and our world, I've made what I'm sure will be many lifelong friends, and it, they and all my family and other friends have all given me the ability, encouragement and drive if not to succeed in my goals, then to at least truly do everything in my power to leave my own mark on this world. Thank you so much, each and every one of you, and if everything that follows doesn't compare, I guess that'll just have showed how truly great it was. Peace!
I started my studies straight after high school. High school is often viewed as the stage in life in which that lovely period known as coming of age occurs, however, for me at least it was merely the life stage in which that period began. At the start of my course I certainly knew I would learn a great deal about what I had chosen to study (Film Studies and Cult. and Lit. Studies mainly) but little did I know that was merely a small portion of the immeasurable amount uni would teach me, but I'll discuss that more comprehensively in a minute. Uni and high school were/are both as impactful on me personally but ultimately in quite different ways, as high school worked to prepare me for the adult world to which university belongs, but uni has proven more impactful and influential towards my values and interests, while still influencing my personality in several ways.
My time at uni has broadened my horizons profoundly, and for that I can only thank all the truly amazing people it has introduced me to in whatever form; they are just too many to name. Firstly, I am a lot more politically aware and motivated thanks to several said people, and also many of the courses I undertook, than I was when I commenced my studies. Secondly this, as well as interactions with several overseas students at CQU I feel has enhanced my understanding of and appreciation for others' cultures. Thirdly, my studies at CQU have given me exposure to so many incredible films and books that have deeply influenced me personally and/or creatively. Finally, I seriously never had one lecturer or course co-ordinator who I disliked as a person - I even had one who (and so as to not upset others he will remain nameless) is a fucking talented and passionate rock musician! I recall in an interview in 2007 Andrew Denton asking Bob Hawke what advice he'd give to a young university graduate in my current position, with Bob replying that they must always remember education is a lifelong thing. With all the experience I have gained during my time at university, I truly believe that.
I'd be lying through my teeth if I said my uni experience has been perfect - my grades were usually adequate at best, it has made me more cynical and sarcastic than I used to be and it's even made me quite disillusioned at times. I had a bit of a reputation as the class clown (though let's be honest, that's a pro or a con depending on who you ask) also, which I was very rarely known as in school. Plus, having to watch many of my friends go out and see the world (though they all certainly deserve that) while I slaved away at one assessment piece after another and endured boring text books, lectures and tutorials took quite some getting used to. But I'm sure my time for getting the utmost out of life will come, and ultimately despite those cons (and hey, cons are sadly experienced all throughout life) for me uni has been more than worth it, as it has taught me a huge amount about my areas of study but a huge amount more about myself and our world, I've made what I'm sure will be many lifelong friends, and it, they and all my family and other friends have all given me the ability, encouragement and drive if not to succeed in my goals, then to at least truly do everything in my power to leave my own mark on this world. Thank you so much, each and every one of you, and if everything that follows doesn't compare, I guess that'll just have showed how truly great it was. Peace!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Electracy in Outer Space.
This is a short screenplay I did for a uni course in '08 based on the concept of electracy (Google it if need be).
ELECTRACY IN OUTER SPACE
By Jarred Kennedy
FADE IN…
The first thing we see is a computer, with the monitor showing it is currently in use. On the screen, one can see the game World of Warcraft is currently being played.
INT. BASEMENT – VERY EARLY MORNING
This is a lifeless basement if ever one existed. Painted white, with shut brown curtains probably covering closed windows doing absolutely nothing but complimenting the boring white walls. The basement is also appallingly unkempt: old, dilapidated chairs and a table are spread out around the room, surrounded by food wrappers, softdrink cans, beer bottles, pornographic magazines, cups, plates, and cutlery. Directly in shot, seated on a sofa that’s in such bad condition it looks like it was purchased from a secondhand store twenty years ago, sits nineteen-year-old Frank Gore.
Frank sits slumped back on the sofa, his belly almost bulging out from underneath his shirt, his fingers banging away at his keyboard as he explores the virtual world of the game. Next to him lie three opened bags of corn chips and two opened two-litre bottles of Coca-Cola. He takes his hands momentarily away from the keyboard to take a handful of the corn chips, which he eats, and then a huge swig of the Coca-Cola, which he swallows, and then goes back to the game. He does this in a constant loop every single day.
A black bar swirls clockwise across the screen to show the passing of morning to night, completely skipping the afternoon.
INT. BASEMENT – LATE EVENING
Not one thing has changed in the basement. Frank is quite evidently a computer game addict, and he’s probably in total denial about it. Still slumped back in the sofa like Homer Simpson, still with corn chips and Coca-Cola for what he calls “nutrition.” Yawning now, Frank is leaning, now staring much more closely at the computer screen. He is growing frustrated with the game that has robbed him of so much, and it’s about to make him snap.
FRANK
Fucking hell! I’ve been stuck on this level all fuckin' day!
Frank smacks the side of the monitor with the back of his right hand.
Unexpectedly, a MOBILE PHONE rings.
Frank leisurely rises from the sofa and waddles to the other side of the room to a bench, where his phone is. He picks it up and answers it.
FRANK
Hello?
CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT
This particular room is equally as unkempt as Frank’s basement. In the distance we see an unmade bed in the right hand corner, and in the left can be seen a wardrobe. Posters of thrash metal bands like Sepultura, Nightwish, and Slayer coat the walls with a sense of anger, alienation and even hate.
In direct view, seated at a desk and likely staring at a computer, is BRUCE.
ON BRUCE: Nineteen, white, stocky build, PURPLE dyed hair and black fingernails. By the looks of him, Bruce is a devoted, unapologetic and proud fan of death metal music. He is wearing a black leather trench-coat, and is holding his phone up to his right ear whilst pressing the keys on his keyboard with his free hand.
BRUCE
Oi, Frank you fuckin' pussy! Are you gonna make a move on that hot chick from Denmark who’s playing right now or what?
Frank’s entire position in front of his computer screen has not changed.
FRANK
Nah, chicks don’t go for guys who do that.
BRUCE
How would you know? I mean yeah, I’ve never had a girlfriend but neither have you.
FRANK
Good point, I guess. You double dare me?
On the right-hand side of the screen there is a long list of users who are playing the game currently. Next to each name is a green dot which operates as a CHAT option. Frank clicks on the green dot next to the user evenstarangel90. A pop-up for chatting appears. Frank types in the box: “Hey, how you doin’? I’m RPGassassin89.” Five seconds pass, and a reply message appears: “Sorry, but I don’t like stalkers.”
Frank fists the desk.
FRANK
See, man? I told you.
BRUCE
(chuckling)
You fuckin' suck, dude. You totally came on way too strong.
Frank takes the phone away from his ear and looks skyward in fury.
FRANK
(shouting)
You are a fucking bully! To me and Bruce!
Completely unexpectedly, two large shafts of intense white light like spotlights come down over Bruce and Frank. They make unnaturally loud sounds, something like that of a massive garage door being opened. Both Frank and Bruce look up in shock – the shafts of light have no end in sight!
Now, the ground starts to shake around the both of them. This is an ominous sign suggesting danger, and the pair have both seen too many science-fiction films to know otherwise. Naturally, they’re both sweating.
Finally, they are slowly lifted off the ground, with the light shafts sucking them in like vortexes. Faster and faster, until they are being sucked through the sky, out of the Earth atmosphere entirely, through a BLACK HOLE, all the while screaming with piercing volume and the sound of the gravitational pull overwhelming, until the Moon and the base of an enormous space ship comes into view.
EXT. SPACESHIP – DARKNESS
This is no human spaceship. It is lime-green, with rivets, gun turrets and rocket launchers covering its every square metre, and shaped like two oversized boats on top of one another. It is an alien spaceship, and most certainly not carrying aliens like E.T.
A large dock roof opens at the vessel’s base. Frank and Bruce are still under control of the gravitational pull.
The dock door has opened by now.
INT. SPACESHIP – DARKNESS
If the exterior of the spaceship looked intimidating, the interior is terrifying. Beginning from the far left hand corner of the dock we pan to find light black walls, very little lighting, a row of storage racks filled with disused robots or robots in need of repair, and scariest of all, to the right of the dock door, a human head on a spit. Edvard Munch could not have painted something as worrying as this.
Frank and Bruce, now at the end of the shafts of white light, are floating above the still open door, but begin to fall. The door now closes at the speed of light, and they crash-land on it, falling on their stomachs.
Frank and Bruce finally rise and dust themselves off, checking for injuries. They are fine.
Frank and Bruce simultaneously look up and around their new surroundings. Initially both react anxiously, however that anxiety turns to extreme excitement when they realize what the dock reminds them of. Both look at each other with exuberance.
FRANK AND BRUCE
(together)
We’re in Starcraft! High-five, bro!
They high five each other.
The dock now goes from almost pitch black to blinding bright instantly. We now hear a bellowing and very authoritative voice, much like James Earl Jones. It is that of an alien.
ALIEN
(not seen; shouting)
Who said that?!
Frank and Bruce now realize this is no dream or game. They fall to the ground simultaneously, and hug each other in terror.
The two just lie on the ground still hugging each other in fear, almost frozen.
ALIEN
(not seen; even louder)
Who said that?!?!
Still shaking with terror, the boys finally find their feet and gradually are able to stand up.
BRUCE
W-w-we did!
Now the alien creature finally shows himself, teleporting into the shot.
ON ALIEN: this terrifying figure looks like the offspring of the Pale Man from Pan’s Labyrinth and the xenomorph from Alien. Seven foot tall, with wrinkled red skin, gills, no hair, a spiky tail, extended razor blades for fingernails and toenails, and bright yellow eyes. It oozes terror from every inch of its anatomy.
Frank and Bruce both scream at the very top of their lungs, and collapse to the ground in fear yet again.
This angers the creature.
ALIEN
Silence! Rise!
The boys do as they have been instructed. Standing completely straight and starting to sweat, Frank and Bruce are almost frozen solid as the creature begins to walk around them in a circle, inspecting them. It sneers continuously and makes a hissing sound as it examines Frank and Bruce’s clothing, appearances and builds.
ALIEN
Just… what the doctor prescribed. A fat slob, and a metal-head! Human scum at its most disposable! I imagine you are both wondering how you got here, and moreover, why you are here. Am I accurate in my presumptions?
Bruce is losing patience. He steps forward to face the creature in the eye.
BRUCE
What the fuck do you think?
Frank pulls him back.
FRANK
Now’s not the time for that attitude, you fuckhead! This thing looks like it’s gonna roast us on a spit and have its followers dance around the fire at the same time!
ALIEN
Hush! I have no plans at all to kill you!
(laughs)
Rather, I want to play a game with you, one which involves no bloodshed of any kind. At least, not if you make no errors. My name is Xerzjik, and I have a challenge for you. Just correctly answer a series of questions about a topic known as “electracy.” That is all the challenge entails. However, should you refuse to accept it, you will never be able to return home. Fail, and you will never return home. Never! Ever! This is not a dream you are having! This is not any kind of joke or hoax that you humans so commonly and poorly pull! Do both of you oxygen thieves understand me?!
FRANK AND BRUCE
(together)
Yes, Xerzjik!
XERZJIK
(bellowing)
What?!
FRANK AND BRUCE
(together)
Yes, Xerzjik, Your Majesty!
XERZJIK
Spoken like true prodigies. Here are your sources you will be needing.
Instantly, two thirty-centimetre thick slabs of bound paper (one for each boy) fall into Frank and Bruce’s hands. Frank and Bruce fall to the ground because of the weight of the documents.
They sit up on the floor of the dock, as Xerzjik leans down and stares icily in their faces.
XERZJIK
I would get reading if I were you. You have two days. Get one answer wrong, and you will never see your stupid, superfluous, insubordinate Earthling friends and relatives ever again, and they will have to bury empty coffins! Mwahahahahahaha!
Xerzjik presses a red button on the glove he is wearing on his left wrist. The dock roof opens, and he zooms out into space, staring at Frank and Bruce frighteningly.
CUT TO:
INT. SPACESHIP DOCK
Frank and Bruce and laying on the floor of the dock with the texts in front of them, opened by about a quarter of the pages. The two of them are scanning the writing with their eyes back and forth, back and forth, trying to get through as quickly as they can but slowly enough to take in every ounce of information as well.
In fast-motion, we see Frank and Bruce flicking through the humongous slabs of paper.
TITLE CARD: ELEVEN HOURS LATER
CUT TO:
INT. SPACESHIP DOCK – ELEVEN HOURS LATER
Frank and Bruce are still laying on the floor of the dock with the texts in front of them, only now they are half-asleep and fighting drowsiness in their aim of getting through the huge texts as soon as they possibly can. Bruce turns over one page and then yawns, with Frank following suit five seconds later.
TITLE CARD: NINE HOURS LATER
We can hear a slight beeping sound. It is an alarm on Bruce’s mobile phone going off. Hearing it, Bruce awakes with a jump. He takes the phone out of his jeans pocket, switches the alarm off and checks the time. It’s now 8:30 Earth time.
BRUCE
Man, we need to get reading again. One more day left!
Bruce leans over and shakes Frank’s shoulder to wake him. Frank opens his eyes for the new day, rubs them, stretches his arms and finally sits up.
Ironically, in front of Frank and Bruce are now the texts and two bowls of porridge. The boys are amazed.
FRANK
Do you think perhaps Xerzjik knows humans can’t study on an empty stomach?
Bruce laughs and grins appreciatively. Both of them prop their heads skyward.
FRANK AND BRUCE
(together)
Thank you, Xerzjik, Your Majesty!
Frank and Bruce each dive for their respective bowl and tuck in.
After a few mouthfuls, the two look at each other in realization of much time they have left before the quiz.
FRANK
I really think we should try to read this again.
BRUCE
Agreed.
Simultaneously, Frank and Bruce finish their breakfasts and start to while away at their texts for the second time.
Fade to black.
TITLE CARD: THE NEXT DAY
Frank and Bruce are by this time fast asleep on the ground of the dock. All of a sudden, the dock door opens, the sound waking them with a jump. Xerzjik appears in front of them, and he means business.
XERZJIK
The day of reckoning is upon us. Eat your human breakfast with haste.
In fast-motion, Frank and Bruce carry out Xerzjik’s orders. When they are done with this, both of them stand up straight.
XERZJIK
Guards!
Two alien guards appear, each wheeling a strange machine probably used for strapping dangerous life-forms into bed, that looks like a combination of an airport trolley and a straightjacket. They stop when they reach Xerzjik, Frank and Bruce.
XERZJIK
Strap them in.
Frank and Bruce turn to look at each other with anxiety.
Each guard pulls each of the boys away and begins to strap them into the contraptions. Frank and Bruce’s bodies are forced into the contraptions, then two sets of very thick bars of metal coming from the side are pushed down over their torsos and feet, securing them.
XERZJIK
Let’s get down to business.
He begins to lead the guards and Frank and Bruce away somewhere.
CUT TO: XERZJIK’S PALACE MAIN HALL – DAY
This is truly a room to behold. Huge and luxurious in its every square centrimetre, it’s like something no Impressionist painter would not go weak at the knees for. The walls have been painted a blazing gold colour, the architecture being the most perfect marble, and red-painted floors to top it all off. There is also a table and later a queen-size bed in the centre of the room each measuring about five metres, the bed coming complete with a curtain around its entire area.
Frank and Bruce have been wheeled to the very front of the hall. Now the guards begin to clip electricity cables to their fingertips. They each look anxious but appear to be hiding it quite well given the circumstances.
XERZJIK
Well, my human scum, this is what it has been about. I will cut straight to the chase. I am going to ask each of you five questions about the notion of electracy. If you get them all right, I will return you to your little planet and you will have lived to see another day. But, get just one answer incorrect and… here’s a demonstration of what will happen.
Xerzjik turns to his right. An alien, most likely a criminal alien, is also strapped into the same contraption and has electricity cables leading to a generator clipped to his fingertips. Xerzjik waltzes over to the generator and pushes a large black button which reads “DO NOT PUSH.”
Bolts of electricity race through the criminal alien’s body, shaking the alien wildly. After three seconds of this, the alien IMPLODES, its blood spilling and its body parts flying everywhere.
Frank and Bruce now freeze with terror. Finally, they SCREAM.
XERZJIK
Do not put all your fear and anxiety to waste yet! I haven’t even asked the first question! Since I understand neither of you will be able to decide amongst yourselves which of you would like to go first, I will do that for you. It’s you Frank.
Frank is now going white as a sheet.
XERZJIK
Be that as it may, with each question I will back and forth between you until we reach the end. That is, if we do reach the end. They are all true-or-false questions, and the more questions we get through, the harder the next question will be. You may take as long as you need to answer. Let us get this over with. Frank. The theorist Gregory Ulmer became one of the most renowned experts of electracy as a result of his text entitled Halflives: A Mystory.
Frank appears momentarily confident.
FRANK
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Xerzjik now turns to Bruce.
XERZJIK
Bruce. Gregory Ulmer once wrote that mystorys “were designed to simulate the experience of invention, the crossing of discourses that has been shown to occur in the invention process.”
BRUCE
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Xerzjik turns his focus again to Frank.
XERZJIK
Ulmer never wonders how a being can manage inventing something that will restrict the concept of technology to the home.
FRANK
False, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Xerzjik turns his attention back to Bruce
XERZJIK
One of Ulmer’s main arguments is that if electracy is to be introduced into schools, it has the potential to overcome the hurdles faced by any person who aims to surpass Enlightenment reason.
This time, Bruce thinks just for a moment.
BRUCE
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Once again, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Frank.
XERZJIK
On the nature of subjectivities that could be produced by a large-scale switch from literacy to electracy, Ulmer argues: “In the same way that the practice of reading privately and silently contributed to the formation of “self”, so too will performing hyperrhetoric contribute to a new subjectivication in the electronic apparatus (in which one will have to find a new term of self-reference, neither “parrot” as in the clan identity of the oral apparatus nor “me” in the individualism of literacy.”
Frank rubs his face in thought.
FRANK
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Once again, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Bruce.
XERZJIK
The article Halflives, a Mystory: Writing Hypertext to Learn was authored by Gregory Ulmer himself.
BRUCE
False, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Once again, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Frank.
XERZJIK
Tofts writes that electracy and mystory aim to produce universal truths.
Frank now rubs his face for ten seconds. He appears stumped, but it soon comes to him.
FRANK
False, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Once again, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Bruce.
XERZJIK
History is the very first element of mystory.
Bruce breathes in deeply.
BRUCE
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
For the last time, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Frank.
XERZJIK
This is your final question, Frank. The term “hyperlogic” was coined by Darren Tofts in his essay Hyperlogic, the Avant-Garde and Other Transitive Acts.
Frank is now quivering with anxiety. He breathes in even more deeply time, rubbing his face agin. After ten seconds he finally looks up at Xerzjik.
FRANK
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
For the last time, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Bruce.
XERZJIK
Bruce, this is your final question. The other four elements of mystory are herstory, mystery, my story and envois.
Like Frank, Bruce is now almost controlled by his anxiety. He takes a very long deep breath.
BRUCE
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Xerzjik remains silent for a few moments. Frank and Bruce look at each other, each of them wondering what their fate will be.
XERZJIK
(in alien language; subtitled)
Guards! Release them.
The two alien guards begin to unclip the electrical wires from Frank and Bruce’s fingers, and then free the two boys from the unnamed contraption.
XERZJIK
My deepest congratulations, Frank and Bruce. You have both beaten the game.
Frank and Bruce both now fall to the ground with relief. After five seconds they are able to find their feet again. They are ecstatic.
XERZJIK
You have proven how very wrong I was about you and your species. However, before I send you back to your families and your lives, I want to stress something to you. To begin with, I must confess you two were selected for this as I had been watching the two of you from space for some time. Watching how you do nothing except wasting away your lives by playing computer games. That will get you absolutely nowhere. I felt I had to enforce that upon you both. Electracy is a tool for staying on top of life, and it will become the way of the future. I was only so merciless with you because otherwise, my message would not have gotten through to either of you. Now that you have been put through such a terrifying experience, I want both you to promise me here and now that when you return to Earth, you will get out and grab life by the horns. Do you promise to do that?
BRUCE
Oh, we certainly do!
FRANK
Yes! One hundred percent!
XERZJIK
Good. I bid you both farewell now.
CUT TO: INT. FRANK’S BEDROOM – DAY
Nothing has changed in Frank’s bedroom since he left it. The large shafts of white light that lifted Frank and Bruce appear again in the room, only this time Frank falls back into the room and onto the floor. He lifts himself up on the floor and, tired, walks over to the bed and falls asleep instantly.
SUBTITLE: Frank went back to school and finished this time. He now works for the Commonwealth Bank.
CUT TO:
EXT. BRUCE’S BEDROOM – DAY
The shaft of white light has also come back into Bruce’s bedroom, and he also falls straight onto the carpet. Tired also, he too, walks over to his bed, slides onto it and falls straight asleep.
SUBTITLE: Bruce went back to school as well, and to university. He now works for a law firm.
ELECTRACY IN OUTER SPACE
By Jarred Kennedy
FADE IN…
The first thing we see is a computer, with the monitor showing it is currently in use. On the screen, one can see the game World of Warcraft is currently being played.
INT. BASEMENT – VERY EARLY MORNING
This is a lifeless basement if ever one existed. Painted white, with shut brown curtains probably covering closed windows doing absolutely nothing but complimenting the boring white walls. The basement is also appallingly unkempt: old, dilapidated chairs and a table are spread out around the room, surrounded by food wrappers, softdrink cans, beer bottles, pornographic magazines, cups, plates, and cutlery. Directly in shot, seated on a sofa that’s in such bad condition it looks like it was purchased from a secondhand store twenty years ago, sits nineteen-year-old Frank Gore.
Frank sits slumped back on the sofa, his belly almost bulging out from underneath his shirt, his fingers banging away at his keyboard as he explores the virtual world of the game. Next to him lie three opened bags of corn chips and two opened two-litre bottles of Coca-Cola. He takes his hands momentarily away from the keyboard to take a handful of the corn chips, which he eats, and then a huge swig of the Coca-Cola, which he swallows, and then goes back to the game. He does this in a constant loop every single day.
A black bar swirls clockwise across the screen to show the passing of morning to night, completely skipping the afternoon.
INT. BASEMENT – LATE EVENING
Not one thing has changed in the basement. Frank is quite evidently a computer game addict, and he’s probably in total denial about it. Still slumped back in the sofa like Homer Simpson, still with corn chips and Coca-Cola for what he calls “nutrition.” Yawning now, Frank is leaning, now staring much more closely at the computer screen. He is growing frustrated with the game that has robbed him of so much, and it’s about to make him snap.
FRANK
Fucking hell! I’ve been stuck on this level all fuckin' day!
Frank smacks the side of the monitor with the back of his right hand.
Unexpectedly, a MOBILE PHONE rings.
Frank leisurely rises from the sofa and waddles to the other side of the room to a bench, where his phone is. He picks it up and answers it.
FRANK
Hello?
CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT
This particular room is equally as unkempt as Frank’s basement. In the distance we see an unmade bed in the right hand corner, and in the left can be seen a wardrobe. Posters of thrash metal bands like Sepultura, Nightwish, and Slayer coat the walls with a sense of anger, alienation and even hate.
In direct view, seated at a desk and likely staring at a computer, is BRUCE.
ON BRUCE: Nineteen, white, stocky build, PURPLE dyed hair and black fingernails. By the looks of him, Bruce is a devoted, unapologetic and proud fan of death metal music. He is wearing a black leather trench-coat, and is holding his phone up to his right ear whilst pressing the keys on his keyboard with his free hand.
BRUCE
Oi, Frank you fuckin' pussy! Are you gonna make a move on that hot chick from Denmark who’s playing right now or what?
Frank’s entire position in front of his computer screen has not changed.
FRANK
Nah, chicks don’t go for guys who do that.
BRUCE
How would you know? I mean yeah, I’ve never had a girlfriend but neither have you.
FRANK
Good point, I guess. You double dare me?
On the right-hand side of the screen there is a long list of users who are playing the game currently. Next to each name is a green dot which operates as a CHAT option. Frank clicks on the green dot next to the user evenstarangel90. A pop-up for chatting appears. Frank types in the box: “Hey, how you doin’? I’m RPGassassin89.” Five seconds pass, and a reply message appears: “Sorry, but I don’t like stalkers.”
Frank fists the desk.
FRANK
See, man? I told you.
BRUCE
(chuckling)
You fuckin' suck, dude. You totally came on way too strong.
Frank takes the phone away from his ear and looks skyward in fury.
FRANK
(shouting)
You are a fucking bully! To me and Bruce!
Completely unexpectedly, two large shafts of intense white light like spotlights come down over Bruce and Frank. They make unnaturally loud sounds, something like that of a massive garage door being opened. Both Frank and Bruce look up in shock – the shafts of light have no end in sight!
Now, the ground starts to shake around the both of them. This is an ominous sign suggesting danger, and the pair have both seen too many science-fiction films to know otherwise. Naturally, they’re both sweating.
Finally, they are slowly lifted off the ground, with the light shafts sucking them in like vortexes. Faster and faster, until they are being sucked through the sky, out of the Earth atmosphere entirely, through a BLACK HOLE, all the while screaming with piercing volume and the sound of the gravitational pull overwhelming, until the Moon and the base of an enormous space ship comes into view.
EXT. SPACESHIP – DARKNESS
This is no human spaceship. It is lime-green, with rivets, gun turrets and rocket launchers covering its every square metre, and shaped like two oversized boats on top of one another. It is an alien spaceship, and most certainly not carrying aliens like E.T.
A large dock roof opens at the vessel’s base. Frank and Bruce are still under control of the gravitational pull.
The dock door has opened by now.
INT. SPACESHIP – DARKNESS
If the exterior of the spaceship looked intimidating, the interior is terrifying. Beginning from the far left hand corner of the dock we pan to find light black walls, very little lighting, a row of storage racks filled with disused robots or robots in need of repair, and scariest of all, to the right of the dock door, a human head on a spit. Edvard Munch could not have painted something as worrying as this.
Frank and Bruce, now at the end of the shafts of white light, are floating above the still open door, but begin to fall. The door now closes at the speed of light, and they crash-land on it, falling on their stomachs.
Frank and Bruce finally rise and dust themselves off, checking for injuries. They are fine.
Frank and Bruce simultaneously look up and around their new surroundings. Initially both react anxiously, however that anxiety turns to extreme excitement when they realize what the dock reminds them of. Both look at each other with exuberance.
FRANK AND BRUCE
(together)
We’re in Starcraft! High-five, bro!
They high five each other.
The dock now goes from almost pitch black to blinding bright instantly. We now hear a bellowing and very authoritative voice, much like James Earl Jones. It is that of an alien.
ALIEN
(not seen; shouting)
Who said that?!
Frank and Bruce now realize this is no dream or game. They fall to the ground simultaneously, and hug each other in terror.
The two just lie on the ground still hugging each other in fear, almost frozen.
ALIEN
(not seen; even louder)
Who said that?!?!
Still shaking with terror, the boys finally find their feet and gradually are able to stand up.
BRUCE
W-w-we did!
Now the alien creature finally shows himself, teleporting into the shot.
ON ALIEN: this terrifying figure looks like the offspring of the Pale Man from Pan’s Labyrinth and the xenomorph from Alien. Seven foot tall, with wrinkled red skin, gills, no hair, a spiky tail, extended razor blades for fingernails and toenails, and bright yellow eyes. It oozes terror from every inch of its anatomy.
Frank and Bruce both scream at the very top of their lungs, and collapse to the ground in fear yet again.
This angers the creature.
ALIEN
Silence! Rise!
The boys do as they have been instructed. Standing completely straight and starting to sweat, Frank and Bruce are almost frozen solid as the creature begins to walk around them in a circle, inspecting them. It sneers continuously and makes a hissing sound as it examines Frank and Bruce’s clothing, appearances and builds.
ALIEN
Just… what the doctor prescribed. A fat slob, and a metal-head! Human scum at its most disposable! I imagine you are both wondering how you got here, and moreover, why you are here. Am I accurate in my presumptions?
Bruce is losing patience. He steps forward to face the creature in the eye.
BRUCE
What the fuck do you think?
Frank pulls him back.
FRANK
Now’s not the time for that attitude, you fuckhead! This thing looks like it’s gonna roast us on a spit and have its followers dance around the fire at the same time!
ALIEN
Hush! I have no plans at all to kill you!
(laughs)
Rather, I want to play a game with you, one which involves no bloodshed of any kind. At least, not if you make no errors. My name is Xerzjik, and I have a challenge for you. Just correctly answer a series of questions about a topic known as “electracy.” That is all the challenge entails. However, should you refuse to accept it, you will never be able to return home. Fail, and you will never return home. Never! Ever! This is not a dream you are having! This is not any kind of joke or hoax that you humans so commonly and poorly pull! Do both of you oxygen thieves understand me?!
FRANK AND BRUCE
(together)
Yes, Xerzjik!
XERZJIK
(bellowing)
What?!
FRANK AND BRUCE
(together)
Yes, Xerzjik, Your Majesty!
XERZJIK
Spoken like true prodigies. Here are your sources you will be needing.
Instantly, two thirty-centimetre thick slabs of bound paper (one for each boy) fall into Frank and Bruce’s hands. Frank and Bruce fall to the ground because of the weight of the documents.
They sit up on the floor of the dock, as Xerzjik leans down and stares icily in their faces.
XERZJIK
I would get reading if I were you. You have two days. Get one answer wrong, and you will never see your stupid, superfluous, insubordinate Earthling friends and relatives ever again, and they will have to bury empty coffins! Mwahahahahahaha!
Xerzjik presses a red button on the glove he is wearing on his left wrist. The dock roof opens, and he zooms out into space, staring at Frank and Bruce frighteningly.
CUT TO:
INT. SPACESHIP DOCK
Frank and Bruce and laying on the floor of the dock with the texts in front of them, opened by about a quarter of the pages. The two of them are scanning the writing with their eyes back and forth, back and forth, trying to get through as quickly as they can but slowly enough to take in every ounce of information as well.
In fast-motion, we see Frank and Bruce flicking through the humongous slabs of paper.
TITLE CARD: ELEVEN HOURS LATER
CUT TO:
INT. SPACESHIP DOCK – ELEVEN HOURS LATER
Frank and Bruce are still laying on the floor of the dock with the texts in front of them, only now they are half-asleep and fighting drowsiness in their aim of getting through the huge texts as soon as they possibly can. Bruce turns over one page and then yawns, with Frank following suit five seconds later.
TITLE CARD: NINE HOURS LATER
We can hear a slight beeping sound. It is an alarm on Bruce’s mobile phone going off. Hearing it, Bruce awakes with a jump. He takes the phone out of his jeans pocket, switches the alarm off and checks the time. It’s now 8:30 Earth time.
BRUCE
Man, we need to get reading again. One more day left!
Bruce leans over and shakes Frank’s shoulder to wake him. Frank opens his eyes for the new day, rubs them, stretches his arms and finally sits up.
Ironically, in front of Frank and Bruce are now the texts and two bowls of porridge. The boys are amazed.
FRANK
Do you think perhaps Xerzjik knows humans can’t study on an empty stomach?
Bruce laughs and grins appreciatively. Both of them prop their heads skyward.
FRANK AND BRUCE
(together)
Thank you, Xerzjik, Your Majesty!
Frank and Bruce each dive for their respective bowl and tuck in.
After a few mouthfuls, the two look at each other in realization of much time they have left before the quiz.
FRANK
I really think we should try to read this again.
BRUCE
Agreed.
Simultaneously, Frank and Bruce finish their breakfasts and start to while away at their texts for the second time.
Fade to black.
TITLE CARD: THE NEXT DAY
Frank and Bruce are by this time fast asleep on the ground of the dock. All of a sudden, the dock door opens, the sound waking them with a jump. Xerzjik appears in front of them, and he means business.
XERZJIK
The day of reckoning is upon us. Eat your human breakfast with haste.
In fast-motion, Frank and Bruce carry out Xerzjik’s orders. When they are done with this, both of them stand up straight.
XERZJIK
Guards!
Two alien guards appear, each wheeling a strange machine probably used for strapping dangerous life-forms into bed, that looks like a combination of an airport trolley and a straightjacket. They stop when they reach Xerzjik, Frank and Bruce.
XERZJIK
Strap them in.
Frank and Bruce turn to look at each other with anxiety.
Each guard pulls each of the boys away and begins to strap them into the contraptions. Frank and Bruce’s bodies are forced into the contraptions, then two sets of very thick bars of metal coming from the side are pushed down over their torsos and feet, securing them.
XERZJIK
Let’s get down to business.
He begins to lead the guards and Frank and Bruce away somewhere.
CUT TO: XERZJIK’S PALACE MAIN HALL – DAY
This is truly a room to behold. Huge and luxurious in its every square centrimetre, it’s like something no Impressionist painter would not go weak at the knees for. The walls have been painted a blazing gold colour, the architecture being the most perfect marble, and red-painted floors to top it all off. There is also a table and later a queen-size bed in the centre of the room each measuring about five metres, the bed coming complete with a curtain around its entire area.
Frank and Bruce have been wheeled to the very front of the hall. Now the guards begin to clip electricity cables to their fingertips. They each look anxious but appear to be hiding it quite well given the circumstances.
XERZJIK
Well, my human scum, this is what it has been about. I will cut straight to the chase. I am going to ask each of you five questions about the notion of electracy. If you get them all right, I will return you to your little planet and you will have lived to see another day. But, get just one answer incorrect and… here’s a demonstration of what will happen.
Xerzjik turns to his right. An alien, most likely a criminal alien, is also strapped into the same contraption and has electricity cables leading to a generator clipped to his fingertips. Xerzjik waltzes over to the generator and pushes a large black button which reads “DO NOT PUSH.”
Bolts of electricity race through the criminal alien’s body, shaking the alien wildly. After three seconds of this, the alien IMPLODES, its blood spilling and its body parts flying everywhere.
Frank and Bruce now freeze with terror. Finally, they SCREAM.
XERZJIK
Do not put all your fear and anxiety to waste yet! I haven’t even asked the first question! Since I understand neither of you will be able to decide amongst yourselves which of you would like to go first, I will do that for you. It’s you Frank.
Frank is now going white as a sheet.
XERZJIK
Be that as it may, with each question I will back and forth between you until we reach the end. That is, if we do reach the end. They are all true-or-false questions, and the more questions we get through, the harder the next question will be. You may take as long as you need to answer. Let us get this over with. Frank. The theorist Gregory Ulmer became one of the most renowned experts of electracy as a result of his text entitled Halflives: A Mystory.
Frank appears momentarily confident.
FRANK
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Xerzjik now turns to Bruce.
XERZJIK
Bruce. Gregory Ulmer once wrote that mystorys “were designed to simulate the experience of invention, the crossing of discourses that has been shown to occur in the invention process.”
BRUCE
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Xerzjik turns his focus again to Frank.
XERZJIK
Ulmer never wonders how a being can manage inventing something that will restrict the concept of technology to the home.
FRANK
False, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Xerzjik turns his attention back to Bruce
XERZJIK
One of Ulmer’s main arguments is that if electracy is to be introduced into schools, it has the potential to overcome the hurdles faced by any person who aims to surpass Enlightenment reason.
This time, Bruce thinks just for a moment.
BRUCE
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Once again, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Frank.
XERZJIK
On the nature of subjectivities that could be produced by a large-scale switch from literacy to electracy, Ulmer argues: “In the same way that the practice of reading privately and silently contributed to the formation of “self”, so too will performing hyperrhetoric contribute to a new subjectivication in the electronic apparatus (in which one will have to find a new term of self-reference, neither “parrot” as in the clan identity of the oral apparatus nor “me” in the individualism of literacy.”
Frank rubs his face in thought.
FRANK
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Once again, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Bruce.
XERZJIK
The article Halflives, a Mystory: Writing Hypertext to Learn was authored by Gregory Ulmer himself.
BRUCE
False, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Once again, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Frank.
XERZJIK
Tofts writes that electracy and mystory aim to produce universal truths.
Frank now rubs his face for ten seconds. He appears stumped, but it soon comes to him.
FRANK
False, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Once again, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Bruce.
XERZJIK
History is the very first element of mystory.
Bruce breathes in deeply.
BRUCE
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
For the last time, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Frank.
XERZJIK
This is your final question, Frank. The term “hyperlogic” was coined by Darren Tofts in his essay Hyperlogic, the Avant-Garde and Other Transitive Acts.
Frank is now quivering with anxiety. He breathes in even more deeply time, rubbing his face agin. After ten seconds he finally looks up at Xerzjik.
FRANK
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
For the last time, Xerzjik switches his focus back to Bruce.
XERZJIK
Bruce, this is your final question. The other four elements of mystory are herstory, mystery, my story and envois.
Like Frank, Bruce is now almost controlled by his anxiety. He takes a very long deep breath.
BRUCE
True, Xerzjik, Your Majesty.
Xerzjik remains silent for a few moments. Frank and Bruce look at each other, each of them wondering what their fate will be.
XERZJIK
(in alien language; subtitled)
Guards! Release them.
The two alien guards begin to unclip the electrical wires from Frank and Bruce’s fingers, and then free the two boys from the unnamed contraption.
XERZJIK
My deepest congratulations, Frank and Bruce. You have both beaten the game.
Frank and Bruce both now fall to the ground with relief. After five seconds they are able to find their feet again. They are ecstatic.
XERZJIK
You have proven how very wrong I was about you and your species. However, before I send you back to your families and your lives, I want to stress something to you. To begin with, I must confess you two were selected for this as I had been watching the two of you from space for some time. Watching how you do nothing except wasting away your lives by playing computer games. That will get you absolutely nowhere. I felt I had to enforce that upon you both. Electracy is a tool for staying on top of life, and it will become the way of the future. I was only so merciless with you because otherwise, my message would not have gotten through to either of you. Now that you have been put through such a terrifying experience, I want both you to promise me here and now that when you return to Earth, you will get out and grab life by the horns. Do you promise to do that?
BRUCE
Oh, we certainly do!
FRANK
Yes! One hundred percent!
XERZJIK
Good. I bid you both farewell now.
CUT TO: INT. FRANK’S BEDROOM – DAY
Nothing has changed in Frank’s bedroom since he left it. The large shafts of white light that lifted Frank and Bruce appear again in the room, only this time Frank falls back into the room and onto the floor. He lifts himself up on the floor and, tired, walks over to the bed and falls asleep instantly.
SUBTITLE: Frank went back to school and finished this time. He now works for the Commonwealth Bank.
CUT TO:
EXT. BRUCE’S BEDROOM – DAY
The shaft of white light has also come back into Bruce’s bedroom, and he also falls straight onto the carpet. Tired also, he too, walks over to his bed, slides onto it and falls straight asleep.
SUBTITLE: Bruce went back to school as well, and to university. He now works for a law firm.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Science fiction: the recipe for dreams.
Outer space. Since the dawn of Man its mysteries have instilled in us a deep sense of curiosity, wonderment and creativity. This is the root of mythology's greatness, and even though it's real, outer space's mysteries, distance from us and vast size and beauty help it assume mythological status. Are we alone in the universe? Could we survive on any other planet? What secrets do Earth's fellow planets hold that can help us understand more about ourselves and our world? Scientists, astronauts, astronomers, engineers and the like have made countless breakthroughs in their respective fields by trying to answer these and many other questions, but for me the greatest thing we have outer space to thank for is science fiction. To many it is just a genre, but (and while I usually love cinema, literature and TV in general) for me it is something very sacred that has strongly influenced my life (and I know that kinda makes me seem like a middle-aged freeloader still living with his parents (and FTR I'm not), but life's too short to be self-conscious). Here’s why it rules the genres for me.
Firstly, a little backstory. I'm the nerd son of a nerd father (fuck, the first time I ever heard the words science fiction they came out of his mouth but mind you, we have one profound difference taste-wise: I'm a Star Wars nut and – you guessed it – he's a Trekkie) and a mother who have always unconditionally loved, supported and encouraged me to be myself. I'm their youngest child, too (and my dad was his parents' youngest also, haha), and last-borns are often the most creative kids (http://hubpages.com/hub/How-Birth-Order-Affects-Your-Childs-Psychological-Development). Plus, for reasons too personal and boring, for much of my school days I was a bully-magnet (but what doesn't kill me only strengthens me), so frequently as a kid I needed escapism. In 1997 when I was nearly 9, my uncle (and fortunately this was before I grew up and realized what a fucking wanker he is – plus I’d say a few people would understandably blame him for this) took my brother and I to the movies to see Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope. Suffice to say, while I consider SW to be space fantasy more than anything my life changed dramatically from that day on and if someone insults the original trilogy in my presence I'm liable to make them cry. That was just the start of my lifelong love of SF as I've since become a proud, devoted nerd by branching out into speculative fiction in general. Now for why SF is to me the best genre of all.
Those oblivious to SF's wonders usually write it off as superficial, juvenile bullshit and while sometimes it is (fuck you, Michael Bay), what they do not realize is that the best SF merely makes you really search for its emotional and thematic depth, and SF in general is a pretty thickskinned genre anyway. As Adam Roberts writes, "science fiction is at its heart a metaphorical literature, one that aims to represent the world without reproducing it."* Yes, other genres try to provide accurate depictions of our world, but usually in much less unique and versatile ways. It needn't be said that SF can fire our imaginations visually, but it hardly stops there. SF can also be epic, like Dune and 2001: A Space Odyssey (I'm not that keen on it but you can't argue with the classics – and avoid the movie of Dune at all costs). It can be hilarious, like Back to the Future, Men in Black and Galaxy Quest. The Forever War, The Dispossessed and Children of Men (see 2001) are masterpieces of unapologetically angry SF. Classics like The Matrix expose SF's philosophical depths. Dystopia is a social issue prevalent in masterworks like Blade Runner, Minority Report and Fahrenheit 451. SF can also examine how the mind works, like in Akira and A Clockwork Orange. Blowing to smithereens the theory that SF only appeals to men, Alien, Aliens (these also being the seminal SF horror flicks – the other two are shit), Ghost in the Shell and Appleseed are populated by tough and complex heroines, and it can be romantic, such as Avatar and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Then there is SF that's simultaneously aesthically pleasing and deeply moving, like E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial, A. I. Artificial Intelligence and The Truman Show. Finally SF can teach us timeless and universal messages about our relationships with technology and nature, like in James Cameron's Terminator films and Jurassic Park respectively. Can/does any other genre do all these things, or at least as successfully? I don't think so.
Of course, the sad truth is that SF is, well, fiction. But what it may lack in realism it more than makes up for in escapist fun and intellectual stimulation. These, in turn, at their most exhilarating and potent can fire our imaginations like a spark starts a fire. Haters can hate, but this is a priceless feeling that nothing or nobody can diminish or take from us, and art is meant to entertain AND educate, not just one or the other. Good SF can uplift us, help us better understand our world and every creature in it, show us how we can make a difference and it has given nerds worldwide strong power and influence. But perhaps most significantly, SF can make us believe the impossible. Just take a look up at the stars... ours is truly a galaxy of infinite beauty and possibility, isn't it?
* Roberts, A. 2009, Introduction, in Haldeman, J. 1974, The Forever War, SF Masterworks edition, 2010, Gollancz.
Firstly, a little backstory. I'm the nerd son of a nerd father (fuck, the first time I ever heard the words science fiction they came out of his mouth but mind you, we have one profound difference taste-wise: I'm a Star Wars nut and – you guessed it – he's a Trekkie) and a mother who have always unconditionally loved, supported and encouraged me to be myself. I'm their youngest child, too (and my dad was his parents' youngest also, haha), and last-borns are often the most creative kids (http://hubpages.com/hub/How-Birth-Order-Affects-Your-Childs-Psychological-Development). Plus, for reasons too personal and boring, for much of my school days I was a bully-magnet (but what doesn't kill me only strengthens me), so frequently as a kid I needed escapism. In 1997 when I was nearly 9, my uncle (and fortunately this was before I grew up and realized what a fucking wanker he is – plus I’d say a few people would understandably blame him for this) took my brother and I to the movies to see Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope. Suffice to say, while I consider SW to be space fantasy more than anything my life changed dramatically from that day on and if someone insults the original trilogy in my presence I'm liable to make them cry. That was just the start of my lifelong love of SF as I've since become a proud, devoted nerd by branching out into speculative fiction in general. Now for why SF is to me the best genre of all.
Those oblivious to SF's wonders usually write it off as superficial, juvenile bullshit and while sometimes it is (fuck you, Michael Bay), what they do not realize is that the best SF merely makes you really search for its emotional and thematic depth, and SF in general is a pretty thickskinned genre anyway. As Adam Roberts writes, "science fiction is at its heart a metaphorical literature, one that aims to represent the world without reproducing it."* Yes, other genres try to provide accurate depictions of our world, but usually in much less unique and versatile ways. It needn't be said that SF can fire our imaginations visually, but it hardly stops there. SF can also be epic, like Dune and 2001: A Space Odyssey (I'm not that keen on it but you can't argue with the classics – and avoid the movie of Dune at all costs). It can be hilarious, like Back to the Future, Men in Black and Galaxy Quest. The Forever War, The Dispossessed and Children of Men (see 2001) are masterpieces of unapologetically angry SF. Classics like The Matrix expose SF's philosophical depths. Dystopia is a social issue prevalent in masterworks like Blade Runner, Minority Report and Fahrenheit 451. SF can also examine how the mind works, like in Akira and A Clockwork Orange. Blowing to smithereens the theory that SF only appeals to men, Alien, Aliens (these also being the seminal SF horror flicks – the other two are shit), Ghost in the Shell and Appleseed are populated by tough and complex heroines, and it can be romantic, such as Avatar and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Then there is SF that's simultaneously aesthically pleasing and deeply moving, like E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial, A. I. Artificial Intelligence and The Truman Show. Finally SF can teach us timeless and universal messages about our relationships with technology and nature, like in James Cameron's Terminator films and Jurassic Park respectively. Can/does any other genre do all these things, or at least as successfully? I don't think so.
Of course, the sad truth is that SF is, well, fiction. But what it may lack in realism it more than makes up for in escapist fun and intellectual stimulation. These, in turn, at their most exhilarating and potent can fire our imaginations like a spark starts a fire. Haters can hate, but this is a priceless feeling that nothing or nobody can diminish or take from us, and art is meant to entertain AND educate, not just one or the other. Good SF can uplift us, help us better understand our world and every creature in it, show us how we can make a difference and it has given nerds worldwide strong power and influence. But perhaps most significantly, SF can make us believe the impossible. Just take a look up at the stars... ours is truly a galaxy of infinite beauty and possibility, isn't it?
* Roberts, A. 2009, Introduction, in Haldeman, J. 1974, The Forever War, SF Masterworks edition, 2010, Gollancz.
Friday, August 20, 2010
My top 10 films and albums of each decade (the '70s to the '00s).
‘70s:
FILMS:
1. Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
2. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
3. Taxi Driver
4. Alien
5. Network
6. Chinatown
7. Carrie
8. Dirty Harry
9. Coming Home
10. The Godfather: Part II
ALBUMS:
1. Elton John – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
2. Queen – A Night at the Opera (did the gay Britons epitomize ‘70s music or what?)
3. AC/DC – Highway to Hell
4. Stevie Wonder – Innervisions
5. Led Zeppelin – Led Zeppelin IV
6. Cat Stevens – Tea for the Tillerman
7. The Rolling Stones – Exile on Main St.
8. Stevie Wonder – Songs in the Key of Life
9. Bruce Springsteen – Born to Run
10. The Jacksons – Destiny
‘80s:
FILMS:
1. Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back
2. Raging Bull
3. Raiders of the Lost Ark
4. Blade Runner
5. E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial
6. Dead Poets Society
7. Back to the Future
8. Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi
9. Platoon
10. Amadeus
ALBUMS:
1. AC/DC – Back in Black
2. Bon Jovi – Slippery When Wet
3. Michael Jackson – Thriller
4. U2 – The Joshua Tree
5. Prince and the Revolution – Purple Rain
6. Bruce Springsteen – Born in the U.S.A.
7. Guns N’ Roses – Appetite for Destruction
8. Michael Jackson - Bad
9. INXS – Kick
10. Crowded House – Temple of Low Men
‘90s:
FILMS:
1. Schindler’s List
2. Pulp Fiction
3. The Silence of the Lambs
4. The Shawshank Redemption
5. Forrest Gump
6. The Matrix
7. Edward Scissorhands
8. The Lion King
9. Terminator 2: Judgment Day
10. American Beauty
ALBUMS:
1. Oasis – (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?
2. Nirvana – Nevermind
3. Red Hot Chili Peppers – Blood Sugar Sex Magik
4. Alanis Morissette – Jagged Little Pill
5. Green Day – Dookie
6. Michael Jackson – Dangerous
7. Nirvana – In Utero
8. Red Hot Chili Peppers – Californication
9. Bon Jovi – Keep the Faith
10. The Living End – The Living End
‘00s:
FILMS:
1. The Lord of the Rings
2. Kill Bill
3. Brokeback Mountain
4. Into the Wild
5. Million Dollar Baby
6. Gladiator
7. Avatar
8. Babel
9. Slumdog Millionaire
10. Almost Famous
ALBUMS:
1. TIE – Good Charlotte – The Chronicles of Life and Death / Green Day – American Idiot
2. Eminem – The Marshall Mathers LP
3. James Blunt – Back to Bedlam
4. Good Charlotte – The Young and the Hopeless
5. Nickelback – Silver Side Up
6. Silverchair – Diorama
7. My Chemical Romance – The Black Parade
8. Jet – Get Born
9. Fall Out Boy – Folie à Deux
10. The Stokes - Is This It
FILMS:
1. Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
2. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
3. Taxi Driver
4. Alien
5. Network
6. Chinatown
7. Carrie
8. Dirty Harry
9. Coming Home
10. The Godfather: Part II
ALBUMS:
1. Elton John – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
2. Queen – A Night at the Opera (did the gay Britons epitomize ‘70s music or what?)
3. AC/DC – Highway to Hell
4. Stevie Wonder – Innervisions
5. Led Zeppelin – Led Zeppelin IV
6. Cat Stevens – Tea for the Tillerman
7. The Rolling Stones – Exile on Main St.
8. Stevie Wonder – Songs in the Key of Life
9. Bruce Springsteen – Born to Run
10. The Jacksons – Destiny
‘80s:
FILMS:
1. Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back
2. Raging Bull
3. Raiders of the Lost Ark
4. Blade Runner
5. E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial
6. Dead Poets Society
7. Back to the Future
8. Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi
9. Platoon
10. Amadeus
ALBUMS:
1. AC/DC – Back in Black
2. Bon Jovi – Slippery When Wet
3. Michael Jackson – Thriller
4. U2 – The Joshua Tree
5. Prince and the Revolution – Purple Rain
6. Bruce Springsteen – Born in the U.S.A.
7. Guns N’ Roses – Appetite for Destruction
8. Michael Jackson - Bad
9. INXS – Kick
10. Crowded House – Temple of Low Men
‘90s:
FILMS:
1. Schindler’s List
2. Pulp Fiction
3. The Silence of the Lambs
4. The Shawshank Redemption
5. Forrest Gump
6. The Matrix
7. Edward Scissorhands
8. The Lion King
9. Terminator 2: Judgment Day
10. American Beauty
ALBUMS:
1. Oasis – (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?
2. Nirvana – Nevermind
3. Red Hot Chili Peppers – Blood Sugar Sex Magik
4. Alanis Morissette – Jagged Little Pill
5. Green Day – Dookie
6. Michael Jackson – Dangerous
7. Nirvana – In Utero
8. Red Hot Chili Peppers – Californication
9. Bon Jovi – Keep the Faith
10. The Living End – The Living End
‘00s:
FILMS:
1. The Lord of the Rings
2. Kill Bill
3. Brokeback Mountain
4. Into the Wild
5. Million Dollar Baby
6. Gladiator
7. Avatar
8. Babel
9. Slumdog Millionaire
10. Almost Famous
ALBUMS:
1. TIE – Good Charlotte – The Chronicles of Life and Death / Green Day – American Idiot
2. Eminem – The Marshall Mathers LP
3. James Blunt – Back to Bedlam
4. Good Charlotte – The Young and the Hopeless
5. Nickelback – Silver Side Up
6. Silverchair – Diorama
7. My Chemical Romance – The Black Parade
8. Jet – Get Born
9. Fall Out Boy – Folie à Deux
10. The Stokes - Is This It
Friday, February 5, 2010
Review: Edward Scissorhands (Tim Burton, 1990)
Tim Burton's Edward Scissorhands is a genuine marvel of a movie. By turns visually stunning, romantic, suspenseful, amusing, postmodern and deeply touching, it leaves a stronger impression on me with each viewing, never once showing its 20 years, and more importantly after all these years it remains one of the most unique, satisfying and downright perfect pieces of cinema ever made.
On a spectacular and sprawling yet (mostly) abandoned Gothic castle high on a hill surrounded by mouthwatering gardens and views lives an artificial man named Edward (Johnny Depp), whose old inventor's (Vincent Price) death left him completely alone and with sharp metal shears for hands. But then one day he is rescued from this life of mundane isolation by Peg Boggs (Dianne Wiest), a kindly local Avon representative who takes him home to live with her and her family – her everyman husband Bill (Alan Arkin), their typical girl-next-door teenage daughter Kim (Winona Ryder) and cheeky younger son Kevin (Robert Oliveri). He becomes a hit with the locals for his amazing gift for hairdressing and dog-grooming, but that is hardly what he will remember most about this experience. Like in any true fairytale, Edward immediately finds himself smitten over Kim and (though they first meet with disastrous results) Kim slowly finds herself feeling the same way for this artificial but uncommonly gentle and kind man. But when her rough boyfriend Jim (Anthony Michael Hall) finds out about this and tries to stop it by tricking Edward into committing a crime, a series of events transpire that put Edward in great harm.
Visually, Edward Scissorhands is almost impossible to beat as you'd expect from a director whose first job in the movie business was as an animator at Walt Disney Studios. The sets are jaw-dropping in both their design and construction, with the sets of the spooky Gothic castle and the Boggs' brightly coloured suburban street wonderfully juxtaposing the life of nearly complete isolation that in the beginning Edward only knows to the very friendly, close-knit and normal suburban environment from which he is eventually cut off once again in the end. Stefan Czapsky's cinematography, while (perhaps smartly) restrained for the first two acts, is stunning in the unforgettable ice angel sequence (the best scene Burton has ever filmed) and in the almost equally perfect climax, the editing is fluid and Burton crafts one of his best personal opening credits sequences of all. And the brilliant Danny Elfman's score is nothing short of astonishing, becoming (like the scores of most films that depend heavily on any kind of music) absolutely instrumental in the effect of the finale.
Caroline Thompson's (who helped Burton develop the concept for the movie) screenplay is an underrated gem, and working from it Burton also succeeds in making a fantasy movie that is not just real eye candy, but also an amazingly well-acted fantasy movie. Ryder (although I don't think I'm alone in saying that now whenever I see her on-screen or hear or think of her I'm reminded firstly of her shoplifting incident) succeeds in displaying a far nicer side as opposed to the strong cynicism she showed in the hilarious Heathers and Burton's earlier work Beetlejuice, and she truly makes you believe a girl like Kim could fall for an artificial guy with metal shears for hands, Wiest's sweet-as-pie warmth has never been put to better use as the kind but slightly naïve woman who sees past Edward's exterior and tries to help him fit in, and a very much cast-against-type Anthony Michael Hall (aka the geek from so many John Hughes movie) manages to display a much nastier side as Kim's possessive and mean jerk of a boyfriend. But none of them can hold a candle to Depp, who's never been better before or since as he is here, astonishingly portraying with great dignity, subtlety and barely 100 words of dialogue (and let's not forget he had to endure a very tight leather suit and the afore-mentioned "metal" shears for hands – and on that note a shout-out to the late, great make-up artist Stan Winston) an uncommonly gentle and kind but misunderstood and isolated artificial man who is hurt emotionally when he discovers that even the lightest touch with his scissor hands inflicts pain.
There are directors with distinctive styles and then there are geniuses like Tim Burton, whose extraordinarily vast, individual and visual imaginations are complimented by a real interest in telling beautiful stories to provide viewers with a film that will ultimately reach them on a personal level as well as dazzling their senses. He is one of the all-time gods not just of film-making, but of the arts in general, and with this film he is truly at the height of his powers. Many people say that Dances with Wolves and Kevin Costner winning Best Picture and Best Director over Goodfellas and Scorsese at the 1990 Academy Awards is disgusting and while I certainly prefer Goodfellas out of those two, the fact that this powerhouse masterpiece not only didn't sweep but was nominated only for Best Make-Up is even worse to me. Burton still considers this to be his most personal film, and it thoroughly shows. He has and will never top this.
On a spectacular and sprawling yet (mostly) abandoned Gothic castle high on a hill surrounded by mouthwatering gardens and views lives an artificial man named Edward (Johnny Depp), whose old inventor's (Vincent Price) death left him completely alone and with sharp metal shears for hands. But then one day he is rescued from this life of mundane isolation by Peg Boggs (Dianne Wiest), a kindly local Avon representative who takes him home to live with her and her family – her everyman husband Bill (Alan Arkin), their typical girl-next-door teenage daughter Kim (Winona Ryder) and cheeky younger son Kevin (Robert Oliveri). He becomes a hit with the locals for his amazing gift for hairdressing and dog-grooming, but that is hardly what he will remember most about this experience. Like in any true fairytale, Edward immediately finds himself smitten over Kim and (though they first meet with disastrous results) Kim slowly finds herself feeling the same way for this artificial but uncommonly gentle and kind man. But when her rough boyfriend Jim (Anthony Michael Hall) finds out about this and tries to stop it by tricking Edward into committing a crime, a series of events transpire that put Edward in great harm.
Visually, Edward Scissorhands is almost impossible to beat as you'd expect from a director whose first job in the movie business was as an animator at Walt Disney Studios. The sets are jaw-dropping in both their design and construction, with the sets of the spooky Gothic castle and the Boggs' brightly coloured suburban street wonderfully juxtaposing the life of nearly complete isolation that in the beginning Edward only knows to the very friendly, close-knit and normal suburban environment from which he is eventually cut off once again in the end. Stefan Czapsky's cinematography, while (perhaps smartly) restrained for the first two acts, is stunning in the unforgettable ice angel sequence (the best scene Burton has ever filmed) and in the almost equally perfect climax, the editing is fluid and Burton crafts one of his best personal opening credits sequences of all. And the brilliant Danny Elfman's score is nothing short of astonishing, becoming (like the scores of most films that depend heavily on any kind of music) absolutely instrumental in the effect of the finale.
Caroline Thompson's (who helped Burton develop the concept for the movie) screenplay is an underrated gem, and working from it Burton also succeeds in making a fantasy movie that is not just real eye candy, but also an amazingly well-acted fantasy movie. Ryder (although I don't think I'm alone in saying that now whenever I see her on-screen or hear or think of her I'm reminded firstly of her shoplifting incident) succeeds in displaying a far nicer side as opposed to the strong cynicism she showed in the hilarious Heathers and Burton's earlier work Beetlejuice, and she truly makes you believe a girl like Kim could fall for an artificial guy with metal shears for hands, Wiest's sweet-as-pie warmth has never been put to better use as the kind but slightly naïve woman who sees past Edward's exterior and tries to help him fit in, and a very much cast-against-type Anthony Michael Hall (aka the geek from so many John Hughes movie) manages to display a much nastier side as Kim's possessive and mean jerk of a boyfriend. But none of them can hold a candle to Depp, who's never been better before or since as he is here, astonishingly portraying with great dignity, subtlety and barely 100 words of dialogue (and let's not forget he had to endure a very tight leather suit and the afore-mentioned "metal" shears for hands – and on that note a shout-out to the late, great make-up artist Stan Winston) an uncommonly gentle and kind but misunderstood and isolated artificial man who is hurt emotionally when he discovers that even the lightest touch with his scissor hands inflicts pain.
There are directors with distinctive styles and then there are geniuses like Tim Burton, whose extraordinarily vast, individual and visual imaginations are complimented by a real interest in telling beautiful stories to provide viewers with a film that will ultimately reach them on a personal level as well as dazzling their senses. He is one of the all-time gods not just of film-making, but of the arts in general, and with this film he is truly at the height of his powers. Many people say that Dances with Wolves and Kevin Costner winning Best Picture and Best Director over Goodfellas and Scorsese at the 1990 Academy Awards is disgusting and while I certainly prefer Goodfellas out of those two, the fact that this powerhouse masterpiece not only didn't sweep but was nominated only for Best Make-Up is even worse to me. Burton still considers this to be his most personal film, and it thoroughly shows. He has and will never top this.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Review: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (Milos Forman, 1975)
Released in 1975, Milos Forman's staggering film of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (adapted from Ken Kesey's equally brilliant semi-autobiographical 1962 novel) remains arguably the most relevant, accurate and powerful cinematic analysis of mental illness and corruption of power ever. It became just the second film ever to win the five major Academy Awards and was shown in Swedish cinemas for 12 years, which remains a national record in Sweden. Yet at the time the critical reception of the movie was still rather uneven (though deservedly that's improved over time), and Kesey vehemently refused to watch it as the story wasn't told from the point of view of Chief Bromden like it is in the novel.
But what a film it is. After fighting for more than a decade to get the film made, producers Saul Zaentz and Michael Douglas (largely influenced by his father Kirk, who first acquired the film rights) had developed a strong affection for the story and once they had the financing they hired Czech director Milos Forman, the only director they encountered who shared their affection for Kesey's story. It isn't hard to see why, and as Forman spent the majority of his formative years and the early part of his career living under a totalitarian regime in Czechoslovakia after losing his parents in Auschwitz and Buchenwald as a child, Forman proved to be the perfect director to bring to the screen this story of silenced and very often misunderstood people existing in such circumstances who are slowly inspired to take a stand. Forman's direction is a thing of sheer mastery: tender yet honest in the sequences involving McMurphy's (Jack Nicholson) relationship with his fellow patients, raw in the sequences revolving around Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher), a usually calm but unknowingly corrupt and dictatorial woman who thinks she's doing what's in her patients' best interests and how she runs the ward and treats her patients, unflinching but sympathetic in its depiction of the ravages mental illnesses inflict on those who suffer from them, and all those qualities in the emotionally draining yet tremendously inspiring climax. Forman simply outdid himself here.
But of course, every director is only as good (or bad) as the cast and crew they have to work with, and Forman's is flawless. Starting with the cast, he garners three of the most perfect displays of acting in cinematic history. McMurphy was the role Nicholson was born to play, and while he's a force of nature in the scenes involving McMurphy squaring off with Nurse Ratched, his more subtle scenes where he depicts the changes that the institution and his fellow patients in whom he provoked a change first are the ones that truly assure him a place among the true all-time legends (and the fact that he and Forman had a fiery relationship just makes his turn even more unbelievable). He's never been better before or since, and as brilliant as Al Pacino is in Dog Day Afternoon I'm firmly in Team McMurphy. Fletcher is every bit as good as the sadistic Nurse Ratched who tries to clip the free-spirited McMurphy's wings – it's an incredibly controlled performance, because while a lesser actress would have played her like an overbearing battleaxe, Fletcher is chilling because of her sincerity. Yet even despite how truly frightening Fletcher is she also manages to make the viewer feel a small amount of sympathy for Nurse Ratched by simultaneously playing her as a woman who's really just trying to do her job even though she's oblivious to the negative impact she's had on those in her care. Also, Brad Dourif pulls off one of the most astounding supporting turns in movie history as Billy Bibbitt, a stuttering (and thus exploited) teenager who proves to be the catalyst for Nurse Ratched's downfall at the hands of McMurphy, and William Redfield (who sadly died shortly after the movie was released) and Sydney Lassick are also superb as the schizophrenic Harding and bipolar Cheswick.
Bo Goldman and Laurence Hauben's screenplay is one of the few that, I think it can be said, against which most others are measured. With great eloquence, insight, power and intelligence (and no cheese or sentimentality) they collectively crafted a screenplay that never waters down the ugly things that are mental illnesses, gives the viewer/reader a greater understanding of the effects (both negative and also positive) they have on those who suffer from them and also what causes corruption, it celebrates the rebels of the world who fight the establishment for the greater good as well as themselves, and perhaps most importantly it shows the mentally ill not as not as complete caricatures (because often such depictions of the mentally ill are, it must be said, accurate ones), but as people who can achieve anything (even if they need a little guidance).
Two other enormous bright spots are Jack Nitzsche's amazing score which is somehow mesmerizing in its musical simplicity (and it surely would've scooped the movie's sixth Oscar had Jaws come out in any other year) and Haskell Wexler's beautifully evocative cinematography.
Countless similar films before and since have explored rebellion against corrupt authority figures and the inner workings of the human mind what makes us all tick, but One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest will forever be the cinematic depiction of life in a "loony bin" (as McMurphy puts it) to end them all. After more than thirty years it remains an absolutely flawless, definitive, knockout masterpiece, and one of the five most deserving Best Picture Oscar winners of all. And is that the greatest climax of a Best Picture winner ever or is that the greatest climax of a Best Picture winner ever?
But what a film it is. After fighting for more than a decade to get the film made, producers Saul Zaentz and Michael Douglas (largely influenced by his father Kirk, who first acquired the film rights) had developed a strong affection for the story and once they had the financing they hired Czech director Milos Forman, the only director they encountered who shared their affection for Kesey's story. It isn't hard to see why, and as Forman spent the majority of his formative years and the early part of his career living under a totalitarian regime in Czechoslovakia after losing his parents in Auschwitz and Buchenwald as a child, Forman proved to be the perfect director to bring to the screen this story of silenced and very often misunderstood people existing in such circumstances who are slowly inspired to take a stand. Forman's direction is a thing of sheer mastery: tender yet honest in the sequences involving McMurphy's (Jack Nicholson) relationship with his fellow patients, raw in the sequences revolving around Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher), a usually calm but unknowingly corrupt and dictatorial woman who thinks she's doing what's in her patients' best interests and how she runs the ward and treats her patients, unflinching but sympathetic in its depiction of the ravages mental illnesses inflict on those who suffer from them, and all those qualities in the emotionally draining yet tremendously inspiring climax. Forman simply outdid himself here.
But of course, every director is only as good (or bad) as the cast and crew they have to work with, and Forman's is flawless. Starting with the cast, he garners three of the most perfect displays of acting in cinematic history. McMurphy was the role Nicholson was born to play, and while he's a force of nature in the scenes involving McMurphy squaring off with Nurse Ratched, his more subtle scenes where he depicts the changes that the institution and his fellow patients in whom he provoked a change first are the ones that truly assure him a place among the true all-time legends (and the fact that he and Forman had a fiery relationship just makes his turn even more unbelievable). He's never been better before or since, and as brilliant as Al Pacino is in Dog Day Afternoon I'm firmly in Team McMurphy. Fletcher is every bit as good as the sadistic Nurse Ratched who tries to clip the free-spirited McMurphy's wings – it's an incredibly controlled performance, because while a lesser actress would have played her like an overbearing battleaxe, Fletcher is chilling because of her sincerity. Yet even despite how truly frightening Fletcher is she also manages to make the viewer feel a small amount of sympathy for Nurse Ratched by simultaneously playing her as a woman who's really just trying to do her job even though she's oblivious to the negative impact she's had on those in her care. Also, Brad Dourif pulls off one of the most astounding supporting turns in movie history as Billy Bibbitt, a stuttering (and thus exploited) teenager who proves to be the catalyst for Nurse Ratched's downfall at the hands of McMurphy, and William Redfield (who sadly died shortly after the movie was released) and Sydney Lassick are also superb as the schizophrenic Harding and bipolar Cheswick.
Bo Goldman and Laurence Hauben's screenplay is one of the few that, I think it can be said, against which most others are measured. With great eloquence, insight, power and intelligence (and no cheese or sentimentality) they collectively crafted a screenplay that never waters down the ugly things that are mental illnesses, gives the viewer/reader a greater understanding of the effects (both negative and also positive) they have on those who suffer from them and also what causes corruption, it celebrates the rebels of the world who fight the establishment for the greater good as well as themselves, and perhaps most importantly it shows the mentally ill not as not as complete caricatures (because often such depictions of the mentally ill are, it must be said, accurate ones), but as people who can achieve anything (even if they need a little guidance).
Two other enormous bright spots are Jack Nitzsche's amazing score which is somehow mesmerizing in its musical simplicity (and it surely would've scooped the movie's sixth Oscar had Jaws come out in any other year) and Haskell Wexler's beautifully evocative cinematography.
Countless similar films before and since have explored rebellion against corrupt authority figures and the inner workings of the human mind what makes us all tick, but One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest will forever be the cinematic depiction of life in a "loony bin" (as McMurphy puts it) to end them all. After more than thirty years it remains an absolutely flawless, definitive, knockout masterpiece, and one of the five most deserving Best Picture Oscar winners of all. And is that the greatest climax of a Best Picture winner ever or is that the greatest climax of a Best Picture winner ever?
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