One of the most profound cinematic experiences for me took place in a Death Star in a galaxy far, far away, but one not unlike our own rotten, ejaculate of stars and planets. It sounds insipid, but so does all attempted profundity. So do blogs and the self-absorbed spermatozoa who write them.
So I'm just gonna get on with it.
I'm 10 years old and I've got a gallon of icy Coke wedged between my legs, swishing and sloshing with each slash of light sabre. It's freezing my seminal vesicle, but I don't notice. I'm seeing the fucking last Star Wars for fuckingever. On a cinema screen. I hardly touch the Coke for fear I'll have to pee. My mom pulls out of her purse a paper grocery bag full of popcorn she made at home and puts it on my knee. She even brought the salt shaker. If you've ever seen a toddler grab his penis when he's excited, that's how I feel. Except I can't feel my penis.
I don't understand the Ewoks, but I'll tolerate them. Luke is fighting the good fight against his father, and this is what I've been waiting for. Their neon swashbuckling is making an awful mess of the place, and again I wonder, as I did two years ago, why would Luke's dad want to kill him so bad? And then the Emperor pulls back his hood, and his face looks like my scrotum probably does. I shift the Coke to the floor. Give in to your hate, give in to it, cries the Emperor. And then Darth Vader looks to Luke, Luke to Vader, Vader to the Emperor. I look to Vader, back to Luke, back to Vader, over to the Emperor who's screaming now about his dark side. Huh. And I get it now. Hate is all around me. My hate. And I can't escape it. Darth Vader wants to kill his son because he fucking hates him! He hates everything! And I'm just- Wow! I know! I totally know, man! And I'm bouncing in my seat like a toddler grabbing his penis.
I cannot wait 'til I get home and I can recreate this!
For a second I think Luke's totally gonna pick up that red sabre and go apeshit with his hate. But he doesn't. His dad kills the Emperor too soon and ruins any chance the world- a
world- may have had at becoming honest and redefining its society with hate. That galaxy nearly had it together, and it's so amazingly clear to me now how ours- how we- we've lost our fucking milky way.
I ball my little fists as Luke sobs and whinnies and pleads and falls back on the mushy, gushy feelings that once made him kiss his fucking sister. There goes Vader, the coolest fucking nemesis ever created, dying like a slug in a bowl of beer. God, did you hear him breathe? He even breathed cool! Now he's wearing a bathrobe with his hands steepled, smiling at his kids. I hate him! And I can't tolerate those Ewoks anymore. Little, fucking bears! Who thought little, fucking bears was a good idea? And Han, holding hands with Leia, whining about his feelings. Woody Allen's on Screen 5, asshole. He was better when he was keeping Jabba's beer cold.
God, I hate this fucking movie. And there are no more. Ever. Unless George Lucas decides to cash in someday and make another lot of 'em. He's just the type of fucker who would. And I bet they'll all suck.
I hate my mom for bringing me here. And that guy's walking too slow. Move. Move! Why can't 40 people figure out how to get through a door wide enough for two? Is the concept of a line lost completely? Jesus. Look at all those Oldsmobiles. Those cars suck. People suck. They probably liked that ending. They were George's market. I hate markets. Why is everything marketed? Why am I no one's market? Why can't the bad guys ever win in the movies? Surely I'm not the only kid who wants to see that. Bad guys win in real life all the time, only the magazines call 'em heroes.
Great, now we're home. Mom's gonna make me go straight to bed 'cuz there's school tomorrow. Man. But I'm not gonna get started on that. My brain's wrung dry. But I feel good. Liberated? Yeah, maybe. I guess I don't hate every
thing. I quite like the catharsis hating's giving me. Except I'll probably hate it eventually, just like I hate everything else.
I wonder if we still hate when we're dead.