THE FORKIE PHILOSOPHER

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  • A REVOLUTION IN THE FILM INDUSTRY: Movie Musings #6

    Glory Days of Home Video #1

    I grew up during the dawn of home video players and video rentals. (in my old man voice)” Young people today could never appreciate the massive advancement home video was at the time!” Before that the only way you could see a movie was at the cinema (or Drive-In) or on television.

    Television had stricter guidelines around profanity, sex and violence, so chances are if the movie you watched had any of that stuff it would be cut out, and often rather shabbily as I remember. Just think, if the film makers deliberately wanted to conceal any of the ‘mature content’ they would work it into the scene. For television some editor gets a list of what needs to be cut, and they just have to get rid of it. I can remember laughing with friends at school about how stupid some cuts looked.

    In Australia in the late 70s and early 80s there were 5 different ratings for movies

    G – General viewing: kids shows or family friendly stuff.

    PG – Parental Guidance Recommended: a little bit of the darker and dirtier stuff (I remember the cinemas having a different one for this. NRC – Not Recommended for Children).

    M – Mature audiences: this was where most of the action, horror and raunchy comedies or erotic stuff was. I’m sure we never had a problem getting into these ones as kids.

    R – Restricted Audience: no one under 18 allowed: pretty much the same kinds of content as the M rating, but with more freedom to push the envelope.

    X – The Shady Rating: Basically porn. The line between porn and erotica is definitely a post of its own. This stuff was not shown at the regular cinemas (that I am aware of).

    Television never showed anything above an M rating and most of those movies were cut to bits. An R rated movie might have big chunks missing – sucked hard! The only way to see the ‘real’ movie was at the cinema. Do you see the frustration for the kids? We could never see an R rated film!

    “That’s not true” I hear you say condescendingly. I ask you to recall the perceived distance between the ages of 12 and 18 when you were 12. With that aside, remember that the only way to see the uncensored version of an R rated movie was at the cinema. Movies have limited run times and once they were gone it was pretty much it.

    We didn’t really have any theatre houses showing old movies in Sydney that I knew of. I am always amazed when I see the US 42nd street style cinemas that just pumped out all kind of old and obscure movies non-stop – heaven to any film lover! When I was young (there it is again) you might catch an old movie as part of a double feature or a late-night screening in the cinema or as the ‘other’ film after the feature at a drive-in, but that was it.

    When a movie had run its course at the cinemas it went into mothballs until some arbitrary time period had passed (it seemed like years) and then it popped up on Television. I remember the disappointment of seeing a movie I had really wanted to watch in the TV guide and that fucking disclaimer in brackets beside the title (modified for television) – fuck off!

    Let us not forget the ultimate pain when watching a movie on television – fucken ads!!! Just like the uneven editing of censored content, the ads just interrupted the movies at intervals the viewer was never sure of. Mercifully a little care was taken not to cut to commercial in the middle of a scene, but it still ruined the flow of the whole experience.

    TV series writers had fine-tuned the art of leading into commercials. They would always try to have some type of intrigue or exciting incident to ensure the viewer was keen to keep watching. Film makers did not need this and therefore the pacing was used very differently. TV companies need to have so many commercials shown during the movie and they’ll squeeze them in no matter what – rhythm be damned!

    Home video – you little box of magic. It opened up the whole world of cinema in a way only the super-rich with their own private theatres could experience. Okay most of us were watching films made for the big screen on tiny pissweak television sets, but it didn’t matter to us. We were watching full, uncut and uninterrupted movies in the loungeroom; and if we wanted, we could rewind it and watch it again! Fantastic!

    In the beginning these little beauties were very rare so people would go to the house that had one and find a spot – kids were usually on the floor. In the very early days, the offerings were quite limited, so the tapes rented could be quite eclectic. “Okay we’ve got The Wizard of OZ, Friday the 13th & a Marx Bothers movie”. We loved it.

  • MUSINGS ON THE JOB ABOUT THE JOB

    Blue collar work isn’t very intellectually demanding, so there’s plenty of time to ponder. I’ve always been a nerd, but university was never on my radar. I didn’t enrol until I was in my late 30s – that’s another thread and one I will be eternally grateful for.

    Anyway, this sideroad concerns all the contemplation that took place, and is still taking place, while I go about earning a quid. More precisely it is about the reflections that flooded my mind regarding the job I was doing at the time. Call me a forkie philosopher. You know like “yeah, I know this is the job, but why is the job?”. I often irritate my coworkers.

    A funny side to that is that I ended up studying philosophy as an adult and a joke I encountered many times was: “I studied philosophy…would you like fries with that?”

    So, without further ado, I would like to present a poem (sorry) written by a pisshead forklift driver working for a company that was overwhelmed by stock – excessive overtime was the norm – good money but exhausting if you were one of the foolish ones actually working hard. Feel free to call me a foolish philosopher too.

    This was over twenty years ago (note the DVD reference and I’ll tell you those TVs were the heavy, bulky ass ones). Long before I had a degree in philosophy and literature and therefore knew I should not be writing poems, I felt a yearning to express my bewilderment (to whom I have no idea). Ladies and gentlemen, a verse penned by a hungover, depressed, angst riddled man whose idea of a poet was Jim Morrison (at least I had the pisshead part right).

    SLAVES

    We are all slaves.

    Slaves to other people’s greed.

    More, they want,

    More,

    Always more.

    Never enough.

    The stuff comes in,

    We ship it out

    But still they want more.

    More TVs,

    More DVD players,

    More fridges.

    The bosses want more

    More customers,

    More freight,

    More money,

    It’s better for us all they say.

    Don’t you want the overtime?

    When they have it all.

    They want newer stuff.

    The latest DVD player,

    A bigger fridge,

    A better TV,

    Something else.

    So we ship it out.

    We get the overtime.

    We get the money.

    So we can buy stuff.

    TVs, DVD players, fridges

    Don’t you want a new car?

    Thank you for indulging me. I hope you get the gist of what this tangent will be about. Corporate confusion through the eyes of the grunts on the floor – the overthinking ones anyway – or one overthinking one – you get it. Also reckon here’s where I’ll throw in those true stories I have collected after 33 years in the workforce – names and businesses will be changed to protect the negligent and the lazy.

  • THE CLOSEST WE CAME TO NOT WRECKING THE JOINT: Rise of the Tycoons #9

    Before the rise of the first great empires there must have been an era of nothing larger than a great village. Some sliver of time before towns became a thing. Nothing but a spectrum going from hunter gatherers and/or nomadic tribes through fledgling farming communities and peaking with a scattering of big ass villages. I have no evidence to back this up of course.

    When I write hunter gatherer I am referring to one type of nomadic tribe. I highly doubt these smaller clans would tie themselves down to one particular spot. It’s not like they had deeds and titles. Not much action here? Time to move on. After successive generations they end up with a kind of migration pattern in which they follow the game and find the best places to survive the weather conditions.

    After farming became a thing there would have emerged tribes of mobile pastoralists. Obviously, you can’t move your corn plantation, but many chose to keep their cattle on the move. Using their generational knowledge and literally moving to greener pastures when the time came. Eventually this would progress to moving them from village to village for trading.

    Each lifestyle would have their own unique pros and cons. For instance:

    • Nomads travel light and have fewer numbers
      • They can quickly head to safer ground if disaster strikes
        • But they are more exposed and vulnerable
    • Villagers spend a lot of time in one area and have much more members
      • They can build defences and have strength in numbers
        • But if disaster strikes, they must try and defend what they have worked so hard for. Even if they bite the bullet and flee, they would be much slower.

    Call me a dreamer; but I like to imagine this as the time before war. Of course there was conflict (humans remember), but there was nothing people were so jealous of that they were willing to go all in with a ferocious fight to the death. There would have been rivalries and revenge attacks, a lot stemming from theft (that would shockingly include women and children I’m told), and there would have been atrocities committed in rage or to send a warning. However, without hard and fast property there was less incentive for out and out war – a blood feud might come close I suppose.

    Certainly, it would be important to let it be known your tribe won’t be fucked with – this was the literal law of the jungle after all. I reckon this is where a lot of the cannibalism and headhunting shit came from. Don’t mess with that mob they’re fucken bonkers! There wasn’t strict border enforcement outside of the more inhospitable villages, but there sure as hell was suspicion and fear of outsiders even among travelling tribes.

    Sadly, the tribes who were too trusting didn’t last that long unless they got themselves really secluded. All the rest were either the original villains or had been burned enough times to know you need to watch your collective asses out here.

    During this early stage I am suggesting that the OG pillagers would have been nomads. They didn’t invent it, but I suspect they were the first to make it an actual tribal mission statement: “why toil when you can take?”. Lessons passed down to the young’uns would have been things like:

    • Travel light, travel fast
    • Take what you need and move on
    • Don’t get weighed down with want (that’s one I thought of for the wiser plunderer)
    • Don’t be predictable
    • Stealth is good for your health

    You get the idea. They probably had it printed on a tea towel or something and passed it from father to son. Not a bad rort in a time with no law and order. Of course, these raiders were small potatoes compared to the wholesale annihilation and subjugation that was to come, but villainy must start somewhere. These guys will be remembered by history as petty criminals in comparison to the warlords of the future (their future, not ours).

    “Kill one man, and you’re a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you are a god.”

    Jean Rostand

    The only other nomadic variety I can think of (besides vagabonds) would be the wandering entertainers and bullshit artists. Singers, musicians and storytellers along with soothsayers and all types of magicians and mystics who didn’t want to do ‘real’ work and didn’t have the stomach for crime. Travelling merchants probably didn’t find a market until there were actual marketplaces.

    That’s my segue to the next level before empire (in my imagination that is). Towns. These differ from villages in that the community is not inherently connected. In my neatly delineated presumption this is where all the wanderers come together and combine their various skillsets to try and create a ‘village’ without a ruler – or something like that.

  • POTENTIAL DEATH OR SERIOUS INJURY: True Stories #11

    This one is a double bunger.

    Legend has it that Bon Scott, the original front man for AC/DC, died by choking on his own vomit after a heavy drinking session. I cannot positively confirm if this is true, but I can assert that it nearly happened to me on two occasions. One was at the very beginning of my binge drinking era and the other was at the very end.

    The first was at the tender age of around 16. It was my mother’s birthday and all the adults were up the yard drinking away. Us kids were all in the kitchen sneaking drinks from my mother’s cask wine. It was sitting on a shelf and we were getting underneath while someone held the trigger so the wine would pour down our throats like in the cartoons; sculling warm red wine “mmm delicious”.

    Somewhere along the line I had had enough and I went to bed. My memory is (of course) very fuzzy of what happened next, but I clearly remember spinning out at the TV because it was showing that trippy ‘Rage’ intro on the ABC. I am certain I was alone in there when I crashed.

    I awoke to the vomit gurgling in my throat and sat up instantly (Bon Scott demise luckily avoided). I was set to make a mad dash to the toilet when I noticed that a mattress had been laid out beside my bed blocking the doorway. My little cousin was sound asleep and I had no intentions of trampling her on my rush to the crapper; so I did the only thing left to do: I puked all over my blankets, tossed them aside and rolled off the bed on the opposite side from my cousin, where I promptly fell back asleep.

    I can remember the door being opened and hearing some of my other cousins talking about the stench of vomit and how I had just slipped off the bed and went back to sleep. Interestingly I don’t recall anyone coming to check if I was okay. Remember they would have all been drunk too. Anyway I survived my first near ‘Bon’ death experience.

    The next time this happened I was 30 years old. I had been drinking and betting on horses all day down at my local bowling club. When the races were over, one mate (Nathan) and I decided to continue on to the Oktoberfest celebrations down at the Concordia Club.

    After a solid day and night of drinking (and not much eating) I staggered home to my granny flat. It was quite chilly so I did what I normally did on such occasions. I would sit on the floor in front of my couch with the heater going and watch some TV while the room (and my icy mattress) warmed up a bit. I was probably watching Rage again.

    I must have fallen asleep and with my head rolled backwards I was in the perfect position for a ‘Bon Scott’ death vomit. Fortunately I awoke in time (again) and proceeded to vomit all over myself and the heater. Disgusting as it was it was still a lot better than death.

    I remember tossing my clothes in the laundry sink and trying to mop up the puke from the floor. The worst of it was baked onto the heater.

    The next day I had to face my mother and uncle who was down for the weekend. I was so ashamed of myself, but the knowledge of my close call with the grim reaper struck a very loud chord with me. That was the exact moment that I knew I had to cut out my alcohol abuse.

    To this day I very rarely drink myself into a drunken state and I have never been ‘shitfaced’ since. I still enjoy a beer, but I will never get that wasted again.

  • DID THIS MOVIE PREDICT YOUTUBE/PODCAST CULTURE? Movie Musings #5

    Pump Up the Volume (1990)

    ***SPOILER ALERT***

    Hard Harry is the alter ego of Mark Hunter, a high school student in small town America. Mark is an intelligent introvert who goes about not being noticed. Hard Harry is the rebellious DJ of a pirate radio station who tells it like it is. The station theme song is “Everybody Knows” by Leonard Cohen (the first time I ever heard him), so you get an idea of his outlook on things.

    Harry becomes an enigmatic symbol for the disaffected youth in this little town. As his popularity grows the parents and teachers decide he is a bad influence that needs to be stopped. You know the story: Every angry, angst riddled generation produces a bunch of variations on “Hard Harry”. It keeps being repeated because it strikes a raw nerve in this demographic, but this is not a critique of that formula.

    I will just say that this movie resonated with 17-year-old me. The cynical, yet compassionate Harry hit a lot of contemporary issues home. Harry’s anonymity gave Mark the courage to express himself in a blunt and vulgar way that a lot of teenagers would love to do – hence the loyal listeners.

    Eventually the uptight old fogeys (that’s probably my generation now) close in and capture the young upstart – the bastards! As he is being loaded into a police van, he turns to his adoring fans/peers and yells “talk hard!”. A battle cry for the youth to stand up and be counted! To not be silenced by the tight ass older generation.

    As the screen fades to black we hear a flurry of voices as students introduce their own pirate radio shows. The last thing we hear is a female announcing, “turn on the truth!”. The revolution has begun!

    Or that is what we’re supposed to think. Even at 17 this never sat well with me. So what happens now? Every Tom, Dick and Harriet is going to spout their own ‘truth”? Is anyone going to listen? Or is this gunna deteriorate into a screaming match? This was 1990 remember, so access to equipment to run a pirate radio station places severe limitations on who can pull it off, but still the idea fell flat with me. So only people wealthy enough to do it would get to “talk hard”.

    Just one more thing before the internet comparison. Hard Harry was fucken good! He was cool and thoughtful at the same time. His message was rebellious, but not totally anarchic. Hard Harry 2.0 could turn out to be a nihilistic agitator who wants to watch the world burn.

    Okay, settle down. The most probable outcome would be all of these ‘inspired’ youths get on their mics for a while and realise they haven’t really got that much to say after all. Or if they do, they could find that nobody wants to listen to them. Once the medium becomes saturated how do the new and improved Harrys or Harriets get heard over all the noise?

    It was a good ending if you didn’t overthink it, like so many movies. I suppose it is harder to let go when you really enjoyed the movie. Or maybe when you went with it at first and the awkward questions just popped into your head days or weeks later; almost like “hey, they fucken tricked me!”

    So here we are 35 years later and anyone with a few simple gadgets can launch their own, so much more advanced, pirate radio station. A YouTube channel, a podcast (audio with or without video) and a multitude of other options. Never before have so many people had so much to say!

    Sure, a lot of people are just having fun. Others have created awesome communities talking about something really niche and connecting people who thought they were ‘the only one who was into that’. Then there are the rabble-rousers. Those that love to stir the shit pot. Some are pushing an agenda; others just enjoy the instigator role.

    I can hear that final line of the movie “turn on the truth!”. It captured the spirit of Hard Harry so perfectly and it was unmistakenly meant to be a galvanising declaration. A few days or weeks later though even a 17-year-old me had an inkling of the way that inspired proclamation could become perverted. A feeling of elation subtly being tainted by unease.

    There are probably a few posts about that coming up in the future. I’ll conclude with a simple question I’m sure so many of you have pondered: If everyone is talking? Is anybody listening?

  • CORPORATE CONFUSION: A Hard Truth

                    “This used to be a place

                     Where a man could find some work

                     Put together Holdens or a foundry job at worst…”

    Chorus

                    “They’re shutting down our town

                     They’re cutting down out town

                     No more production line blue collar can be found

                     They’ll tear it to the ground…”

    “Shutting Down Our Town” Jimmy Barnes

    Most of us like to think we can look after ourselves and hopefully take care of our nearest and dearest. Even a dole bludging ‘houso’ will convince themselves that the handouts are a right they are entitled to regardless of the legitimacy of their dependence. Some may have enough gusto to boost their income through shady means, but they don’t have the desire to go full criminal. Let’s just say this lot are not exactly go-getters.

    The overwhelming majority of us go out and get a job. We don’t like it but “it’s an honest living”. To me a ‘job’ pretty much guarantees working for someone else. I mean this in the sense of unskilled labour. Where most of the slackers with no marketable skills end up. The ones who struggled or just cruised through school with no desire for higher education and not enough foresight or aptitude to get a trade – and no desire to go full criminal.

    The ones who did take their education seriously and actively pursued a profession may end up with a career – they may also end up with a ‘white collar job’. Career is a fascinating idea to me, and I will be delving into it more later. For this post let’s just settle for people pursuing further education hoping to earn a higher wage or simply avoid grunt work.

    Others may take the punt and choose to follow their passion or dream – artists, musicians etc. Some may stumble onto a good wicket – ‘it’s not what you know, it’s who you know’. A bullshit job that pays great. Some will choose to go full criminal.

    I don’t have the statistics, but I’ll hazard a guess that a shitload of all these people work for someone else – including the criminals. Most doctors and lawyers work for a hospital or firm. A tradie can work for himself, but a lot don’t. You could mow lawns for cash…fucken hell! That’ll do.

    So why the song lyrics at the top? Well, my point is this: we hate big business, but most of us are beholden to them (I like that that word has holden in it). Even if you don’t work directly for a corporation, chances are that your livelihood relies on getting paid from people who do.

    You’re self-employed, you own a coffee shop. Where do your customers get their money from? That song and many others (a lot from Bruce Springsteen) tell the tale of the devastating effect of being deserted by big business. Yes, it fucken sucks ass! But in this system, they are the backbone.

    Workers may sneer at the dole bludgers, especially when it dawns on them that their taxes provide the means for these job dodgers to get paid. This will definitely be getting a page of its own. The comparison I am drawing here is that while the welfare recipients (both genuine and fraudulent cases) are at the mercy of the government, most of the workers are way too complacent regarding the security of their situations.

    I do not want to try and squeeze too many ideas into one post, so rest assured I will be going down multiple rabbit holes as we move on. I just want to point out that the rug can be pulled quite suddenly for anyone, but the lower the skill level of the job the more precarious the position.

    If your job can be moved to a country with pissweak labour laws, it probably will. If a machine can do your job and the investment means no more annoying employees, guess what? The industry you’re in becomes redundant or not profitable enough, sayonara. Bosses are incompetent or embezzlers, sorry. Powerful union shrunk profit margins a little too much – shut the gates.

    For better or worse we rely heavily on entrepreneurs and the businesses they create, and I highly doubt anyone embarks on such a risky venture and decides to split the profits evenly with their employees – The utterly insane wage gap is a topic for later.

    Most of us sleepwalk out of school into a job. Some have the foresight to get themselves skilled up with the hopes of getting a higher paying and more resilient job; some even have a ‘dream job’ and thus are satisfied with what they do. So, moving backward along that list: a few people like or even love their job; many others would prefer not having to do it, but they’re pleased with what they earn; the majority are unhappy or outright hate their jobs.

    The common thread is simply this – they pretty much all ‘need’ their jobs and would be most upset if they lost it. A very cruel paradox indeed.

  • THE NEW LORDS AND THEIR HEIRS: Rise of the Tycoons #8

    The surviving nomadic/ hunter gatherers kept doing what they did best. Some may have found a nice, secluded space and settled. Some of those may have grown and joined the space (as in taking it up) race. Many remained humble and lived a simple life; for as long as they could anyway.

    As for all the go-getter tribes/ villages, the population growth was just starting. Populate – grow – expand. A simple equation and one the Earth was able to tolerate for quite a while. Villages grew prosperous and the bigwigs were more than happy to take more than their fair share.

    The distinction between peasant and upper-crust was becoming clearer, and as the generations passed – normalised; “that’s just the way things are”. There were now people being born into the upper echelons. Like the son of a mob boss who never had to get their hands dirty. The father and grandfather did all the scheming and foul play. The following generations simply inherited the rewards. Of course, if they weren’t careful an overthrow was always on the cards.

    As the wealth grew so too would the range of jobs and levels in the pecking order. People would prove themselves to be useful in other ways than mere farming crops or tending animals. The first obvious step up would be to become the expert in those crucial tasks. Be the go-to person for advice – the early incarnations of horticulturists and veterinarians.

    All kinds of toolmakers and builders would be needed too. These trades might also be utilized for making weapons and fortifications. I am sure that hunting would still be an important ritual even if there was enough food. A valuable skill to keep and possibly an initiation right. The same would go for fishing and general survival out in the elements. These abilities may be needed in times of trouble. This was not an ancient version of the Boy Scouts (although they were learning to ‘be prepared’).

    People may be needed to explore to find greener pastures or maybe even spy on neighbouring groups. Coastal peoples would be heading out on voyages of both fishing and discovery. Unfortunately, these people were human and when they see something someone else has that they like envy is never far away. I’ll get into that in the next post.

    Most self-respecting tribes would be focused (at least in the beginning) on improving their own village. They might begin with just stealing ideas from other groups – intellectual property if you will. A better tool or method they can adopt. Got to keep up with the Jones’s you know.

    Before the inter-village rivalry really kicked off, the gluttons were too busy misappropriating from their own groups. Some were possibly content with this (or too short sighted maybe) and concentrated on improving the village yields and then milking that for themselves and their offspring. Sooner or later though the craving for more spills over to what the other tribes/villages have.

  • POTENTIAL DEATH OR SERIOUS INJURY: True Stories #10

    Previously I used the image of Indiana Jones running from the giant boulder in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”. Believe it or not I had another similar experience.

    I was helping my father and his mate (Steve) working on a brewery truck. We were delivering kegs and I was down in the cellar. Steve was pulling the kegs off the truck and rolling them over to my dad. My dad then pushed them down a steep ramp into the cellar where I would roll them along the thin corridor and into the cool room.

    The corridor was made even narrower because empty kegs were stacked up alongside one wall. There was literally only room for the keg. I would have to move backwards and slow the rolling keg down so I could step over it and push it along to the cool room.

    Somehow my dad sent one keg down the ramp on a slight angle and all hell broke loose! The full keg bounced off the ramp and ended up bounding towards me ala “Raiders of the Lost Ark Boulder”. I had nowhere to go except to the cool room which was probably 25 metres away. I ran and I ran fast! That keg was chasing me the whole way like a guided missile, bouncing up and around to ensure I had nowhere to manoeuvre for escape in its direction. I couldn’t jump it and I couldn’t duck under it with any certainty. My only option was to run like hell away from it and into the cool room.

    I finally reached the cool room and dived inside. I turned to see the killer keg bounce past the entrance. I heard it hit the wall when it had reached the end of the corridor. I sheepishly emerged from the cool room and saw my dad and Steve’s heads poking down the cellar door. As soon as they knew I was alright they burst into riotous laughter. I was in no mood for such antics and began hurling abuse at my father. They just kept laughing and told me to “get ready for the next one”.

    To this day I wonder what happened to that keg. It must have been damaged, but I am certain we didn’t take it back. I do not think the publican witnessed my ‘boulder dash’ incident. Maybe they discovered a beaten up keg a few days later; or maybe they just had an odd tasting brew for a while when they hooked up my ‘attempted killer keg’.

  • MY TROUBLE WITH GRAN TORINO (2008): Movie Musings #4

    ***SPOILER ALERT***

    I will begin with a question: Do you think that this film has a happy or at least a fulfilling ending? Every person I have asked usually says yes. Call me a jaded film buff, but I disagree. The final scene sees Thao Vang joyfully driving Walt’s prized Gran Torino – all has ended well apparently. I just thought of one possible solution to my cynical interpretation. If Thao Vang is leaving town, it just might be a positive resolution. If I missed that and it is indeed the case, you can stop reading now. Although he would be deserting his family…my version has him staying put and getting a good job.

    Allow me to explain my issue with thinking this is a joyous conclusion – hopeful or optimistic certainly – but one fraught with danger in my opinion. It’s nice to believe that peace prevails, but the movie spent nearly 2 hours immersing us in this cruel environment where the strong pick on the weak; where people gang up and enjoy menacing people they catch on their own – hyenas is an archetype that springs to mind.

    Clint Eastwood in his 2nd amendment fervour provides the only way to survive in such a predatory place. Guns – the great equalizer. I have no intention of going on a gun control rant. This is a film appreciation essay after all. The film does not have to present us with utopia, unless that is its aim. The important thing for us film geeks is that the film remains true to the reality it has created; and this particular reality is a kind of modern take on the wild west.

    Assholes and bullies are in abundance and the only way a lone wolf has a chance of self-preservation/respect is by having quick and ready access to a firearm. That’s fine. In another movie a supreme martial artist may hold the winning hand. We are in the storyteller’s world and all we ask is that they abide by the rules they have given us.

    So grumpy old Walt takes no shit and has no qualms about brandishing a rifle or a pistol to help others understand this fact. This is the harsh reality that Walt and Thao Vang live in. At no point did we see Walt teaching Thao Vang how to use a firearm. Even if we did the finale seems to give us the idea that the ‘bad guys’ are gone, and the hostility has ceased.

    The ‘twist’ in the conclusion is cleverly achieved by messing with our expectations and again, it works in this reality. Most viewers would have expected Walt to exchange gunfire with the gangbangers, sacrificing himself for his protégé (nobly of course). This would conclude with Walt either dead or off to prison, with no guarantee he would get all the thugs.

    However, that’s not what happens and would have been a little far-fetched even in this world. Instead, Walt confronts the heavily armed bullies and very convincingly fakes drawing a gun on them. They shoot him full of holes in front of heaps of witnesses and get their asses shipped off to prison. Okay, we must accept the slim to none chance that every member of the gang was shooting and were seen doing so by the witnesses…hey, it’s a movie – it works and it hits home.

    Walt has rid the neighbourhood of this menacing group, thus sparing his young friend an ugly future. You see, a major theme in the film is ‘don’t join a gang’, but the only alternative offered, besides being a perpetual victim, is to be a badass gunslinger. For me, the ending leaves Thao Vang in that middle spot and that sucks hard! The gang would probably have forced him to join and that would certainly end badly for him, but at the very least they offered him some kind of protection. Without them, Walt or his own firearm he is defenceless.

    A brief run through of the pertinent points regarding this issue:

    • Thao Vang is accosted by Chicano gangbangers and is rescued by a gang of his own race.
    • The gang pressure Thao into joining, insisting it is the only way to be safe.
    • Walt gives various examples of his courage and the powerful persuasive effect of wielding a gun.
    • Walt’s mate gives a simulated demonstration of this for Thao.

    The story seems to give only one logical way for Thao to take and driving around in a nice car with a dog is not it. In this world Thao would be car-jacked within a few days. He has not learned the skills that made Walt so formidable; the only gang that might possibly help him is now gone thanks to Walt’s noble sacrifice. As the credits rolled, I could only envision those assholes from the beginning rolling up again and forcefully taking that wonderful car from a still defenceless Thao. He may not be as naïve, he may be more employable, but he is still a sitting duck.

    Sorry if I wrecked it for you.

    Please let me know if I got any of it wrong and restore a positive ending for me.

  • CORPORATE CONFUSION: I Need to Speak to The Person in Charge

    The people on the shop floor know they are just numbers, expendable numbers. They look at their supervisors (team leaders, leading hands or whatever other bullshit title) and know that those Schmoes are standing on even thinner ice. No sympathy for them of course, they took the step up, they enforce the shitty rules – fuck them!

    We’ll skip all the section managers, 2ICs and any other non-worker who may or may not be needed. Usually a few of these lot can vanish and not be missed. Let’s jump to the person in charge of this location (insert fancy title here). We’ll call them the leading leader. The individual who answers to those people who are seen walking around once or twice a year. The ones you must tidy up the place and conceal any defects before they arrive.

    On a small scale they might be ‘head office’. Larger operations can have layers upon layers of managers and multiple departments. The chart can look like the family tree of a promiscuous bunch of inbreeders. Trying to find the highest honcho for your exact job could be like trying to pinpoint your great, great aunt on your mother’s side who was actually the second wife of….

    Odds on the leading leader couldn’t find his ‘supreme leader’ either. Bizarre thing is whoever that person may be they are only the supreme leader of that particular bloodline. How ever many of them exist, they must answer to a higher power: A General Manager, Director or even President! These guys are not interested in your problem on the floor though. Shit! the supreme leader, whoever that may be, couldn’t care less.

    But these higher ups make all the decisions, right? Sort of. They are all beholden to the Chief Executive Officer (now that’s a title!) the one with the vision (allegedly). Finally, one man or woman who can make the big decision. Not exactly. This person must report to the Board of Directors and all of them are answerable to the Shareholders!

    Who are the Shareholders? Those enigmatic entities who must be appeased. One tycoon may have a huge chunk of shares. Other stocks reside in some bank or other financial firms’ investment portfolio, or maybe that of a rich family or individual. Maybe a regular citizen who wants a new way to gamble. Even the working persons’ superannuation may be mixed in – a proper fucking spider web!

    I do not know enough about the details of stocks and trading. All I do know is that one thing trumps all other concerns in this caper – profit!!! Every single human being in this convoluted system must kneel before this insatiable deity. Keep making profits and no, I’m not simply saying ensure you make more than you spend. I mean keep making higher profits. This beast must grow or perish.

    If you aren’t growing, you are effectively shrinking because while you are in stasis some other firm is growing. If you remain inactive (not unprofitable mind you) for too long you will be surpassed. If another corporation can provide bigger returns on investment (dividends) your shareholders might jump ship.

    So, ultimately, the ‘vision’ of the CEO is very simple: The whole operation must produce a perpetual increase in revenue. Just let that sink in for a while.

    So, you might see these corporate heads strutting around flaunting their power and wealth but try to remember that they are the ones standing face to face with the cold and horrifying fact that Profit is The Almighty. It can’t be reasoned with or placated – ‘either give me what I want, or I’ll get someone who can”.