(no subject)
Just to store it, you understand...
It's a first draft, I'm very, very tired (as in drop into my bed and fall asleep in five seconds tired), and it is meant to be a "practice personal college essay". I think I should use it for something. I like it. Anyway, here it is to share.
Bitter Realism, Sarcastic Execution
Wham! Bam! Body-slam! I’m slouching in the front row of the movie theatre, prime viewing for the special effects thrillers that are action movies nowadays. Images of helicopters exploding into a salvo of shrapnel are burned into my retinas, the dull thud of martial artist heel in communist stomach reverberates in my ears, and the required high-speed, rush-hour car chase makes my skin cringe in sympathy.
Unfortunately for everyone around me, I find it very hard to keep comments about, well, everything concerning such glamorous acts to myself. The critic in me considers it abhorrent how often Hollywood, or even the supposedly candid media, bends the truth to obtain a flashier, cliché effect, and often screams that fact at any nearby companions.
The one thing such movies do inspire in me is the thirst for more comprehensive knowledge. Is that fantastic trick with the minivan that I assumed false actually possible considering its brakes and steering? Can a human body really move, much less remain conscious, after such grievous injuries? Other things seem to arouse this thirst for the truth, such as the school’s watered-down History course, or even the nightly news. Such tidbits might not matter in the scheme of “school-college-job”. I don’t really care about that, though. Information for the pure bliss of knowing is my goal in these settings. I want to know how nerve gas really works, and what kinds the Nazis manufactured and used. Tiny, sometimes irrelevant things when the main plot is taken into account, that nevertheless irk or interest me by turns.
Often, when research is not enough to satisfy the passion, I excise such frustration or interest by writing a short story concerning the subject. Perhaps it would be about an extra in the scene where Marines are dying by the handfuls; one particular Marine’s last thoughts, reflections, and experiences, cut off dramatically mid-thought by his death. Or maybe an ode to the enchanting auras of sleek lava lamps would force its way through my fingertips. It all depends on what fiercely illuminated plot-hole or insignificant detail catches my imagination in a butterfly net.
But, as in all things, moderation is important.
Movies aren’t intended to exactly document every aspect of life. Conversely, movies are calculated to provide an escape for the average nine-to-five John or Jane Doe. After all, one can go out and live reality, but fantasy? That’s harder to unearth in everyday life than those directions I could have sworn I’d grabbed on the way out of the house. Many of my friends often refuse to watch movies with me now, claiming that I destroy the illusion with my bitter realism. I’ve never really understood that position; movies, being visual, are far too specific in their details. Colors are set, physical appearance is set, tone is set. There is really not as much room for my mind’s eye to come out to play, unlike if I were reading a Heinlein novel.
All of the blaring mistakes, and wasted possibilities, usually combine to forcibly eject me from total concentration, and very few films have managed to entrance me to the point of exclusion of reality. Usually, these are post-modern, deeply disturbing films exploring different sides of the human psyche; in short, not easily accessible, but utterly enthralling. It really isn’t often that you see such things addressed in popular cinema, with its, admittedly, mesmerizing explosions or skin-deep romance.
Of course, I have to factor in that movies are an immersive fantasy, and require little to no effort to watch (and as is repeatedly the case of box office hits, easily comprehended). For many, these inaccurate films are one of the only flights of imagination they experience. They reject the exertion and comprehension required to read a marvelous novel in favor of passive staring and quick thrills.
I don’t begrudge them that, but I do wish mainstream Hollywood would aim more flicks towards my kind of personality: the ones who can not help but shudder in horror at the bottomless plot-holes and meaningless dribble regularly thrust into the spotlight by more ignorant, or apathetic, people.
It's a first draft, I'm very, very tired (as in drop into my bed and fall asleep in five seconds tired), and it is meant to be a "practice personal college essay". I think I should use it for something. I like it. Anyway, here it is to share.
Bitter Realism, Sarcastic Execution
Wham! Bam! Body-slam! I’m slouching in the front row of the movie theatre, prime viewing for the special effects thrillers that are action movies nowadays. Images of helicopters exploding into a salvo of shrapnel are burned into my retinas, the dull thud of martial artist heel in communist stomach reverberates in my ears, and the required high-speed, rush-hour car chase makes my skin cringe in sympathy.
Unfortunately for everyone around me, I find it very hard to keep comments about, well, everything concerning such glamorous acts to myself. The critic in me considers it abhorrent how often Hollywood, or even the supposedly candid media, bends the truth to obtain a flashier, cliché effect, and often screams that fact at any nearby companions.
The one thing such movies do inspire in me is the thirst for more comprehensive knowledge. Is that fantastic trick with the minivan that I assumed false actually possible considering its brakes and steering? Can a human body really move, much less remain conscious, after such grievous injuries? Other things seem to arouse this thirst for the truth, such as the school’s watered-down History course, or even the nightly news. Such tidbits might not matter in the scheme of “school-college-job”. I don’t really care about that, though. Information for the pure bliss of knowing is my goal in these settings. I want to know how nerve gas really works, and what kinds the Nazis manufactured and used. Tiny, sometimes irrelevant things when the main plot is taken into account, that nevertheless irk or interest me by turns.
Often, when research is not enough to satisfy the passion, I excise such frustration or interest by writing a short story concerning the subject. Perhaps it would be about an extra in the scene where Marines are dying by the handfuls; one particular Marine’s last thoughts, reflections, and experiences, cut off dramatically mid-thought by his death. Or maybe an ode to the enchanting auras of sleek lava lamps would force its way through my fingertips. It all depends on what fiercely illuminated plot-hole or insignificant detail catches my imagination in a butterfly net.
But, as in all things, moderation is important.
Movies aren’t intended to exactly document every aspect of life. Conversely, movies are calculated to provide an escape for the average nine-to-five John or Jane Doe. After all, one can go out and live reality, but fantasy? That’s harder to unearth in everyday life than those directions I could have sworn I’d grabbed on the way out of the house. Many of my friends often refuse to watch movies with me now, claiming that I destroy the illusion with my bitter realism. I’ve never really understood that position; movies, being visual, are far too specific in their details. Colors are set, physical appearance is set, tone is set. There is really not as much room for my mind’s eye to come out to play, unlike if I were reading a Heinlein novel.
All of the blaring mistakes, and wasted possibilities, usually combine to forcibly eject me from total concentration, and very few films have managed to entrance me to the point of exclusion of reality. Usually, these are post-modern, deeply disturbing films exploring different sides of the human psyche; in short, not easily accessible, but utterly enthralling. It really isn’t often that you see such things addressed in popular cinema, with its, admittedly, mesmerizing explosions or skin-deep romance.
Of course, I have to factor in that movies are an immersive fantasy, and require little to no effort to watch (and as is repeatedly the case of box office hits, easily comprehended). For many, these inaccurate films are one of the only flights of imagination they experience. They reject the exertion and comprehension required to read a marvelous novel in favor of passive staring and quick thrills.
I don’t begrudge them that, but I do wish mainstream Hollywood would aim more flicks towards my kind of personality: the ones who can not help but shudder in horror at the bottomless plot-holes and meaningless dribble regularly thrust into the spotlight by more ignorant, or apathetic, people.