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.
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