What's worst than being told the twist from a film?
Being told a film HAS a twist!
I've lost track of the number of twisty-movies I've sat through and guessed the ending within the first ten minutes due to the publicity for the film being something along the lines of...
"This film has a twist. But not just any old twist. The twistiest twist ever, ever! The twist to this movie is so incredibly twisty that you must never UNDER PAIN OF DEATH tell anyone about it OR WE WILL KILL YOU!"
Okay, so they don't usually go so far as the death bit but you get the point. And because of that I then spend every second of the film thinking to myself "Is that the Twist?.. Is that the Twist?...Is that the Twist?..."
I was gong to give you examples of films I've seen where I've guessed the end but then I'd be setting you up for the same disappointment. So instead let me tell you my own idea for a film...
So there's a hero, who's a ghost, who's with his friend, but who is really the hero himself, but who is actually his own father (but is in fact a robot), in a place which is really in the future, but in reality is in the present (but mainly all in the hero's mind) but is in fact on a spaceship. There he meets the love of his life, who is in fact the twin of the love of his life, but who is really the lover of the wife who had plastic surgery to look like the person he thought she was having killed the other one first.
She/he/they/it then tells him/them/they/it that what he needs is the key which isn't a key at all but which is in fact the hero's childhood toy except it's a fake, until you hold it up to the light (where it's still a fake but at least it keeps the sun out of your eyes) but that he shouldn't worry because the hero actually had the real one all along (except for when he was dreaming when it was just a metaphor).
Just then the villain, who had been there all the time, but who never really existed but who is in fact probably everyone still in the room (including the robot) pulls a gun. He shoots the hero killing him dead except that he doesn't because the gun was full of blanks but also because he misses on purpose just to fool everyone because the villain is in fact a cop and not a butler and who actually isn't a crack shot anyway (but then it didn't matter because the hero is a ghost (keep up)).
So finally the hero marries the villain who is in fact the mother of the robot and who it turns out was the genuine key all along but who was really just looking to find a friend and who really, really just wanted someone to help fly the bloody spaceship!
But as the camera pulls back it turns out the whole thing is a play being acted on a stage which is being filmed as an adaptation of a story which is being read at a child's bedside from a book which the hero has written of his life but which in the end turns out was simply something he made up while looking at the wall behind you.
Or did he?
Yes, he did!
The End
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While in France in the 1970’s composer Simon Jeffes fell prey to a bout of food poisoning which left him with a fever. During his illness he experienced an initially disturbing fever-dream of a dystopian future inhabited by de-humanised, soulless people. In this land of the lost there was only one salvation, an odd bar called ‘The Penguin Café’ which had its own band playing comforting, familiar music.
After his recovery he first wrote a poem which, aptly for this blog, began -
“I am the proprietor of the Penguin Café
And I will tell you things at random”
He then went on to write music copying the style he heard in his dream. Thus was born the ‘Penguin Café Orchestra’ with its minimalist, dreamlike and often quirky melodies. The music is now shamelessly used in TV advertising and in film but I still love to hear the albums.
Many others have also claimed inspiration following dreams - from Mary Shelly’s story of Frankenstein to the unusual invention of the sewing machine. Film maker James Cameron in a fever dream saw a gleaming, skeletal robot dragging itself toward him with knives for hands. And thus was born the Terminator! My own experiences with fever induced visions have been far less financially rewarding, but I do vividly remember one odd experience.
After what must have been a dodgy pizza in York (and following the customary bodily cleansing from the inside out!) I retired to my bed and stayed there for the better part of 24 hours. As I lay there I began to imagine that my body was a star-ship flying through space. The ship was being attacked by a horde of aliens, who like a virus were spreading through me. Defending my body/ship was an army of space-marine / numskulls! The two sides fought with each other across the many decks and section of my body.
This seemed to go on for hours with different skirmishes taking place simultaneously. While Squad A was successfully holding back an attack in my right leg, Squad B were in retreat beneath my rib-cage. This second attack was doubly worrying as the alien’s ultimate goal was to reach my heart. I, meanwhile, was nothing more than a spectator. I was essentially a sentient computer which inhabited the ship but was housed in the brain and unable to directly engage the enemy. After what seemed like an eternity and after many casualties, the invaders were quashed and with the breaking of the fever the mighty ‘SS BO’ was free to boldly sail off across the stars and have a meteor shower…
But for the very best tale centered round a period of perplexing-pyrexia I recommend you read the short-story ‘Fever Dream’ by Ray Bradbury. Never has a fever been more chilling…
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What the Hell is going on with the world? I just looked at the weather forecast for this weekend - a Bank Holiday weekend I might add - and everything looks to be fine and sunny! For goodness sake, you can't rely on anything anymore! Bank Holidays are by tradition wet and cold with nary a beam of sunlight in sight! And why am I so irate? Because I agreed to do a car boot and bad weather would have been my 'get out of jail free' card...
Now I enjoy a root around a car boot, particularly on the hunt for the odd paperback to add to my already groaning shelves back home. But I've never been good at the hosting aspect. Over the years my wife and I have opened our boot to the world once or twice and even the kids have joined us on occasions - although their contribution would usually entail furtively moving prized treasures off the table and back into the car. But this weekend it will be just me, my stall and I.
Not that this will be my first time going solo. Nor is it that the prospect of sitting on a camping chair in the sunshine doesn't hold appeal - especially if I can take a book or two with me, along with some refreshments. But a car boot has one big drawback – punters. People poking round the stuff with no change and expecting me to have a plastic bag! Occasionally they'll ask how much something costs only to then walk away and come back later when they ask you again for the price - like a goldfish doing his second forgetful circuit of the bowl. I’d put up a sign like they do in the swanky parts of London saying “No Browsing!” but then I’d never get back my stake money.
Ideally I need one of those self-service tills you now find in supermarkets that I could set up at the end of my pitch. That way I’d only need to get involved when someone needs to choose something from the on-screen options -
“Excuse me. Is this ‘get-it-home-and-never-use-it’ crap or ‘hold-onto-until-I-do-a-car-boot-myself-then-try-and-palm-it-off-on-someone-else’ crap?”
“I think you’ll find that’s ‘get-it-home-only-to-find-you-already-had-one’ crap”
Of course it would also need a ‘haggle-toggle’ for trying to get the most out of people at the start of the day and then practically giving things away by lunchtime. It would also need an alarm fitting to ensure that someone doesn't discover a hidden treasure you were previously unaware of -
“Unexpected antique in the bagging area!”
A wonderful idea but never going to happen before Sunday. So if you’ll excuse me I’m just popping off to see if I can’t find the steps for a rain dance and do a quick soft-shower-shuffle…
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