moviola

Coffee with Crissie, also known as the Spanish Onion, in the Cafe Insomnia near Trinity College.
She is full of the joys.
"Hey James," she gushes. "I've just been to see The Inglorious Basterds. It was amazing. There's something I want to ask you. Will you come see it with me?"
My handsome preraphaelite features attain a marblish hue.
"I will go to The Inglorious Basterds with you," I answer in measured tones. "I will go even though I am sure it is a worthless piece of subprime violence porno designed explicitly to debauch the unwary. I will go even though I know Quentin Tarentino has absolutely nothing to say. I will go even though my assessment of Tarentino has always been that his films are without merit and that they have played a significant role in the derangements we currently see manifesting in people's behaviour across our culture and the world. I will go even though I see his films as being wholly permeated by a dire and worthless negation of human values and discernment. I will go with you to the Tarantino film. Just as long as you come to a prayer group meeting with me."
There was a pulse in the universe.
It was as though the whole cafe fell silent.
Quoth the Onion: "A prayer meeting? No way."
"Then I'm not going to see Tarentino," shot back me.
"But it's completely different situation," said Crissie.
"How is it different?" wondered I.
She sighed.
"I've heard all that religion stuff before," she began. "All through school. Priests and nuns. Blah, blah, blah."
"Mmm," I nodded. "And I've seen all Tarentino's violence fetishes before. All his onanistic stimulations tailored towards people who have no critical faculties. His crass self indulgent masturbatory juvenalia masquerading as creativity. I've seen it for what it is. But I'll go to another one. Just for you. Just as long as you come to a prayer meeting with me."
"But this is a new film," she erupted. "It will be interesting. The prayer meeting will be just the same old thing. This film takes a lot of different viewpoints. It gives different perspectives. It's really intelligently done. It's really creative. There's so much in there."
"Ah yes," murmurs the noble Heelers. " And I assure you this prayer meeting will have lots of different things in there too. Lots of different perspectives. And maybe even the real presence of the creator of the universe who gave you life and loves you and wants you to be free. Oh you'll see it all at the prayer meeting. There's one guy who bursts into foreign languages and he doesn't speak a word of any language except English. Never studied another language. But he'll be blathering away. Then there's other people who think speaking in tongues is rubbish and they'll be praying quietly. There's more there who will be singing. Someone will share his experience of God and talk about things that happened in his life. There'll be a guy who was fourth in command of the Irish army. There'll be a few more who have never had a job in their lives. There'll be someone who was mired in depressive illness for years. The doctors had her on medication. She was going to kill herself. And she walked free of it through the power of the holy spirit. Oh you'll see lots of different things. All of em true things by the way. Things which empower you. None of em designed to steal your life while creating the illusion you've actually had a valid human experience. Which is what Tarentino's turgid fervourless violations are designed to do. Those useless repetitively conformist celebrations of violence and torture represented in dozens of unoriginal wearisome graphically new ways. Bright and tacky, but still the same old trash. Psychotic killers violating and torturing people. And Tarentino thinks it's fun. He is a clown playing with forces he does not understand. He perceives the nature of truth as little as a spoon perceives the taste of food.But I'll go to The Inglorious Basterds. And I'll stay to the end. And I won't breathe a word of complaint till the crap fest is over. Just as long as you come with me to the prayer group."
"How long is the prayer meeting?" said Crissie.
"Shorter than a Tarrantino film," sez I.
"How long?"
"An hour and a half tops."
"No way," said Crissie again.
This time I knew she meant it.