Don't worry....

...be happy

Directors Cut

Not many people have seen the alternate cut to the film Shawshank Redemption. Frank Darabont, the director behind the films ‘Wingaling Prayer’ and ‘Dumpster’, had wanted ‘Shawshank’ to be an exploration on the toils that age and confinement can inflict upon the human body. Unfortunately Paramount, who funded the film, had other ideas and forced Darabont to make severe changes to his vision. Both Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman made appeals to the executive producers, but their minds were set.  

The Directors cut is almost entirely the same as the original, except for one key scene that was drastically cut from the cinematic release. The film starts with Andy Doofrane arriving at Shawshank penitentiary thinking about the court case that convicted him, as in the original. We are shown him getting used to prison, being buggered and making friends with Morgan Freeman’s character, ‘Red’, as with the theatrical realise.

Then comes the scene where Brooks, the sweet elderly librarian gets parole.  We are treated to the same sombre letter, narrated by Jamie Whitmore, as we see Brooks adjusting to life outside the prison walls. Then comes the bittersweet moment where we see him carve his name onto a beam in his bed room. A mid shot of his feet resting on a stool, then a step and Brooks feet swing, as he hangs him self.

This is where the director’s cut differs to the public release. The shot of his swinging feet last for five minuets, an uncomfortable length forcing the viewer to contemplate the death of Brooks. Then nature takes over, as the dying mans bowls collapse. A high pitch parp; hesitant at first but then growing in strength. A brief pause and then WOOOSH

A jet of shit shots down into the shot and brooks legs start to swing erratically. Heart wrenching music, as written by Thomas Oldman, starts as the camera slowly pulls back revealing the entire cadaver of poor Brooks being propelled around the room by a geyser of poo, the noose still around his neck. This shot lasts for half an hour.

Then the jet starts to splutter and subsides. Another silent five minuets pass.

Then SPLURUCHH

The fountain starts again but a hundred times stronger. Brook’s body is smashed into the walls and ceiling like a possessed piñata. The music’s starts again, louder and more heartfelt. Morgan Freeman then bursts into the room screaming “FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH!”. He dances the room screaming manically, wildly gesticulating a fishing rod mime.

Then, from being repeatedly smashed against the walls and ceiling, Brooks comes back to life. His confused face contorted with confusion, pain and excrement. With his bowls still rupturing he joins Morgan Freeman and starts to yell “FRESH FISH!” still violently swinging around the room. This scene lasts an hour. Brooks slowly dies and Morgan Freeman gets knocked unconscious by brooks flailing legs. Darabont again gives us another five minuets silence to contemplate the frailty of life.

Then KABOOOM!

Brooks bowls explode

Strange but True

The smell of burnt dust smells of impending heat

Thoughts on

I have just seen Peter Jackson’s fifth movie, King Kong. The only thoughts I have on the entire spectacle were that the computer generated effects looked like bags of skin filled with porridge.

Now will people stop asking me what I thought about this film.

Efficient dreams

It was very cold last night and for this  reason I was finding it hard getting to sleep. My knees were icy and I couldn’t quite feel my feet. My normal course of action for dealing with insomnia was not working (thinking about space men and dinosaurs till I’m dreaming about space men and dinosaurs). I needed a strategy for dealing with the cold.

Heat!

This was the solution.

I needed to decrease the time it took to warm the cavern my body had created under the duvet. The solution was provided in the problem: reduce the size of the cavern. All of a sudden my mind was a passive aggressive heat efficiency officer, wrapping my head with spare duvet and tucking in crannies. Soon I was drifting off, wrapped up tight and checking off items on a metaphoric clip board.

Then the morning came. I woke up sprawled out, covers everywhere. My first waking thought for this day was “I’m an inefficient heat factory”

Doctors love to touch their clients

I had the health of my eyes checked by an optometrist in Dalston market, an area notorious for crime and fantastic jerk chicken. The optometrist also sold glasses, as they are wont to do these days. The store was bright cacophony of frames and mirrors, doing all its best to lighten the mood of having to compensate for your faulty genes.

I sat next to an old Jamaican couple, clutching each others hands, who were quite riled when I was called to be seen before them. I was led down a flight of stairs to the basement. The smell of damp was palatable and the linonium floor in areas was peeling.

I sat in a subterranean room by myself for five minuets whilst they fished around for my documents. Then the optometrist came in and all my worries were reassured. She was fairly young, just getting used to asking intimate questions about peoples eyes, but she knew what she was doing, her intelligence was apparent.

After a few questions she then manoeuvred a large optomical apparatus in front of my face and switched lights off. She asked me to place my chin in a groove and she positioned her self on the other side of the equipment, a hand span away from my own face. She shone a light into my left eye.
Then her voice dropped an octave and she started to whisper. It sounded like she was highly aroused.

‘Could you Look up for me please’ she purred
What?! Why was she whispering? Was she coming on to me? Had I entered an Optometrists racket, one who’s sole aim was for these sick eye doctors to get their jollies?
I looked up

‘and…to the Left, please’

Was that why I was in the basement? Do they screen clients at reception; those they deem attractive and strong enough to handle an Optometrist get send down stairs or do they just rape who ever comes through the door? Was that why that Jamaican couple were holding hand, terrified of the sexual ordeal that awaited them?

‘Look Right….please’

She left pregnant pauses, as if it was all to much for her to handle. Is it possible to accurately asses the health of an eye whilst horny? Would she fuck it up on purpose; not mention a malignant symptom so that I had to keep on returning with eye complaints, return time again to have my eyes and genitals interfered with. Then eventually I’d go blind and the lady in front of me would have me for ever. At that point I was willing to bet there was a room in building filled with blind sex slaves.

‘And down’

Then she asked me a question about my glasses. I panicked, I couldn’t show fear. Do I whisper too? If I whisper would it sound like I was hot to trot. I replied trying to sound as flaccid as possible.

She switched eyes, shining a light into my right. I tried to look at her but she was a dark out line, like a victim on crime watch. 'But I'm the victim' I thought. She asked me to look in different directions again, in her low husky voice. Then the procedure was over.

The lights went back on and she chatted to me about my eyes, telling me they were fine, just not to wear my contacts as much. Perfectly normal.

I left Dalston feeling like a pervert.

Of late...

...when leaving the kitchen with a snack, I have taken to imagining the house to be a spaceship traveling through space and I, a stow away stealing supplies. As i eat my meal I think of the crew picking straws because there aren't enough rations for all of them to survive the journey; one of them will have to be jettisoned in order for the rest to live. 

Another variant on this daydream is that I'm an alien, much like the alien in the film 'Alien'. The food i have taken is a crewmember, incapacitated yet still very much alive. Then, whilst I tuck into my sandwich, I imagine the crew watching their fateful colleague's vital signs on a computer screen, holding their head's with despair as he flat lines.

BEEB

[CHOMP CHOMP]

BEEB

[MUNCH MUNCH]

BEEB

[NOM NOM]

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE