Where is my mind?

Howdy. I've been thinking about doing this post for a while, but for one reason or another I shied away from it, I'm still not convinced that it isn't gruesomely self-indulgent - but it has got some film stuff in it. I'm sorry for the size of it (something I've had to say way too often in my life in various situations).

Right if you're still here - I have Aspergers. I'm very low on the scale and some people oddly take great delight in telling me that I don't have it at all and some even get pissed off about it, no idea why that should be. This is by no means a "Hey every body feel sorry for me" post, or a "let me off for being a prick, I'm special" post because I'm not and nobody should. I am happy with Aspergers, or at least I'm happy knowing that I have Aspergers, as Paddy Considine said when he was diagnosed fairly recently, 'It's allowed me to make sense of so many things I didn't understand before - and is allowing me to move forward with my life.' I felt my diagnosis kinda helped me in a similar way, before I had felt that I was just weird - or a borderline wanker (wrong side of that border too). Knowing the condition has helped me realise that I make mistakes and I make them quite often, I have done in the past and will continue to do so, but now I recognise these mistakes or misinterpretations of things. The other reason I am happy with Aspergers is that I think it is one of the main reasons I feel the way I do about film. 

A bit of background: All through my childhood I've loved film, ever since I caught The Day the Earth Stood Still (Robert Wise, 1951) one night on the telly (there's a wee story about that night that I won't bore you with unless you really want me to, in which case see here). The Day the Earth Stood Still is where my connection with film really started, it was exciting, and intriguing, and it introduced me to a new language (I know the idea of film as language is disputed but what else do you call a structured form of communication? Well, not that obviously because that would just be shit). It intensified through my teenage years, a time when social interaction is generally awkward but I found it excruciatingly so. I tended to retreat and where I most often retreated too was film. Even after the diagnosis, social interactions remain difficult. I was once so nervous during a chatter episode that I virtually self harmed in front of the person. As they talked and, as I felt the pressure build, I anxiously scratched my forehead till I had dug a small trench above my left eye. I could see the person's eyes being drawn to what I was doing as it was happening, but that just made it worse. I eventually excused myself when I felt blood trickling down my face. I carry a coin with me at all times as I often (almost always) find it paralysing to make decisions - not difficult but paralysing. This isn't hyperbole, in the past I have gone long periods, over a day in one instance that I can remember, without eating because I couldn't decide what to have. This is the sort ridiculousness I find myself dealing with everyday - you have no idea how much the fact that the sign is squint on the door of the office next to mine prays on mind. I struggle to make eye contact with people and when this was pointed out to me I made  a conscious effort to make eye contact, this prompted cries of me being too intense, and so now I have found a way to modify it so that people are more comfortable. This basically means that in my head throughout a converstaion I am saying to myself "look them in the eye - look them in the eye - look them in the eye - look them in the eye - Look away - look them in the eye - look them in the eye - Look away" and so on and so forth. It is exhausting. Please do not fear me.

So what does that have to do with film?

I love cinema for its emotions, or how it manipulates mine. My Aspergers makes connections with people for me either very strong or very weak, rarely is it in between, and it is almost always confusing. Film is not like that for me and my experiences and emotions are often shaped by films - I'm not saying I'm mental, I know what's real and what isn't, it just seems more straightforward in film, whether because of an obvious narrative progression or through objectivity that gives me some breathing room. A diverse range of films have touched me over the years and inspired different thoughts and feelings about how people interact in the world, either relating to others or relating to me. I have written at least a wee bit about some of these films elsewhere in the blog, but that's because I like them.

"No following."

The Iron Giant (Brad Bird, 1999) is a pure emotional connection, this film has me weeping like some kind of tree that has some how discovered mobility and moved into my house, started wearing all my stuff and using all my hankies (that was meant to be some kind of humorous simile between my crying and a sentient, ambulant weeping willow. It didn't work). Whether good or bad, all relationships and emotional choices in the film are signposted and rooted in clearly defined characters and that makes sense - unlike people. It is a beautiful film and it is honest. It shows (to me) how, if you are true to yourself, then people will connect with you and maybe like or even love you.


I miss the Giant every time the film ends.

Awkward acquaintances: Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung

In the Mood for Love (Wong Kar-Wai, 2000), at least superficially, represents for me how being backward socially (allegorical references to an oppressive society aside) can make you miss opportunities that you really, really shouldn't miss. It also does it in a stunted way, in terms of their interaction, how the characters behave towards one another was very recognisable to me regardless of the motivation for it. The attention to detail that Wong Kar-Wai and Christopher Doyle bring to the screen also resonates with me, especially when it is during something awkward; like where Mr. Chow (Tony Leung) can't ask Mrs. Chan (Maggie Cheung) directly about her husband and lights a cigarette, the importance of the focus on small objects helping him through that moment feels familiar and honest to me. I often rub the corner of my shirt, or make small circles on the palm of my hands if I feel stressed in public. I also have a fairly keen attention to detail (along with sensitivity to light and sound) and I see that as a blessing when looking at (and loving) film. I often speak to people after we've watched a film together and say how much I loved the something that was in the background of the thing and then stare blankly at what I am told is a quizzical look. Finally In the Mood for Love gives me comfort by just saying that things can be beautiful regardless of how it turns out in the end.

Seven Samurai (Akira Kurosawa, 1954) is a film awash in thrilling camaraderie, loyalty, integrity, and the importance of other people. The narrative of this film follows a straightforward arc, that in itself is comforting to me as well as empowering as the actions and reaction make sense. I have all the information I need to see that what the people in that world do is reasonable to them and the choices they can make are all rationally linked. So when Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune) reveals himself to be a farmer who has stolen the armour of a dead samurai, I understand this, I also understand why everyone is so angry, and why, instead of destroying the group, they all come together. I also understand that Kyuzo (Seiji Miyaguchi), a loner who doesn't say much, is methodical, precise, an expert samurai and

Toshiro Mifune and Seiji Miyaguchi

 so is greatly respected and admired. When he finally does speak - offft!

God. I so much wanted to be that guy.

A film as beautifully constructed as Seven Samurai has a strong narrative structure and that provides obvious, satisfying resolutions, so there are less surprises and confusing reactions. Responses are justified and rationalised and comfortable.

But, as in Synecdoche: New York (Charlie Kaufman, 2008) the narrative need not be  clearly prescribed or driven and still make sense to me and provide me with similar comforts.

Philip Seymour Hoffman tries to work it all out.

In this film we witness the anxieties of the main character Caden (Philip Seymour Hoffman) as he struggles to understand himself and the others around him. The main character is confused by the world, life, people and the decisions they make, ultimately he may not even be successful in this search, but I relate to his struggle. I relate to his bumbling, awkward attempts to make connections with people and to try and claw back mistakes. It is something of a comfort to know that I'm not the only one. Caden is obviously fictional but may be relating similar experiences and anxieties of a real person, Charlie Kaufman the film's creator, as his other characters in his other films have done before.

In the films above, and many others, I found connections to various elements, and from that comfort or understanding or whatever - it has always been pleasurable. I have also felt connections with certain filmmakers. At times through their work, like with Kaufman, and at other times through their worldview like with Werner Herzog. I love Herzog's films and characters but how he expresses himself in interviews, and his voiceovers in his documentaries, has helped me see that it's a'right to see people and the world in a different way; it can still be an open, generous, inquisitive and caring way, while at the same time be utterly unique.

Why is it that human beings put on masks or feathers to conceal their identity and why do they saddle horses and feel the urge to chase the bad guy? ... why is it that a sophisticated animal like a chimp does not utilise inferior creatures? He could straddle a goat and ride off into the sunset.

(Werner Herzog, Encounters at the End of the World, 2007)

My connection with film is not necessarily stronger than my connection to people - I like people - I do, but it does make more sense to me. How I interact with film has helped me make sense of how I interact with people. This makes film very important in my life and why I would argue that film is important full stop. There are many books and articles written on the connection between film, and dreaming, and our psyche, in a similar way that dreams help us deal with our waking lives I think film has helped me deal - not with my condition - but with just how odd everybody is and in being more comfortable with that. I have a filter, a way to help me rationalise the behaviour of myself and others, to analyse experiences and situations, and a way to weigh emotional responses. I still fuck up - almost constantly (at least in my mind) but an awareness of the condition helps me, unfortunately it is often in retrospect but at least I have a touchstone. I'm not mental and understand the difference between what's real and what's fantasy, but sometimes fantasy is the best way to access and address the 'real'. Just don't touch me. J