ideascontentart - Tumblr blog

ideascontentart · 11 years

Text

The Wet Face of War

Unfinished scenes from an unfinished film script. A man is lying on the ground, with his eyes closed. His clothes are torn. Next to him is a dirty moped on its side. The location is a field outside a small village somewhere in Scotland. The sky is colourless. The scenery is brown, green and grey. The man's breath can be seen—it is probably very near winter.

An arrow hits the ground next to the man's face. He opens his eyes. A car is driving past him on the field. On the roof sits Cupid, giving the man the finger. The car disappears. The man stands up, slowly, picks up the moped and unscrews the tank lid. He takes a deep breath of petrol fumes, gets on his bike, and rides off in a wobbly way.

NEW SCENE

The man is sitting on a bench in a small town. On a piece of paper he writes "Angie must die in a week, or I'm crazy". He folds the note into a paper airplane, and throws it. The plane lands in the handbag belonging to a woman passing by, without her noticing it. The man stands up and walks towards a pub.

NEW SCENE

Inside the pub, the man orders a camomile tea. It is around noon, and the pub is almost empty. A 'typical English' couple in their 30s sit at a table (two pints of beer, stroller with child, football shirt). The man sits down by the bar.

BARTENDER You're a foreigner?

MAN Yup.

The man looks away, sipping his tea.

Come for the match?

Nope.

[pause]

I've come to kill someone. A woman.

Are you taking the piss?

Nope.

Wouldn't do that if I was you.

I know.

You taking the piss or what?

It's very complicated. Do you have a guest book?

The bartender gives the pub's guest book to the man, who looks in it with great care. The bartender steps around the corner and makes a phone call.

THE MAN Cheers.

He gets out of the pub.

The man is riding away from the village. A police car with two police officers in it drives up to him.

POLICE OFFICER Can you stop the moped please.

THE MAN What?

The policeman points at the back wheel.

Your [something] is broken. Can't ride around like that. You're not from here?

Nope.

Can I see your insurance?

Don't have one. I rented this bike.

Can't ride around like that. You need to get that thing repaired.

Very well.

The man stops the moped and gets off. He starts walking with the moped. The police car drives next to him in silence for a while.

Heard that you plan killing someone, is that right?

Yup.

I think you'd better get in the car. Leave the moped here.

Why?

It's no good going around saying things like that.

Haven't committed a crime yet, have I?

Can I see your ID card?

The man shows his ID card to the police officers. They take notes.

Where you headed?

Don't know. I only have a week.

To do what?

After that, I'm off back home.

Where's that?

Not sure yet.

Come to see the match?

Nope.

The police car stops, and the police officers get out. They take the moped and put it in the car.

Where'd you rent it?

Steve's. It's down in [somewhere].

We'll keep an eye on you.

They drive off.

NEW SCENE

The man is sitting on a different moped, trying it out at a rental place.

EMPLOYEE How long you need it?

THE MAN A week.

NEW SCENE

The man rides around in a forest. He stops the vehicle, opens the tank and breathes in the petrol fumes. After that, he rides off again.

NEW SCENE

The man is riding the new moped down a straight road, very fast.

NEW SCENE

The man is in a hotel room, sitting on the bed. It is dark outside. He sits and stares. After a while, a boiling sound is heard. He takes the kettle, pours water in a cup and puts a bag of herbal tea in it. He walks out of the room and down to the reception. A young woman is hoovering the floor. There are no customers by the tiny hotel bar. The man walks up to it.

THE MAN Do you know a girl called Angie Cooper?

BARTENDER Don't think so. She's a local?

Don't think so.

A friend of yours?

Nope. Just someone I have some business with. She owes me something.

Money?

Nope. Well, yeah. It's easier.

You can ask at the Vixen and Cows.

A pub?

More like a nightclub. It's just up the road.

The bartender points up the road. The cleaning girl finishes hoovering. She says hi to the bartender and smiles awkwardly at the man. The man puts on his coat, and walks out. Five young people are walking down the road, past the hotel, laughing and smoking. The man turns around and walks back into the hotel. He walks up to the young cleaning lady.

THE MAN When will you clean the rooms?

CLEANER I just cleaned. Is there's something wrong?

Yes. I spilled something. Would you mind helping me with it?

No, of course. I'll be up in five minutes.

NEW SCENE

The man walks back into his room. He pours some water from the kettle on the floor. The girl comes into the room.

CLEANER Where is it?

THE MAN It's just here, I spilled some tea.

He shows her.

You can hardly see it. It'll dry by itself.

Yeah, you're right.

Where are you from?

Oh, I'm just here to sort something out.

You don't look like a football fan.

Should I?

I just assumed that you were here for the match.

No, no.

[pause]

THE MAN Have you been working here long?

CLEANER A year. It’s a bit tiring sometimes.

Why don't you take a break? We can talk, I'm interested in this village. I'll make you some tea.

Well… Alright then.

She sits down on the bed.

Is that your bag?

Yup.

Is that your moped outside?

Nope.

He makes tea, and sits down on the bed next to her.

What's your name?

My real name is Charlina, but they call me Charlie.

Like the drug.

Yes. (she giggles) Do you like that drug?

Eh, yeah. I don't know. Do you use it?

Yes. A lot. Why are you in this place? Are you from London?

Can I ask you something? Are you bi-curious?

What's that?

I think that's what it's called. It means that you're a little bi-sexual, and you like to do it with girls as well as guys.

The girl puts down her cup and stands up. She frowns and looks at the man with cold eyes.

Why do you ask?

Oh, it's just that I'd like to do it with two girls at the same time. Have sex, I mean, And you're really sexy. Or it could be your cleaning lady outfit. But anyway, it would be nice if you and I and another girl...

The girl walks towards the door.

I think I should leave now. Thanks for the tea.

She shuts the door. Pause. There's a knock on the door.

Come in.

The girl sticks her head inside the room.

I can ask my friend. She's also cute. Is that OK?

Yeah, that's fine. Thanks.

#Film Scripts #English

0 notes

ideascontentart · 11 years

Text

The Crazy Cycle

A script for a short horror comedy. EXT. CITY STREET - DAY SUZETTE is standing on the sidewalk. Dressed in a cute dress, and eating an ice cream in a childlike way, she has an aura of innocence. RICO, an impish looking boy with tousled hair and dirty clothes sneaks up on her from behind.

RICO Boo!

Suzette drops her ice cream and turns around. Discovering Rico, she gets a tired and disappointed look on her face.

SUZETTE (With a sigh) Hi Rico.

Rico starts talking with an over-excited voice. The words come pouring out like he’s about to burst with energy.

RICO Do you wanna hear what happened to me yesterday? It’s a fantastic story! It’s a true story, actually! Do you wanna hear it? It’s really awesome. Very scary and horrible, actually. D'you wanna listen? Please, please, please!

Suzette looks sceptical.

SUZETTE Well...

RICO Okay great! It happened yesterday…

RICO (Voice Over) So, I was going to that place where they sell cheap bicycles, because my bike was totally damaged since I crashed into that cow before, you know. The place is in Ranilani—or whatever it’s called. But since I don’t have a bike anymore, because of that cow, I had to take the bus. And that's fine by me! I really don’t mind going by bus. Actually, I like it! I don’t have bus phobia, if that’s what you thought. So don’t come here and tell me that I have a bus phobia, or bustrophobia, because I don’t! Well, anyway, I walked to the bus station downtown, and got on the bus. Bus number 45, because that’s the one that goes to Val Dral, and Ranilani—or whatever it’s called—is on the way to Val Dral. Anyway, this was about six o’clock in the evening, so it was still sort of not very dark outside. And the bus was full of people. Why so many people, going in that direction? I don’t know! But I guess there was some reason for it. Anyway. I’d been to this place, Ranilani, or whatever it’s called, before. In fact I’d gone there by bus, so I knew exactly when to get off. So there I sat, on the bus, looking at people, waiting for the bus to get there, as you do. People went on and off the bus. But mostly off, in fact. I suppose that when you’re going away from the city, people mostly get off the bus, I think...

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

SUZETTE (Irritated) Rico, can you get to the point?

RICO Yes, yes! This is an amazing story. Just listen. I’ll tell you. I was sitting on the bus...

INT. BUS – DUSK [etc.]

RICO ...and I don’t remember when exactly, but I must have fallen asleep. As usual when you fall asleep, you don’t notice it until you wake up. And that's when you realize that you must have fallen asleep. So when I woke up I understood that I'd fallen asleep. The first thing I noticed was that it had gone dark outside. But then, when my mind was clear enough to grasp the situation, I just froze out of fear! When I understood what had happened, it was like the worst shock ever. Terrible beyond description! I can’t describe it at all. The most horrible thing I’ve ever experienced! Now you probably think that the horrible thing was that I’d missed the bus stop where I was supposed to get off. Because that’s usually the terrible thing that happens to you when you fall asleep on the bus, isn’t it? But that’s not the reason at all! No, we hadn’t yet reached Ranilani—or whatever it's called. It was still some distance away. But the worst imaginable nightmare had come true. I looked around, and everyone else had got off. I WAS ALONE IN THE BUS WITH THE DRIVER! Can you imagine such horror? This I had feared all my life. Usually, I always get off a bus when I sense that it’s leaning towards this situation. Naturally, I get off when the second to last person gets off. Just to be on the safe side. But this time I had fallen asleep, and of course this had to happen!

As Rico tells the story, his voice gradually becomes less excited. Instead, he starts talking slower, in a deeper and more serious voice.

RICO (Voice Over) I looked at the driver’s face in the rear view mirror, and I saw that he looked back at me. His eyes were filled with evil. He was also smiling an infernal smile, as though he had some hellish plan. I couldn’t move. I was paralysed with fear. What could I do? If I started running to the door, he'd just increase the speed so that I'd fall over. And then he'd stop the bus some place isolated, and kill me! Or something like that. I couldn’t do anything. He kept looking at me in the mirror with this evil smile. I couldn’t breathe. I noticed that the bus passed Ranilani—or whatever it’s called—without stopping. The driver veered off the main road, and drove into the dark forest. Now my fear turned into super fear and I became super paralysed. If only I could lose consciousness! The driver stopped the bus in the middle of the forest. He stood up, and started walking towards me. He had his arms stretched out in front of him like a zombie. His eyes burned with insanity. Slowly he came closer. But just as his fingers were about to touch my neck, I woke up! I have never felt such relief. But I looked around, and I realised that I hadn’t woken up in my bed at home. No, I was back on the bus again, alone with the driver. He looked at me with crazy eyes. The bus rushed past my stop outside. He drove into the forest, stopped, and started to walk towards me like a zombie. Just as his fingers were about to touch my neck, I woke up, sitting in the bus, alone with the driver. I was trapped in a loop of unreality and unimaginable fright. And I am still there, stuck in an eternally recurring nightmare of terror and madness.

EXT. CITY STREET – DAY Suzette looks at Rico with a dropped jaw, astonished.

SUZETTE Wow! Is that... true?

#Film Scripts #Comedy #English

0 notes

ideascontentart · 11 years

Text

Cecilias saga

Detta är en oavslutad saga i överdriven stil, som skrevs för kortfilmen "Prinsen från Persien och den magiska enhörningen" (vilken kan ses här: bit.ly/1go9Zcr). Likt Sheherazade i Tusen och en natt så är Cecilia en sagoberättare. Dock hör man i filmen aldrig en fullständig berättelse. Det var en gång en persisk prins. Han bodde med sin far kejsaren och sin mor kejsarinnan i ett palats av diamant, högt uppe vid floden som rann rakt mot Indiens land. Längs denna flod såg man ofta handelresande komma ridande på rader av elefanter. Ibland följde prinsen med sin far på resor runt hela den kända världen. En dag skulle de rida långt bort, ända till Alexandria. När de efter dagar och nätter till häst kom in i staden såg prinsen det berömda biblioteket med dess stora guldkupol. Det var det största biblioteket i hela Österlandet, med tusentals böcker från hela världen. Där fanns skrifter på indianernas språk, eskimåböcker om hur man uppfostrar vita hundar, böcker från det djupaste Afrika om trädens andar, samt kinesiska böcker om hur man snör flickebarns fötter på bästa sätt.

På dagen när fadern var ute och stred och plundrade, vandrade prinsen omkring och drömde. Han drogs mot det väldiga biblioteket, och vågade sig in. Där vandrade han omkring bland lärda män från jordens alla hörn. Han var så liten att ingen tog någon notis om honom. Med öppen mun gick han genom salarna, fascinerad av de tusentals böckerna, skriftrullarna och tavlorna. Under det att han gick där i labyrinten av korridorer så började det mörkna utanför, och månskärvan steg på himlen. Han märkte inte att det blev färre och färre folk i rummen...

Men precis vid midnatt insåg den lilla prinsen att det var helt tomt där han gick. Han vände och började springa tillbaka mot utgången, men vid varje hörn blev han mer vilsen. Under det att han sprang i korridorerna, märkte han att golvet lutade neråt. Djupare och djupare sprang han fram mellan hyllor fulla av böcker.

När han rundade ett hörn uppträdde en rubinbeströdd port framför honom. Bakom porten var en stort runt rum, med en enda ljuskälla i mitten. Prinsen blev rädd, och kände att han inte borde gå in där. Men det strålande ljuset väckte hans nyfikenhet, och lockade honom till sig. Till sist gick han sakta in i rummet, mot det som lyste därinne. På väggarna runtom hängde bilder av Österlandets alla kungar, drottningar, gudar och hjältar. När prinsen kom fram till ljuskällan såg han att det var en bok som låg på en piedestal. Han gick fram mot boken, förhäxad, och ställde sig på tå för att kunna läsa vad som stod. Den var skriven på sumeriska. Där stod:

Jag är den sista bok som du kommer att läsa. När du tagit del av min kunskap kommer din verklighet att förändras. Du kommer då att träda in i sagans värld. I mig kan du nämligen läsa hur man omformar sin verklighet och gör den till det man vill att den ska vara...

Just då hörde han ljudet av en tung smäll, och han vände sig om. Dörren hade slagit igen. Vid den satt två djinner — andar — på gyllene lejon. Andarna hade tagit formen av nakna människor, en kvinna och en man. Mannen var kolsvart och hans ögonvitor lyste som två exploderande stjärnor. Kvinnan var kritvit och hade långt lockigt rött hår. De tittade argt på prinsen och red långsamt fram till honom på sina lejon. De talade: "Vi vet att du är en prins och att du kommer långt bortifrån, men denna bok får du inte läsa! Vi har blivit utsedda av den högsta anden i djinnernas cirkel att vakta boken. Endast en person får läsa den." "Vem?" undrade prinsen. Den svarte anden svarade: "En person som ännu inte är född. Nu måste du lämna detta rum."

Och prinsen lyftes upp av den vita anden med det röda håret och såg sedan bara färger som snurrade runt tills han hörde sin faders stämma: "Pojke, vakna". Prinsen såg sig nyvaket omkring. Han låg på gräset utanför biblioteket i natten, endast belyst av månen. "Nu väntar våra hästar" sa kejsaren. "Vi ska återvända till Persien." Pojken var yr, och satte sig på hästen. Han tittade på sin hand. Den brännmärkta symbolen var kvar, lika oförståelig. De började rida.

#Fairy Tale #Prose #Swedish

0 notes

ideascontentart · 11 years

Text

Jag älskar er, mina fans !!

Synopsis till en serie i åtta delar om Ludmila Fifikova, en ung kvinna från Ukraina som är väldigt hungrig efter berömmelse. Berättelsen om Ludmila var ursprungligen på engelska (se andra ställen i Ideas, Content & Art). De följande avsnitten utarbetades specifikt för svensk TV.

2) MJÖLKFEN KATRINSHKA Ludmila vill desperat ta sig till Amerika för att träffa sina youtube-fans som hon är övertygad finns på andra sidan Atlanten. Hon frågar alla gamla rika män i byn om de vill bli hennes sugardaddy, men alla faller de ihop och dör innan de hinner komma till stånd. Vulvo ser rött när han upptäcker att Ludmila har lånat kameran. I bråket som följer råkar hon slå ihjäl honom med en Mt Rushmore-snökula. Polisen anländer inom en halv minut. När de ser Ludmila glömmer de Vulvo som ligger i en blodpöl på golvet, och börjar istället sjunga Ludmilas hitlåt och slicka hennes fötter. De bugar baklänges ut ur huset. Med glädje inser Ludmila att kameran är hennes! Hon besöker sina föräldrar som ligger och dör av undernäring på sjukhuset. Då händer någonting underbart: Ludmila råkar befria mjölkfen Katrinshka från en mjölkflaska från 1989, och får som tack en magisk önskan. De döende föräldrarna lyser upp av hopp. Utan att tveka säger Ludmila: ”Jag vill till Amerika!”

3) RAOUL LOPEZ Ludmila poffar fram ur ett magiskt rökmoln i New York. Katrinshka följer strax efter, och ger henne 70 dollar som startkapital: ”Även en stjärna som du måste betala för taxi till intervju med Conan O’Brien.” Ludmila hittar en bit pizza bland soporna som hon sätter tänderna i. Detta är paradiset! Hon noterar då att alla på gatan har en äkta iPhone, och köper genast själv en sådan. Hon lyckas dock inte imponera på någon med en häftig app som skäller som en riktig hund. Nu helt utan pengar (men med den senaste generationen appar) träffar hon Raoul Lopez, en tjusig karl med tangorabatt som berömmer hennes kvinnliga bröst. Han bjuder hem henne för att titta på sin fjärilsamling. Men så sliter han av sig lösmustaschen dramatiskt. Han är från migrationsverket! Kom och mys med mig i min sexiga säng eller bli utslängd ur Amerika, är hans ultimatum. Den dygdiga och visumlösa Ludmila måste fly.

4) POETEN ODETTE Ludmila gömmer sig hos en spåkvinna. Men när Odetta, som hon heter, ska spå Ludmila sitter hon bara och mumlar och hostar. När Ludmila pressar henne efter en riktig spådom, bryter Odetta ihop, och sliter av sig peruken: ”Jag är en fake!” Hon heter egentligen Odette och är professionell poet sen 10 år, och försöker tjäna lite extrapengar som spådam. Odette har svårt med inkomster p.g.a. sin brist på idéer och sin kroniska skrivkramp, som hon fick av Davido Guerra, den ”politiske poeten”. Hon bjuder hem Ludmila till sin jazziga lya, men har ingen mat att bjuda på eftersom hon vill vara anorektisk. Ett dovt muller hörs, och Odette hoppas på att det är undergången som nalkas. Det är emellertid Ludmilas mage som morrar, och detta ljud inspirerar Odette till sin första dikt någonsin! Ludmila somnar hungrig i badkaret.

5) THAIMASSAGE Hungrigare än någonsin går Ludmila till kyrkan och ber: ”Jesus, jag vet att jag bara inbillar mig din röst”. Jesus svarar: ”Jag är cool med det”. Han lyssnar på Ludmilas problem, men blir stött när hennes menstruation sätter igång under pågående gudstjänst, och vänder henne ryggen. I ett desperat försök att tjäna pengar försöker Ludmila sälja sexiga svank-tatueringar på gatan med en gaffel och en burk färg. Hennes enda kund, en medelålders man, berättar att han behöver en barnflicka. Istället för att ta hand om barnen ligger Ludmila och läser glamourösa modemagasin. Barnen frågar om de kan massera henne, och denna nya upplevelse av 10 små händer på ryggen ger Ludmila en idé… Hon ställer barnen på gatan, med en handgjord skylt där det står ”Barn-massage $5”. Kunderna uteblir, så för att skapa ett starkare varumärke smetar Ludmila brunkräm på barnen och ändrar skylten till ”Barn-Thai-massage”. Men pappan kommer och hämtar barnen, och Ludmila är arbetslös.

6) AMBASSADÖREN Odette letar upp Ludmila för att få mer inspiration. De går till en bar. Det enda som finns att äta är magiska svampar. Den hungriga Ludmila glufsar i sig dessa, och Ukrainas ambassadör dyker upp som en hallucination. Han påminner Ludmila: ”Du är här för att bli känd! Glöm inte ditt kall!” Ludmila rycker upp sig, kastar sin fjäderboa om halsen, och går stolt ut på gatan för att bli känd. Den gamla boan fäller ett spår av fjädrar bakom henne. Någonstans i stan stjäl Ludmila en gatumusikants publik, och dansar och sjunger med slutna ögon tills nästan hela publiken har gått därifrån. Så öppnar hon ögonen och ser den enda person som står kvar: fulgubben Steve. ”En musikproducent. Låt oss spela in album! Var är studio?”, frågar Ludmila. Steve pekar tveksamt på en offentlig toalett. En hipnik på baren postar Souvienir !!!s video på Odettes facebook-vägg. Hon noterar att alla hipniks har Ludmila-t-shirts, och inser att Ludmila verkligen ÄR känd. Hon beger sig ut för att hitta henne.

7) SHOWTIME Odette följer spåret av fjädrar och hittar den gråtande Ludmila. ”Du är känd!”, säger Odette till Ludmila som nästan svimmar. ”Alla hipniks älskar dig!” ”Men jag har vloggat och inte fått kommentarer.” Odette visar att kameran inte har varit påslagen. På kvällen så står Ludmila då äntligen på scenen! Men just som hon kommer till klimax av sin hitlåt ringer hennes iPhone. Musiken tappar fart. En hipnik buar. Efter viss tvekan svarar Ludmila. Det är hennes döda föräldrar! Gud har låtit dem göra ett enda samtal, och de vill berätta att de älskar sin dotter. Ludmila trycker av samtalet argt: ”Idioter. Jag är på scen!” Denna mikro-paus gör dock att hipniksarna redan har vänt sitt intresse till en ny trend: en man i vit klänning som pruttar roligt. Ludmila går ut med svansen mellan benen. Odette ignorerar henne på vägen ut.

8) DEN AMERIKANSKA DRÖMMEN Vulvo vaknar och märker att kameran är borta. Ludmila vloggar: ”Jag tror att detta kan vara mitt sista, och första, inlägg.” Det ekar ut i cyberrymden… Vulvo slå på internet och identifierar Ludmilas läge med hjälp av gatuskylten bakom henne. Han FedExar sig till USA. Ludmila hittar mjölk i sin handväska och tillkallar Katrinshka. Men fen har ett nytt jobb: ”Jag träffade någon…” Hon jobbar nu på migrations-verket! Raoul kommer springande och kysser Katrinshka lite för erotiskt. Tillsammans går det statligt anställda paret långsamt och hotfullt mot Ludmila. Då anländer Vulvo inslagen i kartong. Han undertecknar kvittot och FedEx-männen åker iväg. Katrinshka och Raoul tar den förvånade och papperslösa Vulvo istället. Ludmila flyr. Har hon klarat sig? Men Ludmila svimmar av extrem hunger. I rännstenen drömmer hon den amerikanska drömmen: Hipniksarna kommer och bär henne till Conan O’Briens studio. T.o.m. Vulvo är snäll. Ludmila sitter fint och Vulvo ger henne Snickers. En publik jublar och applåderar. Ludmila dör i rännstenen. Någon slänger pizza på henne.

#Comedy #Swedish

0 notes

ideascontentart · 11 years

Text

AUTOMATISK DIKT

Det är som en water slide.

På den sitter ett antal individer.

En är judinna, hon har just börjat engagera sig.

En är en kort italienare. Han är alltid glad.

De skrattar åt absolut ingenting, och ser inte vattnet.

Vattnet är bara någonting som för dem framåt.

De målar på, och tänker inte på den vita färgen.

De pratar och skvallrar.

Sen rasar de ner i poolen.

Hela vägen har de skrattat. Men det blir inte en andra åktur.

#Poetry #Swedish

0 notes

ideascontentart · 11 years

Text

The Truth

#Essay #Prose #English

0 notes

ideascontentart · 11 years

Text

Towards a Theory of Boringness

This text is about boring film. Film and boredom are both dependent on time, and this similarity makes it rewarding to bring them together in a discourse. It is usually assumed that when boringness in cinema occurs, the filmmakers have failed. I will counter this belief by suggesting that boringness in film has a positive value, and how this is possible due to the nature of Memory.

It is axiomatic that we think of boredom as a negative. Most negatives, however, have a raison d’être. Just like light is unthinkable without darkness, each positive relates to a negative that validates it. Boredom is different from other negatives in that it seems to have no redeeming quality. A world where we do not have to climb ladders of labour, pain or stress to reach goals is unimaginable, but theoretically, life without boredom, where we are constantly engaged in either a negative or positive way, is possible. This ideal, of course, is unachievable; in the language of human existence, boringness is a rule of grammar we cannot circumvent.

Cinema was entertainment, in the common sense, long before it was understood at any level as art. This feature persists; mostly we come to film simply to be entertained. Sometimes the opposite occurs, and instead we are bored. What exactly do we experience? To come closer to an understanding of this, I shall attempt to unpack the phenomenon of boringness. It is born out of the presence of time; only in time can we arrive at this feeling. In a place without time, boredom would be rendered impossible. I will come back to this later.

Boringness can have many ingredients. Four examples are slowness, repetition and lack of information or events. These qualities can still be interesting – as opposed to boring – when they work towards ends which contextually make sense: slowness in eroticism, repetition in music, lack of information in a minimalist interior and lack of events during a boat trip down a beautiful river. In other words, the building blocks of boredom do not necessarily amount to the thing itself.

An entity related to boredom, a positive version of it that draws on similar principles, must be introduced. I will call this entity harmony. Harmony consists of a range of different atmospheres, each of which has a similar, peaceful effect. Harmony is static and wants to remain that way; it is an enduring bliss, longing for eternity. Boredom, on the other hand, is the mobile gone static. It is the craving for change and for events. Not any events, though; only those that speak to the bored mind. What these events are is individual; where one person feels boredom, another might enjoy the relaxed state of harmony. They also depend on how the individual’s mindset is configured at any given time.

When the ingredients of boringness somehow disconnect us from a film and it fails to engage us, maybe we realise, subconsciously or not, that we could spend the time it takes us to watch the film in a way that would distract us more effectively. Apart from the traditionally entertaining film experience, which consumes us, there is also one (e.g. of art or certain art house film) that may not absorb us on the level of the actual work, but instead entertains us on the level of reflection directed at the work. The latter film gesture does not achieve the direct results of pure entertainment, but is also a type of time killer that frees the mind from introspection.

We know that achieving a positive experience from engaging with art that has a negative content (violence, hatred) can often be understood as Catharsis, a cleansing of the soul. When the negative in question is pure boredom, we find it harder to see how the negative can be defended. This is especially true considering the connection between boringness and timewasting. When we are bored, we are failing to participate in an action that corresponds to the ideal life we want to lead. The action we do take part in is unnecessary, and therefore we are wasting our time. In a society where spare time is seen as the ultimate luxury, there is an understanding that one of the worst sins we can commit to ourselves is to not use our time efficiently.

An installation by the two Austrian artists Peter Fischli and David Weiss plays with this notion. For this installation they created replicas of everyday objects (buckets, brushes, a videocassette) from polyurethane foam, and then painted them, painstakingly, to make them identical in look to ‘the real thing’. These objects were scattered on tables and the floor in a room in the gallery. Nothing catches the eye when you enter this room. You see a jumble of insignificant objects, perhaps things someone left behind: an unfinished space. Only by giving the work a closer look do you realise what is actually going on – the pointlessness of the enterprise becomes clear. Fischli and Weiss say that through the installation, the deliberate wasting of their own time is made manifest. It functions as a subversion of the modern attitude towards time and how we should spend it. We might respect the artistic gesture of their work, but when it comes to wasting our own time we usually have another attitude.

Why then should we not simply walk away when the feeling of boredom comes to us through a film? Because the film itself cries out for us to watch it. This has to be done in its entirety, otherwise our relationship with the film is not consummated, and, as a result, it is not brought to life in the mind of the viewer. A film is not a pasta dish, of which you can sample only a forkful to understand the rest of the plate. It is symptomatic that the cinefile Woody Allen in a scene in Annie Hall (1977) refused to go into the cinema when the film he was to see had already started.

It should be mentioned that not all art relies on this principle. If the essence of an artwork is the idea, it has no need to go further than the actual creation. I will give two well-known examples. The first is Andy Warhol’s Empire (1964), an 8 hour static shot of Empire State Building. It is accepted that there is no need to watch this film in its entirety, or indeed at all. The second example is the piano piece 4’ 33’’ from 1952 by the composer John Cage. This piece consists entirely of silence – the performer does not actually play anything. 4’ 33’’ would therefore be four minutes and thirtythree seconds without sound. However, the work questions the nature of silence by shifting the attention away from the stage, and thus emphasising the background sounds that emerge in the absence of music. In art like this, the idea is paramount. Even if we have not experienced the work itself, we have already taken part in it by understanding the idea; the work is the idea.

A film needs the viewer to bring it to life. Still, if the film is a boring one it is hard to ignore that watching it is an unpleasant experience. We must keep in mind that the reward is close at hand. At the very point when the film is over, when to the viewer it ceases to be, it is in fact born. It has entered the place where it belongs and where it longs to go, its final destination: Memory.

Memory is a place without time. Could then Memory be Eternity – the opposite of time? And would that explain the religious thought, as old as mankind, that the mind, in which Memory resides, cannot end? The information stored in Memory does not take place in a sequence; it simply does not take place at all. “Taking place” suggests the presence of time/space, but in Memory time is not a factor – all events are simultaneous. It must be added that the memories that form Memory do have a temporal aspect; older memories may fade or be distorted, whereas newer memories are generally stronger and clearer. Also, since the events in Memory entered it sequentially, the memories have an order. This is not a feature of Memory, though; it is a legacy of the temporal world from which memories emanate. Memory in essence is non-linear, and we have random access to it.

As stated, in a place without time boringness is made impossible. When remembering an especially tedious episode, we might recollect the boredom we felt, but the very memory does not bore us. I suggested earlier that a film comes into existence as a whole only in Memory, where it loses its temporal identity. A film is nothing but the memory of itself, and a memory is none-dimensional. On an abstract level, this leads to the absurd conclusion that a film cannot be boring. Paradoxically, a memory of a tremendously dull film can even stand out as particularly memorable and interesting because of its boringness.

An example of a film built around the idea of boringness is Marguerite Duras’s India Song (1973). The story takes place in Indochina in the early part of last century. In drawn-out shots, the camera lingers on interiors of elegant rooms in grand buildings, and on people in expensive clothes standing and walking around in these spaces, smoking sophisticatedly with measured movements. The characters of the film seem to be part of the interiors rather than in them; the whole film is a slowly moving, populated still life. There is no on-screen dialogue, instead there are voice-overs that in a hypnotic conversational tone tell us the story depicted by the situations on the screen.

The narrative moves forward lethargically, and does not appear to try to keep our interest up. The shots are consistently slightly too long. It is as though their ends have been left untrimmed. The film avoids the traditional film language, which was created with the intention of not boring us. Usually, superfluous or indeed boring events are simply cut out (if only life were that simple!) Watching this film, we feel locked up in its tempo. Each scene is peremptory, ordering us to keep watching it while it projects its slowness on our own being in time.

When thinking back on the film, we remember a feeling related to harmony, although when watching it we might feel boredom. The bored and blasé feeling that this film induces is thus efficacious, and not the failure it would have been if it came from a film with entertainment as its ambition. India Song enacts a holding back of the subconsciously expected progress of the narrative, and by doing so it stretches the internal film time more efficiently than does the famous scene with the pram on the stairs of Odessa in Sergei Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin (1925).

Similar to leaving the empty, eventless ends of the individual shots unedited, is to let a straightforward action run its course, even though the continuation of it is obvious to the viewer. In Béla Tarr’s Werckmeister Harmonies (2001), we get to watch complete banal events, unnecessary to the progress of the story, which would have been cut short in most other films. This film is set in a Hungarian village, and is a universal allegory about mankind’s, and, more importantly, life’s cyclic nature of destroying – and rebuilding – itself. In one scene, two men walk down a road. Like the film, they are in no hurry. The road forks into two, and the characters take different routes. By the time this happens in the film, we have already grown used to Tarr’s film language, and we know that the cut will not happen until the men have reached the ends of their respective roads. Since this understanding comes to us early in the scene, we feel powerless towards its uncompromising lack of drive, and the remaining feeling can be one of boredom. Even if we did feel bored watching this scene, afterwards when thinking back upon it, we only remember the specific emotion that the director wanted to create by using this technique of storytelling.

Already at the stage of inspiration, a filmmaker might see that the idea would make a boring piece. The inspiration is born out of the artist’s environment as well as his cultural and genetic heritage, in short: her self. These properties are fathomless in their vastness and mix, and with the exception of certain specific examples it is impossible to fully comprehend the nature of inspiration. Although the filmmaker will recognise the inspiration – after all, it is an extension of herself – she will also be surprised by it; the idea is new to her.

In other words, I want to propose that only in the sense that the inspiration springs from the artist’s experience, which she, it must be assumed, has had a degree of control of, can we hold her responsible for her ideas. She is responsible, however, for carrying out the filmic inspiration, should she choose to do so. Realising that the film to which the received inspiration points will be a boring one must not stop the filmmaker from making it, if the future work is informed by its boring nature. Whenever a film is referred to as “boring”, the question should be asked whether the film needs to be boring. If it does, then we must bow down to necessity. Intentional boringness can be the very core of the expression. Apart from its obvious function as provocation, boringness may be the only way to achieve the certain atmosphere a film needs to convey its message.

If used intelligently, boringness is necessary as a means to artistic ends. Boringness is simply a style, used to create certain inductive responses. However, the representation of boredom will always be tedious. The solution to this problem is that tedium in the context of cinema has two faces: one that is present during the course of the film, and one that appears after the film is over. Its Janus-faced nature is crucial to the understanding of boringness in film. It is not an unusual experience, when the end credits start rolling on the screen after a film that felt numbingly boring to watch, to instantly lose the sense of boredom, and instead remember the time spent in the cinema as valuable and atmospheric.

Art from all disciplines experiments with the mechanism of boringness. In my opinion, this is more rewarding when it is done in film and other temporally presented artforms. Only when the audience is tethered to time, and the complete experience can be achieved by no other means than sitting through the entire work, can the strongest kind of boredom take place, the one that makes the mind itch. Film is time, and it demands from us a very exact temporal commitment, whereas non-durative art comes to us with vaguer requests. When working with boringness, this exactness lets the artist make specific points. To set out to bore the audience is something with a great expressive potential. The kind of film that wants to do this is seeking for something that has not yet been said. It wants to question the communication process by deliberately disjoining it until the malfunctional becomes functional, the negative positive.

#Essay #Prose #English

0 notes