Repetitions very rarely involve the return of the same. particularly not in the movies. it's like the second time I watched anchorman. first time round it was witty and hilarious. the second time, it was lazy, sexist and boring (i have a feeling it was racist too but this might be simply be an elitest and over-generalised intuition about pop culture). too much has been written on the topic of repetition compulsions. i was thinking about writing something about them here but then realised that doing so after having said there was a surfeit of piss poor writing on the topic was wayyyyy too #makesyouthink. like that ai weiwei exhibition. there is *literally* wallpaper made up of a twitter logo, surrounded by a pentagon of cctv cameras. i mean not even banksy would make that shit. the ai weiwei show is a bad example actually 'cus i expected that to be shit. i had nothing invested in it. but it's not always like that. sometimes you invest so much in something it collapses under all the weight you've piled on top of it. this often happens to relationships i find but it happens to other forms of fantasy too. they break apart, leaving us with nothing more than disarticulated fragments: a bench, a rather tepid fried egg and a few shitty anecdotes. we frantically try and reassemble the pieces, shoving them together again and again, telling our disjointed stories to whomever we come across. all in the hope of overcoming this terrifying opaqueness. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!. Jesus, things would all be sooooooo much simpler if this was a John Hughes movie, wouldn't they? no more heads against brick walls etc. but you are not ferris bueller. and I am not - sadly - Molly Ringwald. we are just two people sat on a park bench in Leicester and we can't or won't or just don't want to forget.
Written by Jack Etches