“Mommy, I don’t like this anymore! It used to be all films, and thoughts, and stuff. Now it’s all just frightening pictures and words! Make it stop, Mommy, make it stop!”
Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.
Ace photographer Eduardo Tavoli captures me trying to stay awake. Eduardo was negotiating to get a shot of Terry Gilliam, as he is collecting images of the great geniuses of our time And he’s already got The Village People. Terencino eventually obliged.
I am wearing, for your pleasure, my Masaki Sakai Monkey Magic T-shirt. The classic Chinese legend-novel Monkey’s Journey to the West given a Japanese roller-disco makeover in the late ’70s, then dubbed into English and broadcast at confused kids. Marked me for life.
Insomnia watch, day 5! Got up feeling slightly rough, then realised it was because I’d slept. Probably for about an hour, hence my disorientation. I won’t make that mistake again. Took a shower, and my room-mate Mehar, in the next cubicle, suggested that there was no hot water. I ascertained that hot water could be summoned by turning the dial to the right, and said, “You have to turn the dial to the LEFT.” He thanked me, but was probably freezing his nuts off. In my defence, I must say that binary choices lke Left and Right are much too tricky when you’re in a state of advanced sleep deprivation. Why did Mother Nature give us two sides?
Last time I was here, after a week of no sleep, I heard a kid on a bus and thought to myself, “Hey, what a clever kid. He can speak Italian.”
I probably have a headache but the part of my brain that would process it is no longer working.
Been catching bits of the brilliant TV show The Last Machine, exploring the Victorian roots of cinema, and presented by Terry Gilliam. The whole show seem to take place in a wondrous clockwork toy theatre, with the only glimpses of external reality being provided by the excerpts of Lumiere, Feulliade etc. Quite good to watch in a semi-conscious state… but even better if you’re alert.
The George Lucas Research Library. An amazing place, apparently. He bought up an old studio’s location files, decades of research on different places to film, plus historical costumes, everything a filmmaker could need. And then he hired somebody to put in a stained glass ceiling, and his wife ran off with the guy.
I imagine Mrs. L. catching sight of the stained glazier’s elegant, swan-like, Joseph Fiennes neck, and sighing longingly. Then frowning back at her husband George’s stubby, pathetic little non-neck, looking as if his spine could hardly be bothered to extend itself out of his torso. And the way he tried to sculpt a fake neck with that neatly trimmed beard, but really, he might as well scrawl the words “chin area” and “neck area” on his lower head/upper torso, he was fooling no one.
George has kept the stained glass ceiling in place ever since, and when he walks into his magnificent library, he cranes his head up to look at the coloured panes, the blushing crimsons and verdant greens, and tries to grow a neck.
Stop me, this is just mean. I will say that I was touched to read that, when their divorces became final, Spielberg and Lucas were spotted down at the beach, making sandcastles. I do think that’s genuinely sweet.