When a film fan becomes a film fail

I love art films. That’s just a given. I adore Pan’s Labyrinth, the 1979 Nosferatu, the short films of the Brothers Quay, and Koyaanisqatsi, amongst many other films of that ilk. Often, the weirder and more disturbing the movie is, the more likely it is that I am all over it like ants on a sugar heap. I really and truly love when films push my boundaries and expect me to think for myself. This, however, does not prevent me from enjoying more mainstream works. I adored Priest, Thor, Cowboys and Aliens, and the Hangover 2, and that’s just this summer’s roster of movies that I saw. Did I consider any of them to be extremely deep or meaningful? No, not really, but they entertained me, made me roll with laughter, hold my breath with suspense, and generally have a grand time with a bucket of popcorn on my lap.

So now, I offer a heartfelt rant to the world. All you snobby film viewers who insist on criticizing any film that doesn’t fit your concept of high cinema, please remove your collective head from your collective ass. I had to put up with one of your kind, a self-centered hipster who refused to give any credit to the actors (in her eyes everything was due to the magic of the director) or to speculate on the meanings of particularly arcane movies. She drove me crazy. All she ever did was quote essays about the films in question, never once producing an independent thought of her own.

Obviously, it was this hipster who fueled my outright hatred of film snobbery, but I feel everyone, especially those of us who love art films, should take this sort of behavior into consideration before you open your trap to lambast a film. Now of course I’m not saying that you shouldn’t criticize a movie you dislike (I’d be out of a job then), but I do suggest that you consider whether the film was really and truly *bad*, rather than it just didn’t make the cut for the Cannes Film Festival. And there are, in fact, plenty of films that are really and truly bad, (The Last Airbender, DEAR GOD, THE LAST AIRBENDER) and ripe for the shredding. In other words, here are some good, non-subjective reasons for disliking a movie: Wooden script, abysmal acting across the board, abuse of special affects for no good reason, and enormous plotholes. Here are reasons that may mean the world to you, but are in fact subjective and it may be better to keep to yourself: The film wasn’t directed by your favorite director, it was made by a big Hollywood studio, it was designed to entertain rather than to inspire nirvana….etcetera.

Also respect other’s right to dislike *your* movies. I don’t look down people because they didn’t like Black Swan or Inglourious Basterds. And I (and many others besides myself) would take it as a kindness that we be allowed to dislike movies regardless of the film’s perceived merit. As per example Citizen Kane just plain bores me to tears. Yes I know it’s supposed to be a classic, but I’d rather watch Attack of the Killer Tomatoes than be forced to contemplate Rosebud one more time. Or hear a hipster dissect the symbolism of Rosebud one more time. In other words; film likes and dislikes are subjective, and disliking a film is not automatically a sign that one is an uncouth yokel.

Finally, one does not have to have read every book on film or seen every arthouse flick to have an opinion on a movie. I love Nosferatu for its powerful Memento Mori attitudes, and I do not give a specific DAMN about the New German Cinema style that produced it or its goals, nor do I feel any need to. Directors, after all, may make a film in a certain way and hope to send a certain message, but everyone will walk away with differing opinions. People filter what they see through their own experiences and perspectives, and if you find yourself filtering your films entirely through the lenses of others, you will end up like the hipster I mentioned earlier: a squawking parrot with no opinion of your own.

In summary, watch the movies you love, debate about them politely while keeping the subjective elements in mind, respect the likes and dislikes of others, and never feel obligated to watch a film you hate/have no interest in.

Peacock Queen Reborn

So, if you follow my twitter (it’s in the blog sidebar! Go follow me now!) you know I lost out for the position of president of the Miskatonic Film Society. To say I’m still sore on the subject is an understatement, but I can say that I’m no longer heartbroken. I’ve learned some valuable lessons, primarily that I am no more meant to meddle in politics than I am meant to grow wings and fly to the moon. And after three months of dying to myself, I am free. Free not only to return to my Felix Harrowgate-esque self, but also to start a club of my own – the Miskatonic Scifi and Fantasy Club. No, one does not exist already, to my utter bafflement.

I am not, however, free of anger in regards to my being beaten for the position. Most of my rage derives from the fact that my opponent rigged the voting, and given that he was in a relationship with the current president at the time I should have known I was over a barrel the minute the sides were lined up. I took my defeat as gracefully as I could, of course, as an aristocrat should, but that does not seem to be enough for the new president. At this juncture I have even gone so far as to offer the hand of friendship to get dialogue going with him – a rather important gesture, given that I was elected vice president and we have to WORK TOGETHER – but thus far no luck. If he keeps it up things are going to become REALLY unpleasant in our near future.

Thankfully, now I’m back after three months of living in a coffin of my own misguided ambition for all the wrong things. So strap on your goggles, friends, and hold on. I suspect things are going to get a mite wild.

Etiquette: You are not exempt from it.

I suspect I am not the only person this has happened to. Tell me when this starts sounding familiar: You spend the first decade or so under the careful tutelage of your parents, who do their absolute damnedest to instill good manners and etiquette in you, their offspring. If your upbringing was similar to mine, this also involved being taken to various formal events where it was an unspoken fact that bad behavior would be eliminated with extreme prejudice, further cementing the behavior. You may not think of yourself as egregiously polite or well mannered, but that’s primarily because you spend most of your time in contact with those who hold themselves to a similar standard, whether any of you know it or not. Everything is dandy.
Then one day you find yourself in an environment where none of this holds true. This may or may not occur when one is in any level of grade school. For myself, I certainly experienced less than pleasant exchanges with many of my fellow students in high school, but I usually chalked that up to their dislike of me, rather than their having been raised in a barn. My big awakening occurred at Miskatonic. ANYWAY, you have been dropped on your ass amongst a bunch of cretins who don’t say please, thank you, or bother with utensils. Usually, I find, this inspires rage and frustration in the subject, and, if you’re Hannibal Lecter, psychopathic behavior. For me, it certainly entrenched my misanthropic view of humanity even deeper.

So let’s get something straight here: MANNERS ARE NOT OPTIONAL, FOR ANYONE. They provide orchestration and direction that prevents idiotic mishaps. Perfect example: Last week I was going down a narrow, crowded stair case. I kept to the right, AS YOU SHOULD, and so did most people. A few jackasses, however, decided that the line wasn’t moving fast enough, went into the ‘oncoming’ lane, and tried to make a break for it…only to have people need to get past them on their way up. Cue massive pile-up and delay. And for those who say that manners are sexist, I have this reply: They shouldn’t be. Just as an example, everyone should hold doors for everyone else, gender being utterly besides the point, and those having doors held for them should thank the holder. (As a side note, I find most women to be far ruder than men. They don’t bother to hold doors, smack people with their purses, and act infuriatingly entitled in every damn way you can imagine. NOT ACCEPTABLE, FELLOW FEMALES.)
Finally, there comes a point where things just go to far and, in my opinion, the only correct response to such blatant rudeness is to throw it back in the face of its progenitor. To illustrate: The Miskatonic café has limited seating. Around lunch time, when I am usually there, the seating becomes even more limited when scores of troglodytes troupe in, drop their bags and coats on every table in sight, and then go to lunch, leaving their things, supposedly secure in the knowledge that the table in question is ‘saved’ for them and rendering people like me, who can’t get there till class lets out, SOL if they want to sit down to eat a meal like a civilized human being. After a few weeks of this, I lost my temper and decided to play their game. So if there is nowhere to sit in the café I MAKE a place, shoving people’s stuff to the side or transferring them to another table and taking what wasn’t theirs to begin with. Obviously I’ve received blowback for doing so, but in every case I’ve been able to use a combination of good manners and a pointedly worded explanation that should make the idiot brigade in question think twice before usurping a table they won’t even be using. 
As an added bonus, manners are far more productive than *eating* someone, fava beans or no. 

In which I am deported back to Miskatonic

Well, after yet another long absence, I'm back. Back to writing (hopefully), back to studying (reluctantly), and back to school (unwillingly). After four weeks of rest and recuperation with my family, being dropped back at Miskatonic is like being dragged out of the Ritz Carlton and thrown in a dumpster more generally used by a hospital, a lab for the study of nuclear isotopes, and a Chinese restaurant. The temperature is miserable out here, as is to be expected, and I am in so many ways not enjoying my sans-boxsprings bed, which makes my lower spine want to pack its bags and leave me for a more caring human being. Feelings on the subject: Annoyed
The social scene is also far from enthralling at this juncture. There was a point for me where partying seemed like the be-all and end-all of social life at Miskatonic, but after attending a Ke$ha themed party at a friend's house yesterday I was left thoroughly disenchanted with the whole process. The only way to enjoy oneself was to get falling-down drunk, something that has ceased to appeal to me in the slightest. After watching the mess of people in the living room attempt to dance (those who were still sober or only slightly buzzed wobbling back and forth uncertainly, while the thoroughly smashed specimens often just gave up their hold on being vertical and let gravity do the work), I opted to head outside to converse with the would-be intellectuals standing on the stoop smoking their pipes and cigarettes and arguing about Nietzsche. This, however, proved detrimental on two fronts: For one, it became abundantly clear that all anyone wanted to do was impress each other rather than discuss anything (and my being one of the few if not the only female there at any given time, this meant that all the straight men just HAD to do their damnedest to impress me above all else. Victoria was decidely less than awed by their supposed epiphanies and infallible arguments.) For two, the smoke got in my eyes and mouth and just generally made me feel gross. So it was back inside, where I got cornered by an old aquaintance who attempted to give me profound life advice that might have been relevant to him but when applied to me was like trying to convince a shark to become a vegetarian for the good of its soul. At this point I vacated the party as fast as I could and walked home. Or attempted to walk. While I had been trying to enjoy myself while wearing too much eye makeup, the heavens had opened and unleashed freezing rain, which coated everything and led me to slip and slide most of the way home. Feelings on the subject: Disgusted

So now I'm sitting in my dorm room, suffering withdrawal from functional civilization. I'm also a tad depressed on account of the fact that the awesome book I was reading - Snow Crash - finally came to an end, and though I absolutely adored it start to finish I now cannot find anything else that I want to read. I JUST WANT MORE SNOW CRASH, DAMMIT. Feelings on the subject: Morose

And I have to do my laundry. Feelings on the subject: !@#QR(*U*(#T&*(QA#RPU ARGH