Boyhood (or 12 Years a Boy)

Nothing is more annoying in life than getting wind of a critically acclaimed film, before discovering that no cinema was showing Boyhood. The film industry's glib response to Richard Linklater's 12 year long project is to prevent anyone from seeing it. But thankfully, last weekend I outwitted the tyranny of traditional Hollywood film-making and discovered Boyhood playing at The Red Carpet in Burton-upon-Trent, quite possibly the smallest cinema in the world.

Mason has a lie down and ponders existence

cinema is willing to show it (apart from possibly war, famine and death). Such is the case with
The fact that anyone has devoted 12 years of their life to create one film is astonishing in itself. Yet Linklater, along with leads Ellar Coltrane, Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke came back every summer for over a decade to produce this gorgeous film. Boyhood communicates the wonder of childhood, the passage of time and the burden of parenthood in a way that could never have been achieved in any other format. Ellar Coltrane (who plays Mason, the eponymous boy) changes from a six year old with his head in the clouds to a philosophical 18 year old photography student. But perhaps just as astonishing is the change in his parents from idealistic twenty-somethings to domesticated adults.

Mason tries not to covet his sister's hair

Linklater, who both wrote and directed, has captured both the joy and pain of an ordinary suburban childhood in the US. Fleeing the home of a drunken and violent step-dad is counterbalanced by a painfully awkward fatherly education on contraception that had the whole cinema in hysterics. The characters are actual people, generally well meaning but deeply flawed, rather than the simplistic stereotypes all too common in traditional cinema. There is no plot, but life has no plot! Different narratives weave in and out of the epic twelve year span. The traditional milestones of first girlfriends, flirtations with alcohol and drugs and deciding upon one's future are all duly ticked off, but it never feels like a run of the mill check-list for the generic childhood.  Boyhood is both highly specific, about one child at a particular period in history, and universal. It is the story of post-9/11 America and the vast changes that took place in the Noughties, but it's also the story of all of our childhoods. Without being overly nostalgic or seeking to idyllicise childhood, the film acknowledges that six to eighteen is a vastly transformative and important period of our lives, and one cannot help smiling when seeing Mason grope through the confusion of puberty and emerge with a definitive idea of who he wants to be.

The many faces of Ellar Coltrane

It is a tragedy that films such as Guardians of the Galaxy are played in cinemas simply by virtue of the amount of money invested in them, whilst cinematic masterpieces like Boyhood are destined to be seen by a fraction of the audience it deserves. But I have no doubt that Boyhood will become a cult classic. At two hours and forty minutes there is not a moment that does not contain acute observations, mundane tragedy or vibrant humour. In short, definitely in the running for the best film of 2014.

Roland the Marxist DJ: Best of Bush

Roland is glum. No work has come his way for several months. He suspects this is at least partially due to his decision to end his last gig with the Les Mis epic 'One Day More', not necessarily the ideal number for hordes of drunk, sweaty and probably high ravers. But Roland is soon forced to abandon his self pity as his front door is blown off its hinges. Roland struggles to upright himself from his sprawled position on the shabby sofa as the Music Police come charging into the room. They are deaf to Roland's protestations as he is bundled in the back of their van.
All is revealed at Music HQ.
"Listen up, my young swain." An unhealthy obsession with folk explains the interrogator's tweed three piece and unconventional address. "We can't have you playing musical theatre in those clubs townies go to. It gets noticed."
"How can I redeem myself?" pleads Roland. He is deeply suspicious of any form of law enforcement. After all, Orwell wrote that the policeman is the natural enemy of the proletarian.
"Why, by proving your Musical Credentials of course. All you have to do is answer one simple question. And if we're happy with the answer, well, then everything's tickety boo!" A sense of relief washes over Roland.
"Ask away,"
"What's your favourite Kate Bush song?" An oppressive silence immediately dominates the room. Roland cannot force a word out of his mouth. Who is this songstress? Suddenly he remembers the inclusion of Snowflake on the Marxist playlist and is about to answer when the Angel of Pop telepathically intervenes.
"Don't be a fool Roland!" His voice echoes inside Roland's skull. "You can't just pick the one you got free from Starbucks, they'll be wise to that."
"What do I do then?" replies Roland mentally, "I am not equal to this challenge!"
"Where's your revolutionary fervour?" demands the Angel, "Don't you want to show up these capitalist swines. Focus!"
"OK....ooo Wuthering Heights."
"Are you mad? Far too obvious, and he may well be an Emily Bronte purist. Try again!"
Roland begins to feel the pressure. Beads of sweat drip into his tracksuit as the tweedy man's expectant eyes deaden his brain. "Erm...Babooshka!"
"Better, but nobody knows any of the words apart from 'babooshka'. Be prepared to quote large sections of the verses to prove you are a true connoisseur."
Roland quickly abandons this idea, but soon remembers another: "Running Up That Hill!"
"What's it about?"
"Jogging?"
"Try again!"
"I can't do this! I'm a fake! I'm a fraud! I have no Musical Credentials!"
"Do not despair! Focus your mind! Plunder the esoteric depths of the land of Bush!"
"I need some advice!" Suddenly the Spirit of Pop descends with tongues of fire and possessed Roland, revealing to him the intricacies of pop music's complex history. An answer is instantly forthcoming.
"The Director's Cut version of Moment's of Pleasure, where the chorus is replaced by humming!"
"Really?"
"It adds to the sense of narrative and mournful tone."
"Hmph...Babooshka's much better."
"Really? I think Army Dreamers is the best song from that album."
"Well sounds like you know best..." The tweedy man cheerily stamps an official looking bit of paper. "Your Musical Credentials. Sorry about the hassle me lad, accept our sincere apologies for doubting you." Roland nervously wipes the sweat of his brow and leaves Music HQ in a mood of elation. He is free to orchestrate the revolution in peace.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: Symbolic Masterpiece or Monkeys Fighting?

It's the return of the franchise with far too many words in its title! Once more, talking simians will reveal to us our own arrogant sense of superiority over the animal kingdom. And the critics think it's wonderful! An amazing technical achievement. A worthy successor to the ground breaking original film. But I disagree.

Caeser and Malcolm share an intimate moment

Initially, the film has much to recommend it. The decision to have the apes use sign language was a good one, and for the first half the atmosphere is suitably tense as a fragile peace exists between the menacing monkeys and the human survivors of 'simian flu'. It all kicks off when Koba decides to be bad. This seems a natural decision, Koba is an ugly ape, and as we all know, ugliness is synonymous with evil. And then there are Explosions! and Fighting! and Monkeys....With Big Guns! And any sense of intelligence dies.
It is very pretty (you would hope so with how much money they've spent on it!). The apes settlement looks magnificent, and in a way their attack on the humans' residence is rather thrilling. But if I wanted visual spectacle and people fighting in an Epic Style, I'd go and watch a Michael Bay film.
I gradually became very upset, and my gentle weeping may have distracted some of my fellow cinema goers. In the original Planet of the Apes, the apes had Deep Conversations about the ethics of keeping humans as second class citizens. Here they just shoot them. And I began to realise that the entire film was bereft of characters. Malcolm is Decent. Dreyfus is Selfish and Narrow Minded. Carver is Violent. Caeser is Wise. And the plot is fairly predictable. Spoiler alert, but Good triumphs over Evil.

Koba does his gangster pose

Are there any redeeming qualities to Matt Reeve's simian shenanigans? Well, perhaps you could say that Caeser is actually a little too much like his Roman namesake, and he has a totalitarian hold over his fellow apes. But we're encouraged to see him as warm and loveable, and not question his demand for absolute obedience. The whole thing is a deeply pessimistic comment about humanity: different cultures will always feel threatened when they live side by side and peace is impossible; fitting when you consider the current Middle East crisis. But this film is squarely aimed at people who want a feast for the eyes, not the mind.
So I emerged from the cinema with a heavy heart. Contrary to general opinion, Rise of the Planet of the Apes was a lot better. That had Ethical Questions about animal testing. None of the apes were brandishing machine guns then. So, my advice: ignore those that say otherwise, avoid at all costs.

Musings of an Angry Existentialist (at the Cinema): Act 4

Still shaken after the explosive conclusion of the third act, spluttering echoes around the theatre as the Bourgeois Audience choke on the dust that once was the Odeon cinema. A wealthy socialite violently shakes the filth from her inordinately expensive dress, glaring angrily at the husband who took her to this ghastly play. In the row behind, a bulky skinhead weeps pitifully at the death of Hipster Girlfriend, and bemoans the cruelty of a world without her. Before the cacophony of discontent his ended, the curtain begins to raise, signalling the beginning of the penultimate act.
The setting is a dusty psychiatric ward. On a bed with a supernaturally creaky mattress lies an emaciated figure. On the bedside table is a well thumbed copy of Jean Paul Sartre's Nausea. A steady drip of tears can be heard as a sizeable puddle of salt water collects on the floor. The audience begin to feel a strong sense of deja vu. Was this not also the opening of the second act? The more astute theatre goers notice a detail that passed unnoticed before. Angry Existentialist (AE) is staring in horror at the lightbulb in the room. The treacherous Bearded Stranger interrupts AE's sorrow.
"How did you find me?" AE's voice tremors with the depth of his pain.
"I found Mysterious Beginning hospital and drew my own conclusions," responds the bearded stranger with an appropriate level of solemnity. There is a brief pause. "Your Hipster Girlfriend is in grave danger. You must come out of hiding, and re-enter civilisation in order to save her from the clutches of her Jealous Lover."
"But hell is other people!" whines AE.
"Her heart is heavy with longing for you. It is time to shake of your morbid stupor and rise to your role as Initially Underwhelming But Ultimately Heroic Protagonist."
"Well, if you insist...." As the two men leave the ward, a doctor violently protests that AE is not ready to face a world of lightbulbs in which everyone's arm will look like Jared Leto's.
"There are causes higher than Angry Existentialists sanity," responds the Bearded Stranger gravely. "He must make the ultimate sacrifice in order to save his Hipster Girlfriend." AE is about to protest along the lines of the primacy of the individual in existentialist philosophy, but he is silenced by his conscience. Bearded Stranger now grasps AE's arm and storms through the hospital. His eyes show a steely determination which unnerves AE, but currently he is more concerned with all the lightbulbs he is passing underneath, which almost certainly he will have to munch on. AE wails for the Bearded Stranger to slow down, but he is ignored. A tear rolls down the Bearded Stranger's cheek as they near the main doors of the hospital. As the Bearded Stranger flamboyantly flings them open, AE is blinded by the sunlight and is initially unaware of the two police officers advancing towards him.
"Here he is," declares Bearded Stranger in a flat, gruff voice. Before AE is aware of what's happening, he is in handcuffs.
"Angry Existentialist, I am arresting you on suspicion of multiple counts of murder and the destruction of the Odeon cinema in Rundown Town. You do not have to say anything..."
"Bearded Stranger!" wails AE is he is unceremoniously hurled into the police vehicle, "How could you betray me?" As his plan unfolds to perfection, Jealous Lover is watching...

-Part I-

-Monty Python: Live (Mostly)-

Jealous Lover is outraged. Television suits have interrupted his viewing pleasure, as the Penis Song is deemed inappropriate for pre-watershed viewing and completely cut from the live broadcast. His anger soon bubbles over and he hurls an albatross at the screen.

"How could they do this me?" he yells, face the colour of beetroot with beads of sweat dripping from his nose. "I pay my licence fee! Is is my right to listen to the Penis Song. Damn you television executives!" He slams his hand down on his servants bell, and a moustachioed henchman hastily arrives.

"I want the head of the GOLD television network murdered!" he cried.

"It shall be done," responds the characterless servant, who quickly leaves to do Jealous Lover's bidding. By the time the Bearded Stranger arrives, Jealous Lover is in fits of laughter over the Lumberjack Song.

"Angry Existentialist has been delivered into the hands of the police, as you commanded," he says solemnly. An air of sadness and guilt now pervades the Bearded Stranger.

"Good, good," responds Jealous Lover impatiently, eager to return to the Pythons.

"You said you'd take the explosives from my beard..." Jealous Lover's thumb comes hurtling down to thunderously press the pause button. He turns to the Bearded Stranger with a look of pure hated in his eyes.

"And why should I do that?" he snarls. Spittle drenches the Bearded Stranger.

"It was our agreement..."

"Why should I agree to anything? I hold all the cards here. At the push of a button, you would be no more, you would cease to be, you would be an ex-bearded stranger. You are entirely in my power." The Bearded Stranger turns deathly pale and wobbles slightly on his feet. A trembling hand attempts to remove Jealous Lover's spit from his face.

"So I betrayed my friends...for nothing."

"Nonsense! If you hadn't done exactly as I asked then you would not be standing her today. When I require your services again, you shall be called for."

"So I'm your slave!" Bearded Stranger is now shaking violently with fury. Jealous Lover can feel the heat of his anger. The Bearded Stranger's chin is roasting and wisps of smoke begin to escape from within his beard.

"I wouldn't think of it like that. As our existentialist friend would hasten to inform us, we're all slaves to social norms. It's just that the deal is more explicit with you." This is the final straw for the Bearded Stranger. He launches himself at Jealous Lover, who is terrified as one of the reasons Hipster Girlfriend jilted him was because of his lack of biceps. He shudders at the prospect of bruises appearing on his perfectly pampered face.

"Stop!" he roars, "or I'll detonate your beard."

"Then we'll both go down together, my exploding beard will be fatal to you." Jealous Lover's mortality suddenly flashed through his eyes. His heart beats shudderingly, and he begins to nervously hum Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.

"Give me back my beard!" cries the Bearded Stranger. He is holding the puny figure of Jealous Lover by his moustache. But his advantage is brief. Before he can stop him, Jealous Lover's spindly hand is thrust down upon his servants bell and within seconds Bearded Stranger is dragged away and restrained by moustachioed henchmen. He realises that now the game is up. He has played all his cards, and awaits death at the hands of Jealous Lover. He closes his eyes and tries to force an air of serenity upon himself.

"Oh Bearded Stranger," begins Jealous Lover smugly, "you've made some very, very bad decisions. And now it is time that you pay for them. Have you any last requests?"

"Let me send Angry Existentialist a film," whimpers Bearded Stranger as he chokes back tears, "let me send him....

-Part II-

-The Great Escape-

"What a waste my life has been!" AE begins his soliloquy with spirit. "My true love has been murdered by my spineless friend. I sought to make myself, instead I have been undone by the cruelty of a heartless world." AE has been condemned to life imprisonment. The evidence was conclusive. 'Existence precedes essence' was scrawled in graffiti over the ruins of the Odeon, whilst pages from Camus's The Outsider were to be found floating in the breeze when the police arrived on the scene. The prosecution suggested that AE committed the atrocity as an act of existential angst, similar to the shooting of the Arab in The Outsider. The defence felt intimidated by literary references, and were at a loss as to how to respond. It took the jury seventeen seconds to decide on a verdict. But we are interrupting AE soliloquy and he continues by beginning to sing in a monastic recitative.

"Why me? Why did my girlfriend have to have a psychotic former lover? But do I regret meeting her? No!" At this point a DJ enters stage left and begins to lay down some beats. A disco ball descends from the ceiling. The sound of unfastening Velcro can be heard as AE's prison clothes are flung from his now gyrating body. The audience gasps as they behold their protagonist wearing only some sparkling Y-Fronts. Some ladies in the front row faint.

"I lover her!" proclaims AE in a melodramatic musical theatre style. He is suddenly flanked by hordes of backing singers who respond:

"He loves her!" They begin to sway and clap.

"I saw her at a movie/ It really was quite groovy/ She's even more attractive than Ralph Fiennes!"

"Oooh Ralph!" coo the backing singers. Hordes of dancers flock onto the stage, and begin to throw their bodies into all sorts of bizarre contortions. 

"Helena Bonham Carter/ I say my girl is smarter/ Ben Wishaw is a cutie/ But my girl is more fruity/ She's really quite attractive/ She makes my heart quite active/ I'd really like a peerage/ But I prefer her cleavage/ I also like her face/ There's nothing I'd replace/ Yes, I looooooove heeeer!"

"He looovvvvvessss heeeer!" The dancing has become more frantic, and the DJ chooses this moment to drop the bass. A rapper joins AE on stage, and takes over from AE's appalling rhymes.

"He quotes Paul-Sartre like a pro/ He gets quite gloomy, feels quite low/ Heidgger, Husserl, a bit of Nietzsche/ Pain and suffering's his best teacher/ His everyday thoughts are really deep/ He writes poetry before he goes to sleep/ It's a shame that it's all bloody awful/ He'd happily give Aristotle an earful/ For saying there's a common human nature/ Watch out essentialists, he'd berate ya/ He's an angry existentialist/ Yeah he's an angry existentialist!"

"Oooo Angry Existentialist!" coo the backing singers. The dancers have by now at least trebled in number. Outsider AE's now somewhat cramped cell, prison wardens and prisoners alike are grooving to the funky tunes. But suddenly the music stops, as a DVD is pushed through the flap at the bottom of AE's cell. The assorted dancers, backing singers, DJ and rapper peer over AE's shoulder in tense anticipation as he examines the DVD. A smile spreads across AE's face. He lovingly opens the case, dreaming off alleviating the monotony of prison with the highlights of Western film-making. But the contents are even better than he could have imagined. Inside is a small explosive device and a note from the Bearded Stranger. It reads thus: I know you can never forgive me, but use this explosive to escape from prison and have your revenge on Jealous Lover. Love from the Bearded Stranger xxx. 

"He turned out all right in the end," sighs AE, before hastily placing the explosive on the wall and instructing everyone to stand back. In less than a minute, AE and his troop of singers and dancers joyfully escape from prison doing the can-can. But he is unaware of...

-Part III-

-The Final Cliffhanger-

Bearded Stranger trembles. He is tied to a chair, which is suspended by a rusty chain over a dark pit. His beard is in disarray, and he is facing the smug figure of Jealous Lover.

"You see I could have been merciful," continues Jealous Lover triumphantly. He has been gloating for the past five hours, and the Bearded Stranger is almost ready to welcome death if it means the end of his speech. "I could have simply detonated your beard, and you would have tumbled off this mortal coil in an instant. But you don't deserve that, and it's much less fun for me. Instead behold..." The pit is illuminated. "...the pit of carnivorous kittens!" Bearded Stranger nervously looks down into the pit. The kittens are staring back up at him. The small bundles of fluff have crazed looks in their eyes, and their leathery tongues provocatively lick their lips. Some of them growl at him, exposing their razor sharp fangs. There is a jolt as the Bearded Stranger's chair begins to descend into the pit. The curtain falls to the Bearded Stranger's ear piercing screams as he prepares to be devoured.

Musings of an Angry Existentialist (at the Cinema): Act 3

Muted conversation can be heard in the audience as they await the commencement of the third act. A Disgruntled Gentleman complains that the plot is entirely unrealistic, and what's more shirks any element of social critique, for him a much greater evil. With a tragic sigh, he flips through some pages of Marx's Capital before the farce can continue. Beside him, a clandestine couple plot murder, whilst the cuckold is buying ice cream:
"It has be done," demands the icy temptress, "otherwise we can never be together". Her face dives forward to kiss her lover violently, but he shows reservations.
"But what if we are caught!" The man has an unnaturally high voice. "They'll send me to prison! They'll force me to wear those stripy prison clothes, when we both know that stripes always add a few pounds." A look of disappointment which words cannot convey can be observed inhabiting the woman's face, but her savage rebukes are silenced as the cuckold returns with the ice creams. Meanwhile, a bohemian hipster in a flowing scarf is conversing avidly with his neighbour.
"Honestly, the Matisse exhibition is simply to die for! The sheer vibrancy of the colours, and the uncommon textures..."
"I did quite enough collages at primary school, and there is no way you can convince me that that's a snail..."
The man's objections to French art are silenced by a heavenly voice reminding the discontented audience to switch of their mobile phones.
"Here's to another hour of utter boredom," moans the Disgruntled Gentleman. The curtain rises and your phone begins to play Call Me Maybe at an embarrassing volume. Ashamed of both your ringtone and your brazen flaunting of the heavenly voice's commands, you struggle to silence it as the Bearded Stranger ambles to the front of the stage to deliver a heartbreaking soliloquy as....

-Part I-

-The Bearded Stranger Struggles with his Conscience-

"What have I done!" comes a voice from within the undergrowth of the Bearded Stranger's beard. "Sacrificed my liberty, betrayed my friend, all for the sake of facial hair. Oh, what a fool I am!" At this point, the Bearded Stranger's Conscience enters stage left. The Beaded Stranger gasps, turns pale and clutches his beard. He has seen what his conscience is brandishing as it walks towards him. It's a razor!

"But no!" he cries, "There is something...necessary in a beard. A beard is a man's very essence! It is unreasonable to deprive him off it." His conscience advances still closer, and its intent is clear. "Now listen you! I cannot forsake my manliness! I will not! I would rather die, damn you!" His conscience is now nearly upon him. The razor is reaching out towards the verdant beard. "No! No! I won't let you do this! I'll....I'll fight you!" And so the Bearded Stranger begins to struggle with his conscience. He aims a sharp punch to his conscience's left cheek, but he soon realises that consciences play dirty. A well aimed kick is aimed at the Bearded Stranger's groin, and he collapses in agony. 

("Good gracious, this is terribly low theatre," mutters a Theatrical Snob. Her husband meanwhile winces in sympathy for the Bearded Strange, who is now being violently pummelled by his conscience)

The Bearded Stranger's screams suggest he never had any manliness in the first place, but in the midst of his agony, he is desperately defending his beard from his conscience's razor, allowing his hands to be slashed instead of endangering his facial growth. The struggle continues. The Bearded Stranger successfully knees his conscience in the stomach, and is now gaining the upper hand.

"I was only trying to help you," wails the Bearded Stranger's conscience, before disappearing in a puff of purple smoke. The Bearded Stranger chokes on the fumes as he continues to breathe heavily. His clothes are in tatters, and blood is pouring from the gashes in his arms. But these battle scars are insignificant to him. He has overcome his conscience.

-Part II-

-Oculus-

"My Hipster Girlfriend's life is in danger, and what do you tell me?" cries the Angry Existentialist (AE) aghast. "You want me to...to review horror films!" The Bearded Stranger now leans in close to AE and speaks in an urgent whisper.

"Listen my friend! Hipster Girlfriend has escaped from her imprisonment, and is currently residing in a safe house, the location of which I cannot disclose to you. Your return to society has been noted, but if you return to your old ways as a cinema critic you will not be perceived as a threat. However, if you attempt to find your Hipster Girlfriend, her cover will be blown and both of you will meet a grisly end at the hands of Jealous Lover."

"But what of the role I must fulfil as Heroic Protagonist?" protests AE.

"There will be time for that later, for now the only reasonable course of action is to lie low until Jealous Lover becomes complacent."

"You counsel wisely," AE sighs, "but why horror films?"

"You must broaden your palate as a film critic. And a horror review is a very simple matter. You just say if it was scary or not."

And so AE did what he swore he would never do again: he walked through the sliding doors of the Odeon cinema. But on second thought, he knew it was never wise to have made such general resolutions, as he could not account for the state of mind of his future self. He trembles a little as he buys a ticket for Oculus, painful memoires cascade over him. Jean Paul Sartre's Being and Nothingness is stowed in his coat pocket for comfort. He wishes he settled on something shorter as there is a noticeable bulge.

AE takes his seat, not knowing what to expect from a film about a haunted mirror with the ginger one from Dr. Who in it. To begin with he is bored beyond belief, and mortified that a boy should be thrown in a mental institution for having the bravery to defy social conventions and shoot his father. But AE begins to grow uncomfortable. The drama intensifies. He wants to turn away, to flee from the cinema, but his eyes are glued to the unfolding action. His heart stops as Karen Gillan accidentally bites into a lightbulb instead of an apple, and his face pulls all kinds of contortions of disgust as she spits out bloodied glass and goes on to thrust a shard of plant pot into her lover's throat. By the time the film meets it's unbearably tense conclusion, AE races from the cinema and rushes towards the toilets, but instead is sick all over a passing punk rocker. Stony eyes glare into the depths of his soul.

"Now," AE begins nervously, "to respond to this dreadful mishap with anger would be to follow social norms...". The punk rocker obviously disagrees. The next thing AE knows he is lying in a hospital bed, severely battered. Social norms are nothing compared to a ruined Sex Pistols T-Shirt. Meanwhile, in another cinema on the other side of town, Hipster Girlfirend is watching...

-Part III-

-Episodes-

"How he would have loved this meta-textual comedy!" sobs Hipster Girlfriend as she tosses yet another tear sodden tissue on an ever growing mound. "But then again, he would have thought the focus on Shaun and Beverly's marriage highlighted a common case of mauvaise foi in our society. Perhaps he'd think Matt LeBlanc was a fellow existentialist in this respect." Even as she says the words, Hipster Girlfriend thinks this is unlikely. A letter clatters out of the door and drifts serenely towards the mat. She rushes to examine it, expecting correspondence from AE. She is not disappointed.

"It's him! Requesting a cinema for a rendez-vous, just like the old days! But his choice of film is certainly unusual. Chef sounds bland and light-hearted."

Bearded Stranger retreats from posting this forged message, uneasy in the knowledge that he has just lured Hipster Girlfriend to her death. Meanwhile, the second part of Jealous Lover's plan is unfolding, involving...

-Part IV-

-Requiem for a Dream-

Moustachioed henchmen storm the hospital in which AE is recovering from the vomit induced violence. Ignoring his baffled entreaties, they drag him from his bed and into a van, where he is promptly blindfolded and tied up.

"You may take my liberty," he screams, "but I have a freedom that you will never have. You are trapped by mauvaise foi! I am truly free!" The moustachioed henchmen ignore his incomprehensible ranting until they lead him into Jealous Lover's torture chamber. As his blindfold is removed, he is surrounded by mirrors identical to the one in Oculus. All of them are whispering to him. Around him whirl lightbulbs and apples, so quickly that he does not know which is which. Overcome by all this, AE collapses on the floor and unleashes an ear piercing scream. His sanity begins to rapidly desert him as he is scooped of the floor and strapped to a chair in front of a blank screen. His eyelids are held open by a contraption similar to that seen in A Clockwork Orange.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks with what scraps of humanity he has left.

"You crossed Jealous Lover," smirks the most menacing Moustachioed Henchmen, "no one does that lightly."

Without warning, Requiem for a Dream commences on the screen. The subtext and depth of the film initially encourages the little shred of film critic still left inside Angry Existentialist to resurface. But men of a stronger disposition have been unable to finish watching Darren Aronofsky's visceral thriller. By the end of the movie, all of AE's sanity has deserted him, and images of Jared Leto's arm now swim amongst mirrors and lightbulbs. Although AE has now been conditioned to abandon his flirtation with recreational drugs once and for all, the man he once was has ceased to be. AE is dead inside. Meanwhile, Hipster Girlfriend is bored silly in the Odeon, watching....

-Part V-

-Chef-

As Hipster Girlfriend battles her desire to fall asleep, eager not to miss AE's arrival, Jealous Lover walks to the front of the stage to the side of the scene. Realising once again that the audience are in the dark about his latest ingenious and sinister plot, he commences a soliloquy to fill them in:

"My dastardly plan is almost complete! Knowing that Angry Existentialist possessed the sort of weak constitution that is easily overcome by a good horror film, I have driven him mad. He is currently stowed away in a mental hospital, and unable to stop the unfolding of my final scheme. I have bribed the cinema staff, so that when Hipster Girlfriend made her usual request of popcorn sprinkled with fairy dust, the cinema attendant placed explosives amidst this sweet treat. As I well know, she will never finish the popcorn for fear of expanding her waistline, leaving my explosives disguised masterfully. Soon they will wipe her twee little figure off the face of the Earth." Jealous Lover is about to leave, but then returns to the front of stage as he remembers something. "Oh, and as a final punishment for her cruel rejection of me, the final two hours of her life will be spent watching this appallingly bad film. Oh, how evil I am!" He finally leaves the stage, cackling horrendously. 

Meanwhile, Hipster Girlfriend is looking anxiously at her watch. The film is nearly over, and AE still hasn't shown up. Could he have forgotten?

"I thought he loved me," she mutters discontentedly, "why would he make me watch this awful film?"

As the film draws to it's predictable and saccharine close, the man in the seat next to her delivers his verdict to his cinematic companion.

"That was the most dreary two hours of my life," he yawns, "it could only be improved if the entire audience had been obliterated before we endured such trash." Ever eager to please, Jealous Lover does just that, unfortunately after the film though and not before it. A fireball erupts out of the space where Hipster Girlfriend's popcorn once existed, engulfing not only the audience of Chef, but also those people who chose a better film to watch. The Odeon explodes dramatically. Glass shatters and the building crumples in a flaming inferno. A singed piece of popcorn bounces across the car park. Jealous Lover, dressed in a luxurious smoking jacket, smugly picks it up and lovingly slips it between his lips. As he savours the charred taste of popcorn, another taste overpowers it: victory. The curtain falls on Act Three...