Walking but not talking about it

Monday 30 April

Last night I was talking to Lew about a new script idea which I've called Bully. His main critique was that it was predictable, that it didn't involve any narrative uniqueness. Fair enough. However, what are stories about? Even though movies have a beginning, middle and end, the end is not what I derive joy from. It has been a long time since I did not know intuitively how a story or a film was going to wrap. Catharsis and resolution only perfunctorily bookend a narrative, they are never really ends in themselves. It is always the journey from which pleasure is gained, the setups and payoffs, the fabric of the story which I become entangled in, and the end a necessary disengagement from that story. How then can stories be unpredictable? Given x, y and z it is almost always possible to infer the path the meta narrative will take.

Wonder Boys is a prime example of this – the fun of the story is in its middle and Wonder Boys is a joy to watch despite the fact that the end can be deduced from nearly the beginning. The Matrix is an easier and more universal example to illustrate my point (and an awesome film) – did anyone think that Neo would die at the end of the film?

Perhaps it is conditioning and audience that ultimately decides on the generic end? Maybe films can never truly be surprising and we only hold ourselves in suspense?

That brings me to a wanky question that’s not quite as rhetorical as the previous three - what is an end anyway? As finite beings that function on a basis of created time, we have placed an imperative on beginnings and ends. I don't think I can ever truly trust anyone that says they have done all they wanted in a given time frame as what does that mean? They've finished things? They’ve gained all they could have from that experience? The fact that we live on and are influenced by what we have done means that things never really end. Even death, whether you believe in obliteration or something else, is not the end of someone.

What does this mean for my script? I don't care if people will walk into this film knowing the bully will get his just desserts, I care about how they engage with the story – whether the middle is a new take on an old story.

What about the knee?

Thursday 18 April

I watched When Harry met Sally last night, essentially a collection of double headers based on the interaction of males and females and why our differences are something to treasure and leave a mystery. 'How to make lovers of two who are friends'. It was brilliantly written at times with great performances by Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal. They never dip into the star crossed lovers territory and go through what (the writer) Nora Ephron describes as a Jewish Romantic narrative - a style pioneered by Woody Allen where the obstacles faced by the male protagonist are all internal neuroses rather than external obstacles (Christian Romantic narrative). Interesting stuff.

Today I saw Bruce Twaddle who said things were looking good, walking next week around home which is cool and should make life much easier. The rest of today I spend on my butt again. A hopefully small synopsis of what I watched. Stargate: The pilot for Stargate stands incredibly well the test of time. Normally there is cringe in revisiting past flames and seeing now how weak they are where once they burned brightly. Not so with SG1 – sure there's some clunky dialogue (such as the point where Sam Carter references 'MacGyver') and the actors seem a little too ofay with the realities their world presents to them, but on the whole the way it was shot, the direction, the scale of what they set up. Cool.

Election: Matthew Brodderick has never been an actor I liked, nor has Reece Witherspoon. I'm not sure whether this came before or after American Beauty but it treads much the same territory albeit in a much lighter fashion. The stylistic choices at moments used to represent the characters psychological states was jarring in places and funny in others. All up it was okay.

Coronation Street: So I didn't really watch it, Mum had it on while I write this. It's got to be said though, the creators of that programme are no slouches. As fun as it is to deride texts of that kind, what they do is talented and pretty damn smart.

I'm planning on watching more, maybe another movie, or possibly the first episode of Stargate. Maybe if I'm not a lazy ass I'll write again tomorrow. To finish for today my knee has three holes, three 'pluses' (+), one incision and one large numb patch. In all it’s a small price to pay along with a touchy hamstring to getting back to sports health in the future. Many thanks to Mum for being always there and doing everything for me with no second thought.

PS happy holidays everyone :)

What you forget

Monday 16 April

More boredom, little agency to doing anything creative with my time. I can't say I've had any epiphanies or spiritual thoughts. Another 'massacre' happened in America today/tonight. Turned the TV off as right now it's only going to be the reaction and little much else.

Tuesday 17 April

Hmmmm. Nothing.

Wednesday 18 April

Finished Fullmetal last night. Amazing. When I first began watching I thought the perfect ending would be the brother's ending up apart. However, after watching (existing or living more appropriately) through the series and experiencing the depth of the adversities that the characters faced I wanted a happy ending. Easily one of the best and fullest stories I have witnessed brought to life on screen and a reason to be a part of television production rather than film production. Good TV should in my mind be more alluring and gratifying for the story teller. With production values to rival the GDP of some small nations the freedom to create and develop in television series is unparalleled by movies. I think the rise of film sequels is a kind of unconscious acknowledgement of this truth.

If there was one thing to criticise FMA about it felt like they ended things quickly, rushing to the end instead of taking the time to pay off all that was set up. I'm not asking for complete catharsis and the closure of every narrative element. Instead I wanted to see the sort of confrontation one comes to expect when deftly nuanced characters brought to life through clever story telling and relief through opposition finally cross paths. Hopefully I will be able to write something or be apart of something that is as fully realised and cared for as those involved in Fullmetal obviously cared for what they were creating.

It'll stay retro for a while yet

Saturday 14 April

I've caught up on my diary. Mum's suggestion. It's only 12.16pm and I've spent most of the morning watching Fullmetal Alchemist, equivalent trade, thank you Lester (I'll have to lend him something in return). I've decided again that Japanese anime is crazy but cool. Sometimes anyway. It also just occurred to me that my entries may not be so eloquent any more as the time I have to reflect has gone from ample to nil. This is now. Who also am I writing this to? I need to apologise to Jane for my poor excuse of a letter I wrote her the day before my surgery. What I can't let this become is a stream of conscious thought that doesn't go anywhere. So far I would say I'm not succeeding. The pain isn't so bad, which makes me wonder if I have a high thresh hold. Wish I had gotten Chris' number so we could compare recovery notes but it's back to me on my own.

Sunday 15 April

Not much happened this day. More Fullmetal. More sitting on my ass. Three days in a this little room is already feeling like a cage.

During my attempt to fall asleep last night I was quasi-dreaming/hallucinating I was running but fell and as a result jerked my leg in reaction. The pain was incredible and shocking I think because I was so relaxed. I worried for a little while after that I could have ruptured my new acl but sleep eventually caught me when the pain receded to an acceptable level.

At this point in time my dependence upon others (re: Mum) has returned to it's grating fullest. It is embarrassing and frustrating not being able to rely on yourself to achieve the most menial and basic of tasks. Fortunately I can still wipe my own ass, but getting to and from the toilet to do so is a little circus.

13 April (retroactively)

I'm home. My anaesthetist hasn't prescribed me any tramadol (active ingredient: morphine) so I'm in a bit of pain. Chris was my roommate's name and he lives in Hillcrest. We spent a lot of the morning talking about things it felt like we'd already discussed the night before.

The sleep didn't really happen, most of the night was spent in a haze of nurses visits and attempts at unconsciousness. I'm not sure whether the night makes nurses scarier, but neither of those attending evacuate the syringes of air before they plug them into me. Part of the night is spent worrying whether or not I'll die from air bubbles in my veins.

The nerve block loses effect somewhere towards the end of the day. I'm fully aware at different times of the number of holes that now prosper along my leg. The pain is bad, but not severe. I still don't know why my anaesthetist didn't think I needed tramadol, my nurse even checked when I was discharged if there hadn't been a mistake (apparently it's standard) but no. No morphine parties to be had. For the moment I live in the spare room downstairs. Saira, Samwee, Graeme and Lewis visit bearing gifts and moral support.

Knee Tetris

12 April (retroactively)

Pre

Last night was restless. I spent my final waking hours early this morning aimlessly in a kind of contemplative meditation. No thoughts. Just existing. Today I woke up at 10.45am. At 12.30 I will be admitted to hospital.

Post

The roof started moving once I was given my premed and nothing else beyond that time exists until I remember Mum telling me I've been in my room for 20 minutes now. 4.20pm. Mum also tells me that the nurse who was attending said I was funny when I woke up and that I was all touchy, unfortunately I don't remember any of this. I'm in some discomfort but it's not really pain, more of an awareness that some dude who seems more suited to drilling through trees has drilled through my tibia and femur to replace my broken acl with part of my hamstring. Pretty fucked up. At some point I'm shown the cartilage that was removed from my knee, whether it was torn away when my knee collapsed or shaved off by my surgeon I don't know. During this long afternoon Samwee and Jack turn up, Mum leaves, Jack leaves, Dad and Phil turn up, my roommate is rolled in, and finally Dad, Phil and Samwee leave together. I don't catch any of the nurses names, nor that of my roommate. I had dinner sometime before and I don't throw up.

It's been a while

11 April 2007 (retroactively)

It has been two and a half months since I injured my knee playing soccer on the 31^st of January. After what has been a relatively short time to wait until surgery I am upon the eve of my knee's rebirth. I am nervous at what the future holds both in the short term and in the longer term. Immediately is the unknown of surgery, today it feels somewhat like Christmas but I don't know whether I've been good or bad. Will my new knee be a gift or a piece of charcoal?

What lies ahead is months of rehabilitation and getting my knee to a point where I don't think about it when I come again to play sport.

It's clichéd, but time will tell.

Go away

I don't know why I'm writing this. What's more vexing is why I'm putting this in a semi-public arena. If my brain had lingerie I figure this is like waving it in the air for anyone who cares to see it.

I reckon this won't last but for the mean time I'm in an emo enough mood to turn inwards and contemplate the world through my navel. Initially this is going to contain past navel gazing in the form of a semi-journal that I wrote while recovering from a bad injury. From there? Who knows, I've got a couple of topics in mind.

Anyway, this is partly inspired by some amazing friends. The world doesn't need another blog so here is a web diary, or wiary as they're also commonly known.