Who watches the Watchmen?
// March 5th, 2009 // relationships
I went to a preview of Watchmen last night. It was terrible. Luckily I didn’t pay to watch it, otherwise I might have had to set myself on fire and run around the foyer in circles shouting ‘you bastards you bastards give me my money and 2hr45min of my life back, you bastards’.
Instead I shrugged, tried to explain to the friends I was with why I yawned the whole way through while they were proclaiming it to be a masterpiece. I failed. So like any self-respecting man resigned to failure, I went to the pub. We sat outside the pub on the street, Queen St in fact which is I would guess the busiest pedestrian street in NZ, it’s basically the main high street of Auckland.
We were the only people sitting outside, myself and my friends Daniel and Jo (who are married, which seemed relevant when I open these brackets, but now as I’m closing them, no longer does). While we drank our beers, we discussed why the Watchman was brilliant, and why I didn’t like it because I didn’t understand but I’m too stupid for its very deep hard hitting, gritty social allegory. Now that I reflect, it was more they who discussed and me who was discussed about, that’s sometimes the way it goes when most of your friends at least 10 years older than you, sometimes you have to “nod” and “uh huh” and wait for the lesson from the grownups to be over. You can get your revenge later when you can put the grownups in a home and never visit.
While this conversation was happening a little Indian man appeared to my left, on the other side of the railing that separated me, and a little further along the railing Daniel and Jo, from the street. This man was called George Singh (the conversation is as exact as I can remember it, although you’ll have to add a little random slurring, sit on your knees and become Indian to get the full effect)
“Let me, I’ll tell you something there are only, only two life truths sir. The first is reflection, reflection, thinking about things, reflection and combat.”
It’s a promising start, he’s piqued my interest I’m a big fan of reflection, maybe he’s a small Indian prophet, come to enlighten me?
“I’m a very smart man” (hang on, should prophets be more humble?), “I’m an actor, my name is George Singh”. Acting?! That’s not a noble pursuit, oh no, I get it now, he’s just another loon. “I’m a very smart man, a great man”, and I’m a pair of Gandhi’s slippers.
“Let me introduce myself”, he’s reaching over the barrier arm outstretched trying to shake Jo’s hand. “Don’t touch him, leave her alone.” says Daniel angrily.
“I’m a very smart man.” Gives up on Jo reaches over to shake Daniels hand now, but his hand is less than forthcoming so he ends up grabbing Daniels arm.
“Don’t touch me. Go away” Daniel and George begin a mini arm grapple, which it becomes clear George is not going to win, being as he is drunk and 4ft. For a man so into combat you’d think he’d be a little better at it, possibly he’s majored in reflection, minored in combat.
“We’re having a private conversation, we don’t want to talk to you go away” adds Daniel. “Daniel, I want to go inside” says Jo. “I’ll have you removed, go away” Daniel is losing his patience. “Daniel, lets go inside” Jo has lost her patience.
“You’re being very rude, very rude.” George is beginning to back away, finger pointed directly at us. “You, you fucker if I see you in the corridors of Auckland, I’ll, I’ll, throw you in the river.” Haven’t seen many corridors in Auckland, we’ve a river but its sort of more, of a well, ocean.
“I can have you killed” George adds in his own version of threatening. Unlikely George as you look barely capable of dressing yourself. “Look how you’re acting in front of your wife. You’re acting like an idiot. You fuckers. Fuck off, I could have you killed”
Mutter, mutter, random threat, mutter, shout, threat, mutter (he’s backing further and further away which doesn’t do much for the validity of his threats, heading up the street screaming some stuff I can’t remember at this point ).
This post is sort of about George, but then not really. He was by far the evenings best entertainment, it seemed only fitting that we would meet on the night when I watched a terrible piece of nihilist cinema in which humans have absolutely no redeeming qualities at best are useful as pretty things to be killed. Society itself is destined to fall apart, the world will be dark and it will rain every day and we’ll all not make eye contact with each other and we’ll pray to some inept superheroes and a naked blue dude who is basically god after getting electrocuted or something in some kind of freak accident. Sure some of these things might have already happen in the UK, but not in the rest of the world where bar a few blips in world history life has only ever got better and better. So why do we have to keep portraying everything as being bad? I don’t want this to turn into an anti-media rant because I can go on all day and I really do think the media are to blame for more of societies problems than anyone seems to realize and the world would be a better place if we turn off the TV, stopped reading newspapers and looked people we met in the street in the eye.
Oh dear it is getting ranty, now I sound uppity and self-righteous which I’m not, I just know what works for me and keeps me happy (just getting a bit of news from the odd blog, no newspapers, no TV, avoiding things that look unnecessarily depressing and just doing what I want whether it makes sense or not and trusting that it will work out okay because why shouldn’t it, I’m a nice person).
What interests me, and what this post was originally supposed to be about is how many wrong turns is my life away from me becoming George Singh? I know I’m only one wrong turn from death, from lying under a bus, that’s somehow different its just a freak accident you can’t control, so you can’t be too concerned with beyond looking left, right and then left again. How many things would have to go wrong before I’m standing in the street drunk, telling people I’m a very smart man? One turn? Two? Annett leaves me (one), I can’t find work because of the media driven global recession (two) – am I George Singh now? Or would it take three, four, five – family killed in freak accident (three), someone makes me watch the watchmen again (four), I never amount to more than a marketer (five) am I George Singh now? Am I worse than George Singh? Would I walk myself through the corridors of Auckland to the river that’s really an ocean and throw myself in?
I have no idea, but I suspect it’s less than I and you think it is and that’s something worth thinking about I reckon. Perhaps more importantly, should I wake up and I am George Singh and should I meet you outside a pub, would you shake my hand, or engage me in combat?
Thanks for the reflection George…
PS you are still a loon.
Possibly related, hopefully entertaining other posts:
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GSingh
