Mad Atoms

As a gaggle of strugglers in LA, we can all agree upon the wonderful pastime that is recreational movie viewing. A solid choice no doubt--a great way to unwind, except for when that one friend comes over, and turns an otherwise laidback evening into a lesson in film theory. You know who I’m talking about. The egghead who has to be just a little more versed in the history of whatever movie you’re watching at the time, so much so that a certain tone of ownership comes forth, as if he or she is a “better” fan than you are, thus co-opting a creative effort they had no part in.

Now I’m all for knowing stuff. In fact, knowledge of stuff is how civilization improves itself. Without knowing stuff, why, we wouldn’t have such necessary global contributions as the Internet, Crocs, erasable pens, the Magic Bullet, and free refills. But it is possible to know too much stuff. Ergo, whether you know the reasons behind Godard’s color vocabulary or Fellini’s sublime influences, you still had absolutely nothing to do with either accomplishment. Sure, you may know more than the rest of us decent frameheads who have enough sense to let the characters alone do the talking, but you’re like the board game Scene It! purchased from a thrift store: your film trivia is second hand, son.

Calling claim on the intricacies of a movie is mad annoying dude. 

Unless your birth certificate says “Kubrick,” I don’t want to hear a prideful word one on the musical choices of 2001: A Space Odyssey. When you cheer a purposely personal cheer at the derring-do of Korean cinema, and you ain’t peering through a Canon via slanty eyes, then you’re an asshole. It’s kind of like when sports fans refer to their teams in the royal “we,” whilst nurturing butterfly rashes courtesy of some close quarter couch thighs. I guess what I mean to say is, it’s okay to like stuff, but don’t like stuff in place of making it.