Monday, December 10, 2012

'Tinker Bell and the Secret of the Wings', directed by Roberts Gannaway and Peggy Holmes, 10th December 2012

I was somewhere around parliament, on the edge of Westminster Square, when the fairy dust began to take hold.  Jesus it was strong.  Half a bottle of Canadian Club whisky was sitting uneasily in my gut and suddenly someone had stuck an egg whisk in and was going crazy.  A waterfall of sweat was running down the small of my back, my eyes bulged out of my head and tiny pin pricks of light dotted themselves all over my vision.  I mumbled "join the fuckin' dots man" at no-one in particular.  A child stared me as its mother ushered it away, saying something about care in the community.  

God fucking dammit where are these smokes.  The white clad walls of power seemed to loom over me as I shakily meandered my way across the pavement, hands in my pants on a quest for tobacco and skins.  Dodging traffic I stumbled across a road and collapsed against Winston Churchill.  Finally I found my apparatus and shakily constructed a malformed rollie.   I asked Winston Churchill for a light.  The protest hippies parked on the grass regarded me with suspicion.  They were right to, I stole their light and ran across the street giggling as taxis beeped me and shouted throaty working class swear words.  I leaned against a big black railing as I sparked it up, taking a rude lungful. 

Too much.  I retched, head spinning wurse than ever.  I balled my eyes up and squeezed my fists clothes.  My teeth hit each other harder than I ever had before catching a bit of tongue between them.  The booze in my stomach turned and some kind of liquid splurted from my mouth against the walls of parliament. "o fuck its red".  I distinctly remembere thinking this because I know it's bad when you puke up the red stuff.  A cop with a machine gun walked up to me with an angry look on his face and also in his voice and body.   If the blood was coming from my tongue I figured I'd be okay.  I tried to explain to him that I'd bitten my tongue and probably puked at the same time but only managed to burble incoherently at him as his machine gun seemed to breathe out.  

What the fuck man!  Machine guns aren't supposed to do that.  I explained it to him as best I could through my ruined tongue.  I then said policemen aren't allowed to have guns like this anyway.  But there was a pounding drum beat building in volume inside my head and it was hard to argue properly.  A crowd was forming around me now.  Some fat guy took a photo of me.  I tried to claim copyright on it but I tripped and whacked my hed on the stone by the cop.  In a misguided attempt to politicise the incident I would later try to claim the cop had clubbed me with the butt of his gun, but I always knew this was bullshit.

I lay twitching on the ground, staring up at Big Ben which was spinning round and round in a warped whirlpool.  It all goes fuzzy here but in the witness statements they say I yelled "firssst on til morning!", soiled myself and lapsed into unconsciousness.

Memory is a tricky game and unfair as hell.  Happy times slip away like golden and glistening sand through your fingers and the bad times indelibly tattoo right in there.  Next thing I knew I was sitting in some green and pleasant woodland.  It was hyper-real, like the world with all the settings jammed onto 11.  Somewhere far away I could hear a beep beep beep of an elektrocardiogram.  Panic.  It crept up my spine like the first rising vibes of a cartoon frenzy.  Insects with human faces flitted around my head squeaking burbling Mickey Mouse gobbledegook at me.  One of them had the face of Marilyn Monroe.  Here I was, alone in fairy land, completely twisted inside out.  No cash.  No smokes.  

Frightened squeaks like deranged mice surrounded me as I moved around, every movement tearing something apart.  I was like Godzilla and not in a good way.  Green weaved baskets were scattered across a clearing and I blundered into a big pile of them. These crazy winged bitches pulled my earlobes and beat their fists against my face but I was drunk on my own fire now.  

And then the owls came.

Big white snowy bastards swooping out of nowhere!  I couldn't tell if they were just clumsy or actively trying to take me out but one thumped into my chest, knocking the wind out of me.   I gasped for air and for a split second second I could see a serious looking doctor pounding down on me but as I looked up I was suddenly looking down at a owl limply staggering into some kind of tiny hospital with blood seeping from a snapped wing.  He banged on a buzzing bug and let out a hoot of agony.

Then things got really weird.  I felt the life drain out of my cheeks and snow began to tinkle down from down from the bright blue sky.  It spun crazily in perfect geometric mandala patterns towards me.  So real I could almost reach out and grab a piece.  The animals of the wood put on their winter costumes.  Some weasels turned white and fluffy.  A bunny got all dressed up in snow fur and skipped away full of itself.  Dreamily I laid back on the ground and lolled my head up at the sky.  An infinite cloud of grey descended upon me from the heavens.  I lolled my head to the side.  The girls were screaming and shuddering.  Their insect wings couldn't take the cold.  They writhed on the floor, leaf dresses totally unsuited to this temperature.  Those little gossamer wings ain't going to cope with this I thought.  As they rolled the wings splintered in tiny glass fragments. and screaming so high pitched I wasn't sure if I could hear it or not filled the air.  Apocalypse in fairy town. 

I hear the cottonwoods whispering above my head and the freeze descending upon the place.  My body becomes a recumbent landscape, going into hibernation.  Lazily I grin and begin rubbing the cool frost all over my body.  A jumble of thoughts fight for consciousness in my brain, but somehow I know that the frost will keep me safe from the Big Cold that's coming.  My lips turn Violet Beauregarde.  The sweet woodland ambience of the place had vanished, turned into a still nightmare hell.  Frozen fairies with silent screams frosted onto their faces stared at their ruined world.  It all gets furry and indistinct. No sympathy for the devil riiii?  Uh.. wait   Buy the ticket... take the ride? god their big pacifist eyes beautiful in their fairy skin not understanding the sacred fallacy of the hypo culture and you know someone must be tending the light at the end of the tunnel when you stand on the edge of her feather expecting to fly to learn the real secret of the wings.............

The grey skies opened and my chest tore open and an injection of light filled the world as the golden fairy dust snapped back into life and high definition full Real D ThreeD everything jerking into frantic clarity and I jerked bent double in two.  Fairy land had been a lame Sunday morning fuck around! A waste of time!   A big fat hypodermic poked out of my split sternum my veins bulged obscenely all over my body a doctor stepped back looking frightened as a nurse hid behind him.  A cop stepped up to the party and slapped a handcuff on my wrist.   I was just with-it enough to laugh and spit my rancid bile in his face.  

It was all worth it.  All the shock, hate and horror.  It grew me.  It changed me.  I am improved.

'Tinker Bell and the Secret of the Wings' is on general release from Friday 14th December

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