Now that I’ve slowed down my photojournalism work, because of near bankruptcy (last year was intense, and still yielded no results in a job), I’m brushing up on my screenwriting. I’m not new to it, but I haven’t done it in a while. Now I equipped myself with the best books on screenwriting one can get and my first task in boosting creativity is character studies. Not only I have to think of characters and write them down, I also need to study their behavior, their motives, physical appearance. As a journalist I always did that, but now I have to write things down. And I also have to write down what was going on, change characters, change plots, create a whole new “movie” so to speak.
Speaking of characters, I noticed a tell tale sign that this society of pleasure and feeblemindedness is going down the drain. I might write the new American Beauty kind of screenplay, but this time dealing with a mass midlife crisis, not just one Kevin Spacey, but a nation-wide epidemic. I already spoke of an older man in pink T-shirt trying to stretch his rigid 50-something joints through pathetic attempts of dancing like the youth around him. Well, it turns out, like protests in Tunisia, he triggered a landslide trend.
Now, why would middle aged couples go to an erotic house party and look like two geeks trying to blend in by frigidly moving their hips a bit in what appeared to be an attempt at dancing? Of all the entertainment out there… Instead of staying at home, watching some Murder She Wrote, they go to a house party? Ok, I’m simplifying, but this was at two in the morning! My dad doesn’t even go to the cinema at 8 p.m., because it’s too late! My mom’s sowing logs by eleven p.m.!
Amazingly, there wasn’t just one such couple at the party the other night. They accounted for one third of the club! What the hell? Did all televisions ceased to broadcast? Or do they really consider half naked women and that choppy too-loud-to-hear-it music an entertainment. When media brainwashing affects people of that age, we’re definitely becoming some strange and primitive sci fi post-apocalyptic future society. But in a way I understand them coming to such erotic parties. I guess, they’re horny. And they’re married so this is the closest they can get to satisfaction, right? That sort of answers the part about busty women on stage, but I still don’t understand when did they forget the old rock and ballads, maybe folk music, and switched to something with two words for lyrics.
This third of the club consists of two types of people. Single wrinkled middle aged women fighting flies, which is how I like to call their dancing, throwing their arms all over the place. (Bytheway, there is one such woman who is a regular, but she knows how to dance, so I’m not counting her). Amazingly, they move so frantically that they stand out from the other crowd, which is probably the point. Let’s face it, they’re old and they’re single. They’re in a hurry. And they need to impress. Nothing else works for them much anymore. Unfortunately. Moving any calmer than that would be a waste of time.
Then you have the couples. A funny bunch. Two types of these species. One is that happily married for thirty years happy crappy swing dancing on house music in the midst of a large crowd, bumping into people, stepping on them, hitting them with their hands, but completely ignoring them. Sorry, guys, I know you’re self-centered, but we won’t form a circle and watch you dance, nor will we cheer and throw a spotlight on you, and then scream of joy when you’re over and scatter glitter from the ceiling. No, see, this is real life, but I guess it’s a common mistake.
The other type of couples are the marriage worn outs. It seems they have nothing left to talk about, so they come here and try to revive the life in them. they usually stand near the sides of the club. The husband is stiff, drowning his sorrow in drinks, looks like he was dragged in here with a gun to his head. His face is listless, staring towards the stage like hypnotized. He never looks left or right, just stares forward, lost in limbo.
INT. CLUB – NIGHT
An older man in company of his wife stares motionlessly at the stage, where a young busty woman smears cream all over her tits.
I know what this is. I’ve seen one before. Many, many years ago… It belonged to a man I was in a half-remembered dream… A man possessed of some radical notions…
He watches without turning his head to his wife next to him. Takes a sip. Calm. Limbo is now his reality. Lost there for so long he became an old man. Filled with regret. Waiting to die alone.
Enough with Inception, because he’s not alone. His wife’s there and she’s not as catatonic, but she’s close. She’s forcing herself to move her hips to the chaotic sounds, but just barely. Basically, you must do a time lapse photography to realize she’s actually dancing. She’s trying to blend in, but is reserved like a geek at a school dance, with that lack of self-confidence showing in every undefined move. I can’t help thinking she’s the enthusiastic one, and the husband is her victim. She’s oblivious to his lack of interest, and it’s obvious who’s the instigator here. Screw solidarity, you’re coming with me on the dance floor, and I don’t care if you stand there like a statue.
That’s actually nothing surprising for an old couple, but the location … What’s going on in their heads… Does he have a Lamborghini parked downstairs? Does she drive home with 500 cc Yamaha motorcycle? With such a big percentage of visitors of this age, I can’t help thinking what our media did to the nation. People should really learn to watch and read at a distance, critically. Instead, their feeble minds take all in, assimilate, adopt. And here we are, dumb and dumber. What’s next? A woman over hundred years old throwing a wild party, because that’s the way to do it? Oh, wait, that’s already happening! … Ahhh, the power of the media. If only their original power was as strong. You know, changing the world. Ending wars… The seventh branch of government and all… Instead, no one wants to read about smart stuff, issues and even war, while they keep crying about his and that, and sons dying in wars etc…