Rum Diary, Coca-Bastard-Cola and Hell in a Handbasket.

I’ve just seen The Rum Diary. Firstly, to get it out of the way, it’s excellent. All fantastic dialogue, political sub plot, smoking and looking cool and Drinking and doing drugs. Basically what we’d all be doing if we didn’t think about it and worry. On the down side it did make me think, yeah, what a bunch of bastards we all are, but I knew that going in so I’m alright. Mainly it made me wish I was strong enough to pack it all in, live frugally, fight the man and, well I suppose do loads of drugs but that’s a perk rather than integral. You see, most things are a bit shit, or designed to profit some whilst seriously fucking others and in my opinion, in regards to opposing this, it’s either all in or don’t bother. And I hate myself for liking stuff and things.
Ok, let me try again.
The film – and probably book, though I’ve not read it – is set around the whoring of Puerto Rico. All big hotels, natural beauty being raped and the locals being royally screwed. The lead character, played wonderfully by Mr Johnny Depp, starts as a jaded journalist and ends as a jaded journalist who is determined to tell the world about ‘Bastards’. You know Bastards. Yeah you do. They’re the ones you are, in a round about way. And me. Yeah, even me. Because everything is connected to someone else’s suffering and exploitation, from the cheese in my sandwich to the iPad I currently type on. It’s harder now than it was then (I imagine. I wasn’t there), to make a stand, a difference and a point. My chocolates promote illness and death through powdered baby formula, my clothes were made by tiny children without much hope and my hobbies are no doubt destroying the planet I live on. I’m a shit, really.
It’s a perspective thing of course, and it’s relative. My guilt is present but I’ve decided not to care, because caring properly would make life rather difficult. No luxuries, no technology, garments made of moss and fairly poor hygiene. It’s related to an over thinking that I’ve mentioned before, but it’s also complimented by a conscious decision not to think about it too much. The notion has been crystallised recently by several people commenting that now that the Coca-Cola Christmas, ‘Holidays are coming’ advert is on TV, Christmas – as a season, holiday and event – has officially started. If that isn’t the most depressing, telling, eye opening, oh-my-god-look-at-what-we’ve-done-to-ourselves statement ever, I don’t want to know what is. Sadder still is the fact that no one else seems to realise what lies beneath when they make that statement. To them it’s a harmless, festive thing, that bloody truck with the lights on, that bloody theme, that fat, red, bastard of a Santa IS Christmas to them. Makes me want to change species, and I mean that in a good way.
Christmas is a day. One day. Shut up, yes it is. It’s about food and drink and family and friends and love and all of that Hollywood indoctrinated truth, that because of film we think isn’t real, but it is. And it’s just for one day, maybe two at a push. It’s not about adverts and products and bank holidays and money and greed and Only Fools and Horses. I mean, obviously it is about Only Fools and Horses, but not completely. I’m rattling on, and probably you think I’m a miserable sod, but it’s only because, deep down, I’m one of the worlds big romantics. Bitterness and hate of this caliber only come about through care and hope and subsequent dashing of both. It’s not a dullness and disinterest, or a coldness, as it’s often seen as. It’s a desire for us all to look a little closer and a disappointment that we don’t, myself included, because I don’t think I’m aloof or a snob. I’m just as much to blame as everyone else, I’m just unfortunate enough to be the sort of chap who ponders on it.
Yeah. So, go and see The Rum Diaries. It’s plot is wandering, it’s characters are flawed, unlikeable, magnificent and dull and the ending doesn’t really exist. It’s a non event. Which is fine, because sometimes shit happens and no one can do anything and the bad guys win. In fact, that is mostly what happens. Also, try and be more honest with yourself. Try a bit of sitting in the dark, wondering why everything’s a bit rubbish. Try it, for me. It’s mind expanding and you don’t actually have to do anything about it. After all you’re only human and there’s probably something good – well, distracting – on TV.
This outlook may well consign me to eternal singledom, and it’s certainly not a line of thought I intend to bring up when next chatting to Miss Lovely or anyone else who I want to look ‘normal’ in front of. I’m no fool. An element of deceit is what keeps it all ticking along, innit? All the same: one day, not Coke dependant and I’d rather have a lovely, open, honest chat than a Nerf gun. I think. Maybe both.
Yep. I’m a shit.

Post a Comment