Long gone are the times when Catholics monopolized the notion of
guilt. Don't get me wrong, having been raised as a Catholic myself, I
still get invaded by oh, the shame, the shame in having a second
piece of chocolate mud pie. However, in late modern times, there
seems to be a universalizing tendency, a true democracy of guilt. As
such, don't ever, ever admit to:
-reading the Sun on a Sunday,
-eating an egg that isn't free-range
-being anything other than a social smoker
-ignoring a queue
-Miso soup tasting like dishwater
-not ever having seen Three Colours Blue
The contemporary moving through a societal nexus presents numerous
pitfalls and being a film critic the general rules seem to be as
follows:
-Obscure is always better: someone made a film with a home camera
from the back of their tractor in Uzbekistan? Hit that shit! Here's
the formula: Modern alienation meets heart-warming portrayal of
unusual friendship!
-lament the selling out of brilliant European director in moving to
Hollywood, formula: glimpses of former edge in close-cut editing,
softened by the compromised Hollywood ending.
-Hollywood goes political: the one niche where it's alright to like
something coming out of Tinsel-town, formula: praise the modern aware
beings; Philip Seymour Hoffman, Robert Redford and until the
'empty-chair'-incident, Clint Eastwood. Here, be careful about George
Clooney, it's advisable to stay vague, in the lines of, and I quote:
'Not quite there yet! Promising Beginning! Raising awareness while
slightly flawed structure' La-Di-Da...
Here's the thing though: It's summer! The one time where it's
alright to have a glass, alright, alright, half a bottle, of wine
every night (hey, if the Italians can do it, we can). It's not
alcoholism, it's Fellini in a bottle. While most people enjoy the
balmy summer nights, barbecues, swimming pools, intermezzos with the
neighbour, I hit the cinema.
A well-loved classic under the fairy-lit skies of the open-air
cinema? - not interested. A slow, beautiful portrayal of a
middle-aged woman going through a divorce under the Tuscan sun? - get
a grip. Another French pseudo-intellectual bromance? Fuck it.
No, give me the empty, air-conditioned, intellectual tumble weed of
the Cinemaxx any time! I'll say it loudly and proudly: in the summer,
I'm a Blockbuster-bitch!
The Avengers? Like a buy-one-get-four-for-free voucher! The consumer
in me can't resist.
The Dark Knight rises? Man, let him rise! And take me along on the
ride!
The Expendables? Switch off those politically correct tendencies in
favour of Chuck Norris jokes! ( Ever notice how Word Spell Checker
underlines the name Fellini as faulty, while perfectly knowing Chuck
Norris?)
The Bourne Legacy? Jeremy Renner – What a revelation!
Don't get me wrong; I have seen more Antonioni films than I can
remember, I have developed a near-obsession with Jarmusch and cannot
remember what my life was like before seeing '400 coups'. - In
spring, autumn and winter, that is! But, the reason we all get into
film in the first instance? : Star Wars, pure and simple.
In summer, I want simple moral fables. I want action-fuelled car
chases. I want to gorge myself on chocolates while watching handsome
people do awesome things. It's shameful, really, but someone needs to
take a stand for all those out there who sneak into the cinema to see
Arnie blow things up, only to avoid looking into the mirror by the
time they get home, tucking the experience away in that mental box
named guilty pleasure. Here's the thing though: you wouldn't eat a
grilled, fair-trade Halloumi wrap with organic rocket at Alton
Towers, now, would you? The summer blockbuster has the same effect:
it's mental chips and cheese, you wouldn't admit to it being your
favourite, but, oh, it makes you deliciously happy!
By the way: if you see me in autumn, I have never written this
article!
