The Laws of The Cinema

Bloody Nora, it's been a while since I've posted! Apologies for that; I've just been taking a mad-load of script reading and development courses lately as part of the career master plan... between that, full-time work and frequent hair-dyeing, I did not allow time for blogging *hangs head in shame*

Since I'm looking to get involved with script reading, I've been watching even more movies lately. I've always loved watching them, but lately I've really been taking advantage of my Cineworld Unlimited card, to shove as much nutritious movie goodness into my eyeholes as possible. While I love that I can go to the movies as often as I like for a flat-rate monthly fee, the slight downside of cinemagoing is that THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE THERE. I assume that there are other people out there somewhere who, like myself, simply want to enjoy a newly-released movie on the big screen with lovely digital sound. UNINTERRUPTED. However, I am yet to encounter such people at the cinema. Whenever I visit the Magical Moviehouse, I seem to be surrounded by gibbering morons who are intent upon shrieking/gurgling/snorting/mooing their opinions on a bi-secondly basis. I find it interesting that they have misinterpreted human society to such an extent that they seem to firmly believe that they've paid the insane sum of £8.10 for the privilege of having their loud, 2-hour conversation in a nice, dark room for a change.

So I've prepared a short (by no means exhaustive) list of LAWS of cinema etiquette that should, in this ranter's opinion, be enforced by rabid badgers with chainsaws instead of legs:

1) GO AWAY. This is aimed at all people. Please get away from me. If I wanted to spend upwards of 2 hours sitting right next to you despite the infinite quantity of empty seats far away that you COULD have chosen, I'd break into your house at night and sit on your bed while you sleep. See, it's not nice, is it?

2) SHUT UP.

Recently, we went to see 'The Adjustment Bureau'. In front of us was a bloke we dubbed 'Reaction Man'. Every time ANYTHING happened, he would gasp, loudly comment on it, and elbow the girl next to him (they seemed to have been on a date). I would like to present her with an award for exhibiting restraint in this situation, as the logical response to this would have been to stamp on his crotch. She made it to the end of the film without doing this, though, and so must have been a cyborg or something.

3) NOISY FOOD = STABBY FACE. While your date might find it alluring that you're snorting and grunting in your haste to hoover as much popcorn into your face as you can before the previews end, it's actually a bit weird and makes you seem like a warthog wearing clothes. [DISCLAIMER: I MAY OCCASIONALLY BE GUILTY OF THIS. BUT IT'S CUTE WHEN I DO IT].

4) CHECK OUT A FILM BEFORE YOU SEE IT. If you're a complete pleb who can't follow a plotline that doesn't feature animals or cheerleaders, don't go to see a political thriller. However, your loud whinging that you 'don't get it' is actually quite useful to society as a whole, as it informs your date/boyfriend/girlfriend that you shouldn't breed.

5) PHONES. Of course, it's annoying when people don't switch off/silence their phones during a showing. But it's also intolerable when they pull the phone out mid-film and start arsing around on it, causing the backlight to PIERCE MY RETINAS. Piece of information for these people: In the darkness of a cinema, YOUR PHONE APPEARS BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN ITSELF. You might as well set fire to the seat next to you, as that would be about the same level of distracting. And everyone knows you haven't got a text, as you clearly have no friends.

Okay that's enough for now, I've got to go chew on something to relieve the annoyance now...

Flinging myself at the film business like a golden retriever that can smell a biscuit...

I have put my serious hat on for this post. No shut up, I have. Not literally, you understand; pretty much all of my hats are actually quite silly, and the vast majority have ears of some sort on them. Metaphorically, then, I have donned the cap of gravity.

I am embarking upon the confusing and frustrating task of attempting to gain a foothold at the base of a career ladder. One that offers some hope, eventually and with hard work, of serious advancement. Please, dear reader, do not misunderstand; I do currently have a job. It pays money and is convenient to travel to. However, I am an admin assistant in a tiny company where there is, sadly, no opportunity for promotion or personal growth. The job has been a boon in the sense that I have been rewarded with promotion for good work, to the extent that such a small company is able, and have gained 18 months' office experience. This can only be a good thing, as my previous job-hunting attempts without any sort of 'experience' could be conservatively described as abortive. So I wholeheartedly thank my current employers for the chance to gain this valuable asset. The time has definitely come to seek higher pay and lengthier challenges though. However I am fully aware that this will be a long and laborious process, as I have chosen to try to get into film/television production. The purchasing aspect of my current job has equipped me with some skills that would potentially be useful should I find a way into production buying, as would my various forays into props buying for amateur projects. My lifelong semi-obsession with creating weird and ridiculous movie shorts, occasionally featuring a hamster as a villain, and often with a healthy dose of the macabre, also pushes my heart in the direction of production work. Having grown up being frequently allowed to wander around film sets, I have always been struck with the complex nature of filming and, for want of a less gimpy word, the exciting 'buzz' of it all. Particularly on American sets, as a visitor you are always courteously offered a chair. I feel like screaming 'NO! DON'T GIVE ME A CHAIR! I don't WANT to sit down! I want to run around like a baboon with its arse on fire, distributing tea and call-sheets! And perhaps even getting paid for the privilege!' Unfortunately nobody read my mind and offered me a job and a green-card on the spot, so it seems it's now up to me to do some legwork. I have an intense curiousity about how everything on a set is organized, who is responsible for what, and how it all comes together. I would like very much to be a cog in this entrancing machine, and collapse exhaustedly each night knowing that, while I might not have saved lives or earned a fortune, at least I did what I'm SUPPOSED to be doing. So I've been applying for entry-level jobs and paid internships like a fevered mental, and have every limb and extremity metaphorically crossed. Metaphorically because I don't want people thinking I'm constantly desperate to pee.

There is a bottle of champagne waiting in my kitchen for the day I get offered the job that may lead to my utter, vomit-inducing and toe-curling happiness. Let's hope I get an excuse to drink it before the year is out...

UPDATE - Forgot to mention I'm also auditioning, and organizing props, for a play that's due to be performed at the Camden Fringe this year. Will let you know how that goes, O Cherished Reader-bean...

The Jumpsuit Blues

Last night, I went round to Steve's after we had curry last night (he found my Madras a little hot, so I laffed at him for being a Southern git) and he produced my pink jumpsuit as it had arrived earlier that day!

If you are unfamiliar with these jumpsuits, you have not lived.

But not to GIVE to me yet; they had mistakenly sent the extra small size instead of just small, so he wanted me to try it on to see if he had to try and get it exchanged before Christmas. I put it on, and instantly felt like some kind of awesome, snuggly, highly camp astronaut. Luckily it fitted fine (if it was any bigger it would probably have been a bit TOO ridiculous - this is, of course, all relative), which was good until HE MADE ME GIVE IT BACK UNTIL CHRISTMAS!! Sad times... It's the weirdest thing ever! It can zip up all the way over my face for no apparent reason (SHUT UP!), and has a mad number of pockets. The only thing missing is a proper old-stylee longjohn buttflap, but I'll forgive it that one omission. I miss it already, and am looking forward to Christmas when I can get rid of all my other clothes and take to looking like a retarded-but-harmless descendent of Buzz Aldrin once more...

The Return of American Express...

American Express called the company I work for again today. If you are unsure of the significance of this, please see here.

ME: Good afternoon, [COMPANY NAME], how can I help you?
TELEMARKETER: Yes, good afternoon. I would like to speak to [MANAGER'S NAME, ONLY PRONOUNCED SLIGHTLY LESS WRONGLY THAN LAST TIME THEY CALLED].
ME: Is this American Express, by any chance?
TELEMARKETER: [STUNNED SILENCE] Um, yes?
ME: My spirit guide told me it would be. It also says you should watch your back tomorrow.
TELEMARKETER: Wha..?!
ME: [EXAGGERATEDLY LOUDLY] OKAY, I LOVE YOU, BUHBYE!!!!

Further reasons why I am a... you know what, I'm bored of typing this title

13) I can't see a puppy without devolving into some sort of squealing melty idiot-woman. Puppies actually make my heart hurt. I am supposed to be educated and at least vaguely mature. Which is clearly total shite.
14) I secretly sort-of don't hate pork scratchings. Which I call 'itchy pigs' in order to try and put myself off. I actually refuse to allow myself to openly like them.
15) I sometimes buy magazines called things like 'Murder Monthly' to read on the machines at the gym to discourage awkward treadmill conversationalists.
16) I only like salad if bacon is involved.
17) I own a couple of pairs of shoes that I will NEVER be able to walk in successfully, but I keep them at eye-level for when I'm on my sofa because they are pretty.
18) Sometimes young children are openly delighted by my hair, and ask their parents if they can have their hair bright colours too. The parents' looks of utter horror are highly amusing to me, and can literally make my day.
19) I think it is absolutely fine to wear my swimsuit in my flat for no reason. I waited ages on a waiting list for the bastard thing, and I will not allow a lack of outdoor opportunity prevent me from wearing it!!! (PS - it is completely fabulous)
20) It is my firm belief that gin is an acceptable form of dessert.
21) I have several t-shirts with variations on 'Your Mum' jokes on them.
22) I have actually spent this long thinking of things about myself to write here. Narcissism, meet thy most devout champion!

Reasons Why I Am a Total Freakin' Loser

1) I enjoy grocery shopping alone. I actually look forward to it. This way I can get excited about a new type of cereal without being judged.
2) I always linger in the kids' section of IKEA; not because I am a paedophile (I'm not, just so you know. Apparently women can be paedos too though, yay equality!), but because I wish the tiny cartoonish furniture was also made in grownup sizes so I could build my own Minnie Mouse-type dwelling.
3) I love it when the Oyster-card-inspecty-people get on the 207 and I have actually paid for once. This holds a similar appeal to the times when I was a schoolkid and someone else got in trouble for a change.
4) I check www.yesterland.com regularly to see if any rides have been retired at Disneyland.
5) I am still angry that the Star Tours ride is being replaced.
6) I alter the lyrics of songs so that they are about how stupid/fat/ginger/cute my dog is, and then sing them to her. She's deaf, so there is literally no point in doing any of this.
7) I like to make passive-aggressive comments VERY LOUDLY right at people who have pissed me off by talking during a movie as they get up to leave. Makes me giggle.
8) I start informing people that 'it's my birthday soon' about 2 months before my actual birthday. I am not under the illusion that my birthday is that important to others; I just really like to annoy people.
9) I used to occasionally go into goth/alternative chatrooms and proclaim my love for Nickelback just to watch everyone get angry.
10) I like to sing inappropriate songs in the style of Meatloaf while showering. I mean that I sing them while I'm showering; I don't know what Meatloaf sounds like when he's showering.
11) I occasionally wear aviators and listen to AC/DC while driving to my office job, so I can pretend that I'm some sort of badass. I also drive round corners slightly faster than I probably should to enhance the effect.
12) Sometimes I repeat advertising slogans from the television in a bad Russian accent for my own amusement.

This is not an exhaustive list, but I have to go and stare at the wall or whatever it is I'm paid to do now...

Pielight

A deserted loading dock. Midnight. Heavy rainfall, slightly muffling the sound of stilettos on concrete. She throws a brief glance over her shoulder, suppresses a shiver and hurries to the centre of the dock, where he is waiting. Stopping about two feet's distance from him, she avoids his gaze for a brief moment. She is shaking, her fists clenched at her sides. Then, with a sudden cry, she lands a stinging slap across his face. He remains still, allows her to compose herself. Breathing still a little ragged, she finally brings herself to look directly at him.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" She asks the question, already fearing the answer. "Why couldn't you just be honest with me from the beginning?"
"I didn't want to hurt you. But I can't change what I am."
She nods, the fight drained from her. Her tears mix with the streams of rain coursing down her face.
"What am I supposed to do now?" Looking into his face, imploringly.
"You must forget all about me. This can never be..." Even as he says it, he knows she will not listen. She is reaching into the pocket of her coat, and he trails off, intrigued. Her hand trembles slightly as she reveals its contents; a miniature, cellophane-wrapped pork pie. His reaction is instant and terrifying. A guttural cry escapes his lips as he lunges for the morsel, consuming it in an instant; cellophane and all. Suddenly filled with horror and revulsion at his involuntary action, he backs away from her. Her eyes are wide with fear, yet still she takes a step toward him. Then another. Placing a soothing hand on his shoulder, she gently tilts his chin so that they are face to face. With surprising firmness, she speaks:
"I don't care. It doesn't matter to me that you are completely obsessed with pies, you fat bastard! I need you." They embrace as the rain continues to pour. In the distance, a coyote howls.