The Arthouse film festival was on this weekend, courtesy of the Ormond Art Club. Perfect tool for procrastination. So these are the type of films that were nominated for the Cannes Film Festival and such. Nine hours of my life watching strange, interesting, quirky films. It wasn't bad. I have to admit that I wouldn't otherwise make a conscious decision to watch them but considering they were screening, I just thought I'd make it for a couple of films.
All films were pretty graphic. One of the films, Gummo (1997), had some of the most disturbing situations I've ever seen. A cat being flogged. A man prostituting out his retarded sister. Kids who had a disturbing streak of sadism and violence. One of the American kids was seriously affected by it, cause she could relate to it. Stuff like that does happen in small American towns apparently.
All the films were so fucking random as well! Half of them had no plot. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998) was one of those: that cracked me up to no end though. I think the classic Johnny Depp quote from the movie would have to be, "We can't stop here! This is bat country!" You've got to watch the movie to know what I mean. And check out Tobey Maguire's little bit it in as a bug-eyed hitchhiker. Poor guy. Salvador Dali's Un Chien Andalou (1929) was another random one as well, a 20 silent minute movie to one of Wagner's composition. It seemed to revolve around these characters and a box. I'm not quite sure what it all means, although I got this sense of multiple dimensions of a sort. Or maybe it was time. Dali does the whole melting clock thing. Hmm. Andy Warhol's Trash (1970) wasn't too bad either. The lead guy reminds me of Ashton Kutcher and there are some seriously funny and ironic moments in the film. Poor guy. Every girl lusts after him and he's got some serious impotence problems.
The Pillow Book (1996) was my favourite. I've got to admit, there was such cinematic beauty in that movie. The culture of Japanese local legends. The colour and beauty of calligraphy. It was about a woman obsessed with calligraphy and writing. Look it up. She ends up writing on men's bodies. It's bizarre but an absoulutely gorgeous film. And Ewan MacGregor's in it! Naked. (*wink wink*, Nat) I've never seen so many, as one of the guys quaintly put it, plastic cocks in my life. For the uninitiated: images of male genitalia. No erections. Lots of nudity.
The Idiots (1997) was the last film, and the one that really got me thinking. Thinking about society's acceptance towards the mentally retarded and to what extent we treat them. Thinking about perceptions of normality. For those who don't quite know what I'm talking about, the movie revolved around this group of people who decided to find their inner idiot. They would go out in public and act like retards. People's reactions do change. Some people don't know how to act.
It makes me sad, in a way, to see the discrimination towards those who are different. Perhaps I relate much more, considering how my mother teaches special education. I've grown up with her kids... to some extent, they are friends of mine. I'm used to the disabled, in a way. Perhaps that's why I feel so lucky sometimes. It set me thinking about the stereotypes people conform to. I'm guilty of putting people into categories sometimes. Rarely. But sometimes. I suppose you need to, if only because you can't not have an identity attached to a person. It's against human nature to meet someone and not form an initial opinion. I was wondering what I would be like if I was another person. I suppose my brain would be overloaded with all these new memories and thoughts, kind of like Ashton Kutcher in the Butterfly Effect. I wouldn't be me. And I wouldn't have my identity. Would I be an entirely different person? I would have the same soul... in a different body... with a different upbringing. Would I have the strength to resist the challenges I do now? Would I make the same choices in my life as I do now? Would I talk the same way, see things the same way, do things any differently?
I need to stop thinking crazy thoughts. That's what happens with fucking alternative films. No wonder so many actors and actresses are screwed over. Sigh.
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