Dave Franklin
Sometimes I have a recurring nightmare. Not about a nuclear holocaust or having to work for a living again, but being forced Clockwork Orange-style to watch a three and a half hour gay superhero musical called Four Weddings and No Funeral. Directed by Jane Campion and written by a bunch of well-meaning yet somewhat strident university students, it stars Keanu Reeves as Plank Man, James Dean as Captain Overwrought, Whoopi Goldberg as Cack Panther, Melanie Griffith as Twee-Hulk, Sondra Locke as Blunder Woman, Rob Lowe as Supergirl and Robin Williams as Deadfool. It nets ten billion at the box office and wins a record-breaking twenty Oscars while we learn that all men are toxic unless they share the same bed. Jill Ireland’s earnest theme song, of course, hits number one in 204 countries. I always wake from this nightmare disorientated and on the verge of tears. Suffice to say, I immediately seek solace in some of the 20th century celluloid treasures contained within this humble little guide, such as a French female sociopath wreaking havoc on her village, a cuckolded Oliver Reed busting out of prison to set things straight, and rednecks being knocked unconscious by a scarred, club-wielding sheriff. All I can say is: keep the faith, people. Keep the faith that the stifling sway of political correctness, the fixation on sending the correct message, the mania about having respectful minority representation, and the obsession with superheroes will crumble into dust just like the impeding Hays Code did all those decades earlier. I mean, things always go in cycles, don’t they? This horrendous period of conservatism will surely give way to a liberal flowering. Perhaps then I’ll tiptoe back into an actual cinema to once again enjoy Proper Movie Stars and Fucked-Up Films.
