Movie Review: Waking Life



Every once in a while you run into one of those true raconteurs at a party somewhere (always seems to be in the kitchen.) The kind who can keep a slew of cunts enthralled as he raps out too-perfect set pieces on any number of topics. You know it's part of his trick bag and he's spun the same anecdotes dozens of times before, tweaking them along the way.

Strewn amongst the tales, which are delivered like a polished stand-up routine, are memorable lines that make you look at things in a different way. Maybe a product of the speaker's own mind or plucked from some pop-culture guru of the day.

But it doesn't really matter where the ideas came from...the cunt's entertaining and besides, he's better than most fools who can barely string together a few coherent thoughts let alone reel off a clever narrative.

Waking Life (2001, by Richard Linklater) is a unique animated film that features a series of such individuals, as they keep the main character (and audience) rapt and intrigued via their most passionate interpretations of the world around them. In essence this film is a series of vignettes, sewn together by the main character's search for instruction and insight on life, and ultimately, a way to escape the dream in which he finds himself immersed. The gentle and inquisitive nature of the young man (played by Wiley Wiggins) who may or may not be experiencing the last few moments of his life in a surreal, time-skewed final exit, somehow matches, and guides, the feel and ambience of this memorable film.

On first glimpse it appears to be a live-action movie in which artists then drew over top of the original footage. In fact, albeit in layman's terms, that's exactly what it is. It creates an interesting and powerful medium, flashing between varying degrees of a detailed adherence to an authentic representation of visual reality and simpler line drawings that symbolize the different subject matter and states of consciousness that the protagonist is undergoing. The animated format provides unlimited potential for various tricks and added effects, which are always used in interesting ways and add to the overall feel of this evocative film.

The various rants and smooth, world-view recitations are at worst, new-age claptrap that couldn't withstand a cursory challenge of the concepts presented. The film is not unconscious of this fact. The wide range of viewpoints presented in the various monologues will undoubtedly provide at least some ideas or new way of looking at things that will appeal to many different individuals. While scoffing at a few, I couldn't help but be drawn into subsequent rants and soliloquies.

The film eventually moves towards a discussion on the nature of reality and the power of lucid dreaming.

The overall tone of the movie, though created by the seemingly independent voices represented by different characters or types in society, is not averse to mocking some of those very exhortations. Or more accurately, the same characters question themselves and provide a few different avenues for the viewer to examine their words and thoughts. A left or right ideological bent is not necessarily provided as the standard against which to judge various ideas presented. But more concisely: have they come to their views in an honest way? Does their highlighted bit of wisdom provide either a helpful or destructive road map for life?

The repeated changing of venues and eclectic mix of different characters seems meant to remind us of the richness of ideas and alternate viewpoints in life. The celebration of the vast array and potential ecstasy of life, the joyous incomprehensibility that keeps us wondering and searching.

It reminded me of a television interview I saw with an author, now deceased, a few years ago. The interviewer was querying the venerated literary legend on the amount of written garbage that is produced and lapped up by the masses. Far from taking the bait and segueing into a rant that would, by comparison, highlight himself as brilliant, the author made the point that those creating such supposed "garbage" must be committed to their work for it to resonate with any audience.

This film is far from garbage but the point is that the same concept done in a less intelligent way would have fallen flat and come off as contrived and pathetic. Here, the outcome seems so in line with what must have been the film-maker's vision that you can only applaud and take it all in.

Like zombie flicks, Neil Young and pints of Guinness, I'm guessing that this is a love it or hate it kind of film. For me the movie worked in many different ways, the most important being that it made me think and feel. Among other things it reminded me to steer away from the constant attempts to degrade, especially about those who make an effort to get close. After all, what is a mate except someone who buys your bullshit and riffs off whatever you have to say?

Like a mirror-image of that distinct phenomenon that yanks have foisted onto the world, i.e. the "my-life-as-a-movie" persona, this is at times a movie like that...people rapping so solemnly and deftly that it could only be a movie...but wait a minute, it is a damn movie. It's the sense that so many for so long have been looking out of the corner of their eye, conscious that other cunts are eavesdropping on their deep conversations and marveling at their lives. Here it has come full circle. The "art-as-life" enigma rears its head again, and it is heartily welcomed.

Try as I might, I couldn't dismiss this film. The likelihood that it has sparked numerous conversations in dingy university housing flats amongst groups of 1st year liberal arts students is undoubted. I find myself wishing I could take a joyous and ethereal page from this film and transport myself to some of those youthful celebrations.

Cross-posted at: Blogcritics

Have They No Shame?



Nor proofreaders?

This is one of the most shameful, worthless pieces I have seen written in the Nation for a while.

In a country that is as far from being a meritocracy as possible, one of the most laughable examples of pure incompetence on display is in the local English language media. Those media outlets where Thais shamelessly parade their substandard English skills for all to see.

In many of these cases, I'm guessing that the fools are children of wealthy Thais, who after their time spent studying abroad, decided they were entitled and capable of writing or speaking English for a living.

The article linked to above is fraught with spelling errors, fucked up grammar and skewed syntax. A level of writing below what appears in daily newspapers from the west is to be expected but this is just plain careless, slipshod horseshit. It appears the moron who banged out the mistake-riddled load of tripe was intoxicated while writing it. The bloody fool apparently didn't even have the brains to run it through the spell-check on his computer.

I counted at least 14 errors, and that's not even including all the run-on sentences and, at times, almost nonsensical syntax. Here are a few examples:

While marketing can always be done, but as the history of Thai tourism development proves,

...either in terms of services and balance of demand and supply. (We're waiting...)

The competition in Asia for wealthy tourists have never been more intense.

He warned that if there isn't any clear policy related to management and preservation, balancing the supply-and-demand and carrying capacity of tourism destinations, improving service standard, security and HR, the rapid growth of visitors will not be appropriate for an industry that has problems accumulated over many years. (Rambling and with errors.)

And so many careless mistakes:

He cited for for example,

...he wrotes in a recent paper.

...the Hong Kong habour...

...known for his sytematic and long term thinking, (Especially amusing when a word related to competence is spelled incorrectly.)

To be fair, there are some skilled Thais who write in both English language dailies in Bangkok. Though his name escapes me, a film reviewer for the Bangkok Post regularly posts entertaining, error-free pieces with fresh insight.

However, they've got to start doing something about shit like the article cited here. The individual in question must be informed that he doesn't have what it takes. He is a disgrace to himself and the Nation. Regardless of the wealth or status of his family or however else he finagled himself into this position, he is clearly unqualified to perform.

Let the Nation know that we expect more from them.

letters@nationgroup.com

Drug Use in Thailand

Anyone with even a passing interest in international news or specifically regarding south-east Asia and Thailand, will be familiar with the notorious drug war launched a few years ago by the Thaksin government. Since that time there has been a second drug war and a 3rd one is looming. The condemnations are barely heard now as Thaksin has outlawed any reporting on the statistics regarding those killed. I've harped on this numerous times and I won't go into details again.

3, 000 killed extra-judicially in 3 months (with the laughable claim that only a dozen or so were done in by the police), many with identical envelopes of speed tablets and similar handguns found next to their corpses, sums up the brutality and underlying mentality guiding such campaigns.

Anyone who uses drugs is only ever a few steps removed from a dealer of some sort, regardless of whether a few joints or pills are being handed on to them by a friend who made the transaction.

The belief that being slightly removed from any dealing activities somehow insulates a person from the horseshit that is inevitably associated, is a sentiment I have long sensed from most drug users. While in many countries dealing is now the only illegal aspect of the drug subculture (at least regarding marijuana), in Thailand possession is still a very serious crime that can result in a length of sentence similar to that which a person would face for manslaughter in the west.

Once in the orbit of anyone who is providing you with drugs, you are beholden to that person to a certain degree. Add into the mix the fact that your judgement is undoubtedly skewed because of the usage and you are receptive to suggestions and requests from such individuals. If someone is leaning on them, what qualms would they have against using you in any possible way so as to lessen their potential plight or punishment?

There are numerous examples of Brits, Australians, yanks and other foreigners banged up in Thailand for getting involved in the drug scene. Bangkok's Bang Kwang prison is full of western fools who thought they were immune from consequences.

There is another larger tier below those incarcerated here, most of whom are doing time because of dealing or transporting across international lines, and those are common users. The sneering nonchalance from these individuals never ceases to amaze me. They are happy to tell anyone and everyone of the fact that they regularly smoke reefers during their stay here and assure their listeners that nothing negative will ever befall them because of it. They are the types who will casually spark a joint in the presence of others, oblivious to the fact that any foreigners in their midst are now open to extortion, jail time or deportation in the event that the coppers show up. Unlikely? Of course. Probably hundreds of such fools have come and gone, spent a good chunk of their lives here, engaged in illegal activities and left unscathed.

But those fools who are snared never fail to start mewling and are ever eager to try and trade on their western status, a far cry from the image they projected in the time leading up to their arrests.

Here are 3 observations I have made regarding those who want everyone to know that they are fearless hard-cases living on the edge in a gritty 3rd world country and are willing to use illegal drugs:

1. That they haven't been caught assures them that they never will be in the future. This circular bit of nonsense afflicts many people in various situations. It's a variation on ascribing a run of good luck or the absence of any catastrophe to some inert object or other superstition.

"Hey, this rock I carry around in my pocket protects me from tigers/witches/being raped in the ass etc."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well, it hasn’t happened to me, so..."

2. They all boast of a connection to some higher-up. To believe all these fools, a person would have to come to the conclusion that all Thais involved in the police force and army are a bunch of malleable, wishy-washy pushovers who take an instant liking to whatever foreigner is in their vicinity and pledges their eternal help to them. This claim of a free get-out-of-jail card is almost to-a-person and truly beggars belief regarding the naivete of these fucks. Do these cunts truly feel that whatever feel-good, flippant comment was offered at some point in the past by some Thai whose path they crossed, some stiff who was/is related to some tart they're fucking, allows them to break the law with impunity?

"Ahh, you caught a foreigner and he was dealing smack? But he knows Tittifuck? Cut 'em loose! What the fuck were you thinking?"

I wonder if Bang Kwang is full of sad fucks who spend those eternal minutes wondering why their local connection didn't get them off the hook?

3. A compulsion to share information. Not unlike many small-time hoods, whose only claims that differentiate themselves from others, are the senseless risks they are willing to take in life. It's as if that added bonus of having others know is the only thing that makes it real for them.

That affliction which seems to take hold with lawbreakers the world-over and for which the authorities will always be grateful. To share their own self-perceived daring and callous nonchalance creates an ever-growing web of knowledge regarding their activities. Amongst which is undoubtedly some vindictive cunt, one who may even partake in the backslapping and simultaneously set in motion a gutless series of steps in hopes of seeing the braggart nailed to the wall.

Are these fools so lacking in awareness and understanding of the human condition? So inexperienced in the ways of the world that they don't know the masks that people wear? The sociopaths, the sly insincere individuals, the lovers of mayhem, the manipulators amongst us? That no person can ever really know another?

Far from gaining a sense of schadenfreude from the plight of anyone who ends up in prison, I wish they would get their heads out of their asses before it's too late.

Cross-posted at: Blogcritics

A Subject of Inexhaustible Interest Regarding Thailand

Here is a lengthy article on Thailand regarding...what else...that subject which has seen more ink spilled about it than any other single aspect of this country; prostitution. The writer claims to be a jaded denizen of Sukhumvit soi 4 but at times offers up tripe similar to that from which he claims to be offering a respite. Being closer to the action doesn't necessarily provide sharper insight or more believable hypotheses.

He starts off well, debunking some statistics that could be dismissed by a moderately trained chimp. The problem is, he adds to the mix his own litany of absurdities and hard-to-believe claims that he likely gleaned from local bullshit artists who bolster and reinforce a take on things that sits well with his view of the world.

Among the gems: that Thai prostitutes clean the feet of paying customers before they shag them. Now, In my time here I have never paid to have sex with a woman but I have talked to plenty who have. Never have I heard this unlikely tidbit, something that many scum would probably gain a hearty and patronizing sense of pleasure from if it were true. Before receiving a traditional Thai massage your feet will be washed by a young girl whose sole responsibility is just that, only to allow the masseuse to avoid touching filthy foreign feet. It's not out of the realm, but again, I have never heard about this regarding prostitutes.

Another claim, that does seem plausible and has a ring of truth to it, is that Thai prostitutes are generally free agents and not beholden to pimps. Of course, there are reasons that drive them towards the profession but an abusive, controlling individual who skims off most of the profits and keeps the girl desperately reliant, is not a sense many have gained from the girls working at the beer bars of Bangkok. While the writer of this article, like many before him, makes this observation, a significant portion of the piece is devoted to that almost unquestioned issue of human "trafficking" in the region. I don't know the extent of this or how true many of the claims are but the free-agent phenomenon and the trafficking horror stories just don't seem to jibe. How and why are those being trafficked out of Thailand so easily snared and in apparently such large numbers while an even larger number of girls remain in Thailand, unfettered (except for the slobs they endure.) Even on occasion hitting the jackpot, marrying a farang and, as the author states, returning to their villages with "no social disgrace attached."

Fuck!! No stigma attached to a poor Isaan girl who is in any way connected to a farang? This alone tells me that the writer is relying on input from those he thinks are hip to the scene. Like many minorities in the west who are more conscious of their differences than the majority they feel threatened by, poor Thais are as hyper-conscious of social stigma as anyone in Thailand and usually more so. The foreigner-with-a-Thai-woman-must-be-a-prostitute canard is one that is alive and well amongst the lower classes.

The writer does have questions for assorted NGO's about the reported statistics of such trafficking but this core contradiction of relative freedom on one hand and the international trade in flesh on the other, doesn't cause him to ponder this dissonance to the degree it deserves. So instead of bracing those who potentially benefit from such half-truths and the belief that this supposed murky underworld exists, he dances around the issue. I'm guessing it's because he is likely part of the world of NGO's himself.

Some more problems I have with the article are regarding the claims of wages paid to rural Thais. Most importantly, are these figures based on unemployed people as well, which, if grouped with those who are working, would drag down the average. His figures are that 1/3rd of Thais make less than 2 dollars US per day. This would be the equivalent of 80 baht per day. Poverty and exploitation of the poor is horrific here and I personally know of numerous people being screwed in various hell-on-earth jobs. However, I do take issue with the specifics. I have never heard of anyone in the last few years getting less than 100 baht per day for a grueling 10-12 hours of physical labour. That in itself is beyond sickening as far as a true crime against humanity and I am only quibbling over a difference 20 baht but still, it seems articles like this take liberties in order to ratchet up the *gasp* factor. He further claims that 1 in 6 make less than 1 US dollar a day. Less than 40 baht per day? 10 million in Thailand at this rate of pay? I don't believe it unless there are some credible sources and statistics provided to back it up.

Another matter concerns the core of scum who gleefully trip on shamelessly using, exploiting and discarding young vulnerable Thai women and who perpetuate the myth of them as cagey vipers so as to absolve themselves of any guilt. There is no doubt these men do exist. But as usual, a uniformity and a kind brotherhood of such people is implied and stated outright, which imbues that sinister and easy-to-loathe pall that adds to the appeal of such an article, a kind of sensationalism which the writer himself takes issue with.

However, he makes a few valid points throughout. One I have long echoed, and that is the fact that prostitution is far more accepted and thus indulged by Thais and other Asians than it is for western tourists and expats. The garish-street front bar/hook-up joints and the strange and pathetic acting out by the core of western fools who do partake gives many a sense that perhaps the numbers are greater than what reality would show.

A generalist piece which offers no new insight, arrives at few conclusions save for the obvious, and at times is maundering and unfocussed, it is still worth a look.

Cross-posted at Blogcritics

Book Review: Deep Survival--by Laurence Gonzales



How and why do accidents occur? Are there some people pre-disposed to react in a more efficient and clear-headed manner when the going gets tough? Does thinking through a potential situation before it ever happens provide any hope that a person will respond correctly upon such an eventuality? Or, despite having vague ideas about potential emergencies playing out, without having ever experienced them, are humans absent a mental map which can guide them to safety?

These and more are some of the questions that are addressed and themes that run through a fascinating non-fiction book by Laurence Gonzales entitled Deep Survival. Gonzales has spent a lifetime undertaking and writing about extreme sporting activities, risky professions and dangerous human behaviour in general. In this book he brings together his years of experience in studying and observing the reactions of people faced by such stress and in particular he deconstructs numerous accidents that have occurred to various people along the way. The question that has always intrigued him and forms the underlying theme of this book is: why exactly do some people react better than others and in the process survive any number of frightening near-death experiences brought about by the vagaries of chance, the chronically underestimated forces of nature and plain stupidity?

The results as instructed by his years in the field and supported with loads of research from various psychologists, doctors, survival experts and the testimony of survivors themselves, would have many self-proclaimed hard cases second-guessing their own boasts of how well they would handle themselves when the shit hits the fan.

One recurring observation that comes home again and again after a thorough analysis of numerous screw-ups in the wilderness by weekend warriors and hardened individuals with a lifetime of experience under their belts, is the power of the human mind.

There is no good pre-indicator that tells us which individuals will handle themselves better under stressful and dire situations in the wild. A teenaged girl is just as likely to respond in a way that will increase her likelihood of survival as opposed to a seasoned outdoorsman. This is not just some quirky unfounded claim but something borne out by statistics as detailed by Gonzales and backed up by the various experts in the field whom he interviews in the book. However, look closely at a person's thought process and analyze their actions under stress and certain "eerie similarities" exhibited by survivors do emerge, such as the fact that rule-breakers are more likely to come out alive as opposed to the rigid rule-followers of the world.

While individuals normally can't be assessed accurately on first glance as to how well they would respond in tough situations, there does appear to be statistical evidence regarding demographics. Children under the age of 6 actually have one of the highest rates of survival when being lost in the wilderness and this is even more proof regarding the power of learned processes. Children at that age are not cognizant of the idea of "being lost," thus the realization and subsequent panic never dawns on them. If the mind has not already been conditioned to live in the world of urban convenience we have constructed, which is highly forgiving and induces certain patterns of rewards and expectations, then it appears survival in the wilderness is more likely.

Myths, such as various aboriginal peoples of the world being inherently more attuned to the ways of wilderness, a long-held belief that fits into the hazy, karmic law of compensation that so many fools ascribe to and that somehow soothes our consciences, are tossed aside. That certain individuals from such populations are more skilled in survival in the bush and have a greater feel for direction than others is not in doubt, but this is simply from an awareness and subsequent practice from an early age.

Gonzales spins a highly entertaining and readable narrative in which he deconstructs numerous extreme sporting accidents and highlights common themes upon which he then extrapolates with various theories and personal observations. Every chapter has its own series of mishaps and tragedies told in a way that pulls no punches...never mocking the sometimes incredibly naïve, ill-prepared fools, yet always being brutal in the assessment of how and why they fucked up.

No matter how easy it is for a reader of these tales to shake their head in disbelief at how brazenly obvious the impending disaster was, Gonzales always drives home the point that this is the very nature of such accidents. Just as in everyday life while performing some trivial task, the same litany of factors influence every decision while rappelling down a steep slope. From peer pressure, the desire to impress, laziness, tiredness, daydreaming...the reasons are multitude. Of course the potential consequences are much more deadly but that is readily apparent. That you haven't ever experienced such a situation and thus are lacking the mental map to respond and which inhibits your ability to survive is what is key.

Or as Gonzalez opines on the word 'experienced': "(it) often refers to someone who’s gotten away with doing the wrong thing more frequently than you have."

Just as a few conditions need to come together to set the stage for disaster, the absence of such conditions convince many that they know what they are doing when in reality they have been blundering along at some weekend past-time from the beginning, lucking into their string of “successes”. That more fuck-ups don’t occur is what is so surprising.

This book is jammed with shrewd insight and well-articulated hypotheses and observations. It's one of those books that takes you a while to read—not because there is any lack of desire to keep plowing through the pages—but because it continually hammers you into a reverie and forces you to stare off into the distance and ponder something that the author has so perfectly highlighted.

For some, Gonzalez may go a bit too far in the early going as he establishes the concept and poses the questions that make up the running theme of the book. Nothing he writes goes so far as to be called filler, and though extrapolation is the stock in trade of non-fiction writers, in an attempt to ensure the big idea is lost on no reader, he sometimes adds more than necessary in those early chapters. It is clear that this is a topic that is dear to his heart, something so intimately intriguing to him that he has essentially devoted his life to experiencing, observing and writing about it.

Another thread running through the book is the author's own personal experiences as well as those of his father, who flew during WWII as a bomber pilot. Usually a clear writer of crisp passages and memorable lines, only occasionally does he add unnecessary throwaway lines such as:

"When I first heard that story, I almost wept, because it seemed so much like me and my father."

Scant criticism for a book that, overall I highly recommend. Like all good books it leaves you wanting more.

The subject matter is one that will resonate with most men, at least, and probably a growing number of western women as well, for whom an ever-expanding swath share the aspiration to be men. As the famous saying goes, the greatest compliment one man can hear from another is praise for performance in battle or on the field of play. Everyone likes to fancy themselves as possessing at least a modicum of physical ability and for many, competitiveness is a motivating factor behind everything they do. With prosperity available to most apes of average intelligence from western countries, the number of people turning to extreme sports for recreation and the opportunity to prove themselves outside of their bland office existence will continue to grow.

Gonzalez not only deconstructs numerous survival incidents that stand alone as entertaining pieces but also provides some incidental as well as prescribed advice on how to best prepare your mind for such encounters. Through those compelling mishap post-mortems, patterns necessarily emerge and some conclusions can be drawn, though Gonzalez also shows reverence for those unknown factors that remain a mystery. Ultimately, every person will only ever know their true reaction if and when such a difficult situation arises. As Gonzalez so concisely points out on a number of occasions throughout, you can only hope that you’ve spent a lifetime building up a solid core that will help you to respond.

Or, as one such maxim from the ancient philosopher Epictetus states, plucked from numerous Gonzalez includes and which demonstrates that the enigma of human survival has always intrigued and driven mankind to further understanding:

"On occasion of every accident (event) that befalls you, remember to turn to yourself and inquire what power you have for turning it to use."

Cross-posted at Blogcritics

Movie Review: Requiem For A Dream



For any piece of writing to be effective it necessarily has to keep the reader intrigued. Writers of non-fiction will inevitably stray towards sensationalism and exaggeration so as to make the piece interesting enough to be read to its conclusion. Things are simplified and packaged into a nice theme that fits into the one thousand word format.

The temptation and thrill at being able to create worlds and having others take their renditions as accurate has driven many writers to blur the line between fact and fiction. There are other reasons as well; to ease the pressure of deadlines, avoid annoying things like research and other types of legwork and increase the writer's personal success. The parsing of reality into the most objective and truest representation possible is usually not the one that will result in the most entertaining read though typical praise would lead a person to believe otherwise.

Take war as a subject, for example. Anyone convinced of the authentic nature of a piece about the horrors of war is in reality congratulating the writer on his skill in constructing an entertaining narrative. That the reader has been affected by the writing, focussed more on a particular issue and come away reeling at the inhumanity of it all is probably a good thing. Had fiction-like tools not been used to strengthen the narrative and ratchet up tension, the reader may not have felt compelled enough to continue reading to the end.

It's not that elements of fictionalized stories don’t exist in the real world. It's not that most people when queried wouldn't accept that any particular example of non-fiction necessarily reflects the writer's own bias and a desire to be heard. Most would admit to a healthy skepticism regarding anything they read but at the same time we like to be taken along for an entertaining ride. If we gain something that we think instructs us on life and provides a one-up on others, then all the better.

Loathe to admit that they're the ones providing all the angles in an attempt to give more credence to whatever unique slant they're attempting, writers will introduce composite "friends," unnamed sources and supposed insiders. All of whom take the place of real characters. Sure, many of these are real people providing authentic insight and supporting a thesis, but liberties are often taken in this regard.

Like war, stories about the dangers of drugs almost inevitably end up romanticizing the ordeal. Newspapers and magazines are replete with suburban redemption tales with the survivor highlighted as someone who has truly accomplished something. There seems to be therapeutic value or just the plain thrill of having your own life romanticized by a skilled writer that seems to move people to want themselves featured in such a piece (often referred to as a tot piece--triumph over tragedy.) What steps do people like this actually take to alert the media that they've ridden out the requisite personal horror and are now ready for the final step towards recovery, to have their personal lives smeared all over some rag in a sensationalistic piece?

Do they simply place a call to the paper's switchboard and are then transferred to the writers on staff known for spinning such tales? Perhaps there's a name bank with various categories, rape, drug addiction etc., and when a particular tragedy becomes the flavour of the day, one of the fools is contacted.

Just as a chronic lender of money is the one least likely to pay it back, so the individual with the compulsion to see the intimate details of their life aired in public may provide skewed insight. Perhaps they've studied such accounts and tailored their own story to follow a similar formula. They might recognize that the facts or solid logic expressed usually don't resonate as much as a particular imagery, a particular stylistic pattern that is more easily consumed by the masses.

If these are problems inherent in non-fiction, then the much more prevalent examples of fiction storytelling must surely be free from such obstacles.

However, while those obstacles may not be there, the end result might be similar. It is just that prevalence that makes all forms of fiction--and most prominently, film and television—-the single source for providing insight into moral dilemmas for many people in society. While ostensibly the same level of diligence doesn't apply as it is "only entertainment," audiences may in many cases attach as much significance to works of fiction.

You would receive a head-shaking, breath-exhaling, monumental scoff from most if you suggested they have their world view shaped by cinematic renderings. Yet those same people are likely willing to give their validation to certain, well-done pieces; "a realistic war movie," "a shocking look at the effects of drug abuse." That they themselves have never experienced such things and have no true barometer of authenticity is only proof that their seal of approval is simply a nod towards the director's ability to produce what they conceive as a convincing piece.

Or maybe that's elevating some experiences to such a plane that even undergoing such an ordeal yourself would leave you wondering if it was authentic...

All of these considerations are part of that age-old question; "Does art imitate life or does life imitate art?" and were part of my thoughts after having watched Requiem for a Dream.

This film slipped under my radar back in 2000 when it was released but in recent years I have heard plenty of feedback, the kind of buzz reserved for those gut-punch movies that leave you reeling and are usually proclaimed authentic for that reason alone.

It's a film based on the book by the late Hubert Selby Jr., a yank writer who was influenced heavily by the so-called beat writers of the 50's and 60's. Take the Kerouac stream of consciousness style and fuse it with some of Ginsberg's matter-of-fact/celebratory musings on the junky scene and you have some idea of Selby's style. Filmed a few years before his death, Selby even has a brief cameo appearance in the movie. Selby was known for looking at the dark side of life and exploring human pain to its fullest. This film follows that tradition and is based in a fitting locale.

Anyone not familiar with the US through travel or time spent living there has still developed a hazy mental image and feel (however inaccurate it may be) for various locales in that country due to a lifetime of watching Hollywood movies. Coney Island is a place that always evokes a strange mix of dreary imagery; lost hope, yearning, a not unappealing setting (the water and Manhattan skyscrapers in the distance) scarred with the ever-present dilapidated amusement park rides and boardwalk.

The kind of place where blue-collar workers end up—the ones who can't afford the more expensive neighbourhoods of New York city. Add in retirees who lived modest middle-class lives and the usual collection of directionless youngsters in every bleak, dead-end town who can never quite get it together to get move on to bigger and better things once they have grown, and you have the Coney Island of my mind's eye.

This then is the setting for the film, one that charts the course of 4 lives and the impact of drug addiction upon them. Pain is sublime, pure and all encompassing in this ordeal of a movie, where there is never any doubt regarding who will win—the narcotics (actually heroin in 3 cases and a nasty diet pill addiction in the other) or the characters involved. The only matters in question are how sweetly wrenching their downfalls will be, what horrific fate awaits each and whether any sense of hope at all can be snatched from the depths of despair.

In essence this film is comprised of 4 character sketches in self-destruction as induced by dependence on drugs. None of the minor obstacles thrown in the way of the characters are overcome so much as embraced. There are some not unexpected twists to the semblance of a plot but again, the downward trajectory is never really halted or in question.

The story centers around Harry Goldfarb (played by Jared Leto), his girlfriend Marion (Jennifer Connelly), their friend Tyrone (Marlon Wayans) and Harry’s mother, Sara (Ellen Burstyn).

The 3 youngsters descend into their heroin hell with a brief respite as a half-cocked plan to get some money from dealing so as to fulfill their dream the title refers to, disintegrates and their slow-motion suicides are back on track.

The plight of Sara Goldfarb is slightly different from the others though no less painful to watch. A widow who lives in a dingy flat and spends her time watching surreal daytime game-shows, she receives a call from a telemarketer convincing her that she too can appear on television. This quickly becomes her entire reason for living, her dream, and in preparation for some anticipated future TV debut, she finds a doctor who prescribes a teeth-gnashing, manic cycle of amphetamines to help her lose weight. Ellen Burstyn does a good job in her role and will evoke a great deal of sympathy and empathy from most viewers.

The scenes cutting to and from the game-show she watches together with the drug-induced illusions in her flat become a bit monotonous at times though overall the effect is quite good.

In fact, there are good performances all around in this film. All the actors squeeze some undiluted pain into their deliveries, including some scenes that must have been just as difficult to pull off as they are to watch. However, in a film that, as mentioned, is character driven, with the exception of the aging and pitiful Sara, there isn't much insight into what brought these individuals to this point in time and what makes them such vulnerable specimens, ripe for the corrosive effects of addiction. They each get at least one chance to pour out their souls to each other in the calm before the storm, as they stroke themselves into pain-numbing bliss with each subsequent hit, but where did this capacity for weakness and self-destruction come from? Maybe it's in all of us to varying degrees and the most sensitive and naive will succumb to the evils of drug use more easily if we choose to take that route.

Jenniffer Connelly’s was another performance of the 4 that struck me. She has established herself as an actress skilled in capturing the emotional pain of a character and distilling it into some riveting performances (for another similarly impressive role, see her in The House of Sand and Fog.)

The theme that runs through this is simple and stark: DRUGS ARE BAD. No matter what your intentions, once you choose that path you're fucked. It doesn't come off in a condescending or lecturing way in the least...here are 4 people and what happened to them, take it as you will. Of course people like this who fall prey to the insidious side of drugs do exist and are easy to find, just as are the recreational, functional user type.

The results as detailed here play into the well established pop-culture story-line of heroin as the nastiest of the nasty and can't help but romanticize the lives of the characters to some degree no matter how gritty and merciless their ends are. It's the slow-motion suicide, do something up right even if it's self-destruction, no subtleties to be had motif that I'm guessing has resonated so well with the MTV generation. As a result this film has almost reached that cult-like status, on the must-watch list of everyone who knows they're hip to the hardcore realities of the world.

Director Darren Aronofsky does a good job here with gloomy atmospheric scenes with plenty of close-ups of tortured faces and some unorthodox (though such methods are becoming so common as to be less and less experimental) uses of the camera to capture various emotions and moods. The climax is the culmination of a relentless march towards total misery and leaves the viewer hammered senseless with nary a shred of hope.

There is not much in the way of feel-good emotions to be gained by the viewer here, except to marvel at the depths of others' despair, feel the weight of empathy and be thankful for your own trivial problems in life.

Now! Where can I score some of that insanely powerful junk so as to induce a wrenching downward slide into hell that will result in my being eulogized by jaded hipsters for generations to come?

Cross-posted at: Blogcritics