Readers who have piercings on their brows or tongue should just replace the word _piercing for _baseballcap or _mickey_mouse_ears [lady gaga] – the onus here is to place in the hipsters’ ass (+ everything else that still fits). Just for the record, I dig piercings in girls, and muscles in guys.
The movie begins within an hipstereal atmosphere, of great indie inter-pride and lip scars signaling fresh progress to post-piercism, fashion ramification rooted on the alternativism 3.0 movement (suitably baptized bionerd hipster), launched in 2009. The puritans of this new 3.0 release will argue that the scars, because they imply the previous presence of a piercing, do not guarantee you authenticity status within the new movement, since they suggest drifting from the 2.0 tide, or even worst, the alpha ’91 tide. It is, in all honesty, an unfair appreciation, particularly taking into consideration that, ultimately, not every freak can be born after 1993. Chicks from the early and mid 80s have consumed various generations of marginal substances through virtually every hole in their body and you simply cannot demand that someone that was a teen in the midst of the existential chaos that dictated the 00s would maintain themselves aesthetically neutral. Important to plant a metalic mark for social/intimate display in your flesh, in essence any kind of accessory that outlines the significance of your individual experience or personal brand.
I use, paradoxically, the opposite, - to transmit security in relation to my natural state of anonimity and normality, i have kept a virgin skin – and because of that i trully believe i am vastly superior to others. Ironically, if I am conceded the status of irrelevant in a given context, I suffer ADD impulses and crash socially, falling in all kinds of trademark mistakes to gain immediate attention, this blog being one of the main products of this process. Looking back, a piercing could have saved myself a considerable effort in being accepted as an integrating member of the behavioral frontline within my age strata. Maybe should have made a piercing on my armpit when I was 18, to highlight my teen to adult metamorphosis. I would then be able to arrive to Madeira every summer/easter/carnival/xmas not only speaking with a Lisbon accent but also ostentatiously carrying a physical symbol of my accomplished integration on a progressive urban agglomerate of the 21st century.
Anyhow, going back to the movie, in the beginning of the 00s, as I have mentioned, people would unfortunately present themselves to the world without conveying any solid message, basically without any flair. The idea of encrusting bits of metal in cartilaginous extremities came to revolutionize the pale cult of normal and finally enabled the liberation of numerous living being from the individual and artistic oppression to which they were chained. More importantly, a never-before-seen new global conscience emerged from the casual social darkness which launched various individuals to the nirvana of authenticity as creators and critics of the arts, the ultimate frontier of universal proficiency and understanding for any atomic formation supported in hydrocarbon – to be updated in the future to other binary compositions that are proven to embark life.
10 years passed, people are now born with piercing via genetic influence. Or, for some lucky parents, because it got stuck to the newly born’s head/ear/nose – one of the examples on how a simple clitoris can have a remarkable direct biological influence on a 9 month old body.
It makes thus sense, considering the current vulgarity of the accessory, that the althreenative movement tries to revert to the point of originality, which dynamically moved on to the paradigm of not having a piercing. You must therefore nowadays recycle metal for air, conserving your symbiotic relation with fashion. The scar subsists and can be seen as a ancestral trophy in the medium, even though there is still clear preference for the young ones that have their skin genuinely intact, free of past fashions.
Despite all this suggestive environment there were still people who bought popcorn, oblivious of the mainstream connotations of such action. I avoided it because I wanted to cultivate the impression that I, even if not aesthetically significant, knew what I was doing there. Some kind of sub intellectual, a vulture of the movement, always present, never agreeable and sufficiently proactive. In sum presenting myself to indie cinema at the same level as bono does to the world elites.
Regardless of that, and placing my perspective on a purely academical level, i question myself about why would it be that, in kino movimiento, the oldest and most original cinema in the solar system, they would sell lamestream popcorn – only to abandon this thought, my line of thought obfuscated by the stochastic sonority of the corn trituration. By further consequence of my prolonged exposition to this sound, i saw myself on another plane: instead of conserving my rationality, my mind was hijacked by random questions, like a madeiran fir freely releasing cones with the ultra atlantic wind:
Is there a psychological pattern that defines people who are eating popcorn in this theater in particular?
Is life logical without a pattern?
Will I lack paternal ability when I have kids, in 2034?
How many times will Benfica have won the Champions League by that time?
Is football relevant to my human condition?
In the middle of all these inequations it became to me apparent that a multitude of foreign teens were rejoicing in the teather. Maybe it is explainable: They are in Berlin, exclusively more adequate city to practice a truly significant life, much freer and random than the ones they could carry in their home planets. In young adult’s lingo, living in Berlin is a post-college-pre-adulthood extension of Erasmus, the birth incentive educational program supported by the European commissariat.
The factual, undeniable and irreducible proof of that is that, statistically, the average ideal foreign berlin habitant’s path can be described by the Erasmus canon and deducted with the mere application of two temporal transformations, perhaps inspired by the mathematical fugues of bach, the Prussian god of wine: the x6 distension and the +6 translation. The ideal foreign berlin resident arrives here at 27 but more importantly to everyone, leaves at 32, typically after a personally significant 3 year relationship with another ideal foreigner. He/she leaves because of a trauma: the failure that consists in blowing their last chance to glue themselves to another spirit with the same ecosustainable view of the world and culture. This is normally fatal for proto-human that nurture ad eternum the stretched projection of their juvenile lifestyle. It is then only natural that a couple of intimate questions are raised on these axial moments of failure regarding their world view: What will I do about my life? Why is the world so robotic/inauthentic/cold? What would prevent my iphone/ipod/imac of having been idealized and manufactured if all us 7 billion would be 24h in contact with our inner being through arts? Why is it that instead of MacDonald’s and fast food don’t we have fast art for us to consume? Am I truly unique and authentic if I don’t like animal collective or wavves? Would it be too much to ask if we forgot all about fossil fuels for a moment while I go home in a bike for thanksgiving across the atlantic?
Not sure if I was clear on the characterization of my screening colleagues.
Fortunately, all these sullen questions are dissipated within the first 3 minutes of film, which is exactly what we all came looking for: answers for an existence aligned with our personal brand. Curious that maybe because of this this is a movie that requires preparation. Not emotional of intellectual preparation but preparation under the form of a failed life devoid of meaning via the accidental preparation of an existentially accidental life.
It is analogous to what is needed so that the sublimation of oneself through the spiritual path of drugs doesn’t come as a goal, nor as reason, nor an escape from the mundane life, but as a smooth slip into the experimental and unknown.
The individual appreciation of Ethereal void is then basically a frank measure over the restlessness with which you interpret your condition.
The movie in objective sentences separated by comas:
Boring introduction, with a downtempoed rhythm, monochromatic visuals, seasoned by classical music throughout the opening credits - which unfolds across the screen in a single clean and formal true type font (maybe arial). Introduction to a cinematographic planed centered on the third person of the plural. Banal exploration of a sacramental love relationship. Portrait, on a narrative level, of the abusive way in which the lead character’s best friend manages his tobacco addiction. Screenplay centered on everyday life in Helsinki. More monochromatic prowess. Group of friend play xbox in a mansion, with girls in bikini outside by the pool. Underwater footage of the Baltic sea. Arab billionaire arrives in a diamond coated Ferrari. Lead actress is beheaded by a helicopter while filming apocalypse then. An orange juice with a mysterious substance reaps a young slovak’s life in a south American village. Celebrity notabilized in other dominions makes cameo appearance.
verdict: not recommended, a vulgar film that will contribute few or nothing to the personal development of one as carrier of a personal identification card.
http://dkdesde1983.blogspot.com/2010/11/sloop-john-b-enters-foid.html
