List-o-mania August 16, 2006
Posted by John Hodson in : General , trackbackI would love to come up with, say, a top 10 film list and be truly comfortable and happy with it; behold my mighty list, it would trumpet, this is ME, and it defines who, and what, I am. Tremble, puny mortals, ’neath it’s titantic tabulation!
Oh, I wish…
I mean, I doodle away the odd hour, and scratch out lists, say, of my favourite westerns (obviously), noirs, comedies, musicals (well, you get the idea), but then sit back and goggle at my own imbecility. How could I include (insert title ‘X’) without mentioning the quite truly fabulous (insert title ‘Y’). And how could I forget (title ‘Z’ is squeezed in here, starring whatisface; always the one, like Brad Dexter, that seems on the tip of your tongue, but hang on, you’ll get it in a minute…)
In film Fora the world over, these lists also produce the incredulous responses (and here you must adopt the tones of EL Wisty, co-founder of the late lamented ’World Domination League’) ‘I cannot believe you didn’t include / no one’s mentioned…’ which makes me leap up and down (mentally of course, hard to jump in a knackered swivel chair staring at a computer screen) in the fashion of Basil ‘I knew that you bastard. I knew it!’ Fawlty. Especially when those comments are posted six and one half minutes after you’ve finely tuned your list and determined that it cannot, will not, be improved on. And more especially when the smarmy, smug, sonofabitch is 100 per cent correct.
‘Ah, yes’ you post, ’smiley’ grimly attached to show that your demeanor is sunny, and you mean him no harm. In point of fact, your teeth are clenched so tight they squeak like nails down a blackboard, as you add: ‘thank you for that!’ What you actually want to do is reach your hand down the optical cables that connect you with this piece of ordure, and pull his bootlaces out through his lungs. The mere thought of doing so is somehow…calming. Which in itself is alarming - but I digress.
I’m like the dithering arse from The Fast Show, whose indecision is final. I look at my lists and I can feel my head starting to implode. Once upon a time there was the problem of credibility. Wot? (my brain yells loudly at me in thoughts laced with a dripping sarcasm) You haven’t included Only Two Can Play, you love that film you damned fool! But you can’t go public with that, you can’t admit to the world that you think the machinations of Peter Sellers as an oversexed Welsh librarian are more satisfying to your tiny intellect than, say, oh, Battleship bloody Potemkin? (The little known original title, by the way…) What would the neighbours think? What can I do with Krzysztof Kieslowski (what indeed)? And (suicidal thoughts now skitter nervously across my synapse) there’s not one single Iranian film in there; ALARM, ALARM - take The Band Wagon out of the list and slap down something by, let’s say, Bijan Daneshmand (big fan…). Do it now, goddammit, before you’re rumbled and carted off to Room 101! I need some bloody CREDIBILITY!!!
The brain has stopped shouting now. It’s down to a simpering, cringing whimper. Won’t. Someone. Help. Me.
Thankfully, I’m now entering that stage in life where credibility left the building long, long ago (looking a tad wan, by the way, in a stretched Hummer, snorting coke), and the neighbours can, quite frankly, go take a flying fuck. I don’t care what others think (well, not much), so that part of the angst ridden process of list creation is no longer a problem. But the list itself, of course, still is.
So a list of favourite films, covering all genres, all eras?
Not. Possible. It’s right on the schedule just above plaiting fog, and three steps down from buying a long stand. It’s a task that would defeat Hercules, Einstein and the combined robotic brains of Marvin, Mother, Colossus and Robby (you know, ‘The Robot’). How can I ever hope to produce a list that covers 1000s and 1000s of films, each of them catering at some point to my ever changing moods, and ever changing needs? Which change from hour to hour, if not minute to minute. Second to second.
Hmmm. There’s a thought. My ‘Top 10 Films for When I’m Feeling Depressed’ (feed the angst; right in at number one: Shoah), or ‘Hungry’ (Goodfellas would make it somewhere; that food pornography that Scorsese does so well), or ‘Libidinous’ (The Age of Innocence? Blonde Venus? Debbie Does Dallas?), ‘Fat’ (something from Brando’s late period I think. Anything in fact), ‘Stupid’ (Titanic makes me feel like the bastard son of Bamber Gascoigne and Germaine Greer), ‘Like Ordering a Pizza’ (Big Night. Number One, with extra anchovies), ‘Voting Liberal’ (anything by Ken Loach would be the antidote), or ‘Agreeing With Something A Tory Spokesperson Has Just Said’ (Brannigan. Knock knock…’nuff said).
This might have legs. Hang about, I feel a list (or two) coming on…
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