sometimes i get in a mood where i just wanna suck down a movie & have no thoughts about it & this mood might be labeled depression but it is a kind of wasteful luxury, too, to just pop in & out of a different world. a disassociative pleasure amidst everything that's been going on. alas after many months of this exact approach to all things, i am back to my thinkin man's blog...may the sweet waters of my words touch your lips like the first rainfall after a ten year drought.
last night i marathoned two complementary masterpieces--my beautiful laundrette & the first episode of the newest season of love island. yes, two sides of the same coin. my beautiful laundrette is literally about a beautiful laundrette in a way that i could not have anticipated. even the soundtrack is some sort of menacing sudsy synthpop thing that sounds like margaret thatcher peering out from behind an overflowing washer. a weird sinister subtext for a movie that presents moments of violence w/ a cavalier attitude & moments of joy as the most natural form of resolution. it's an out of touch optimism that wrenches itself out of reality 2 make room for bliss. viewers are moved between somewhat heavy handed scenes about race (South Asian diasporic tension meets fash 80s white nationalism & something very British at that) and heavier handed scenes about capitalism but ultimately, everything returns to the laundrette--its beauty, its grace, its huge and unnecessary neon sign. u can disappear in this perfect laundromat, it seems to say.
the plot of this film at one point becomes that two gay men have spent too much money renovating a laundrette and have to figure out how to pay it back (lol! classic!! we love it). this conflict resolves very quickly, however, and we return to the central tensions of difference--the three-pronged romeo & juliet scenario that is so impossible neither party looks to place the label "love" on what they're feeling. for both men, the laundrette is a ticket out of the middle class that requires 24/7 vigilance (& direct acts of violent oppression, too, we see in Johnny kicking the man asleep on one of the benches). it's like any other act of existing in a higher bracket of privilege than society is ready to afford you. i guess the primary way of reading queerness in this film is that it's the only thing that refuses to reify the nation-state & all of its socioeconomic boundaries, but there's something to be said abt how the coupling inside of queerness creates a space to uphold and build upon these ideals anyway. but i'm not goin in to that folks im just here to talk about a movie
love in this film--like a lot of its other crimes--is casual, uncommented upon. the desire is a little muted. it was strange to watch both this and the handmaiden this week--two movies w/ queer characters that don't depend on the push & pull of will-they-wont-they touches & glances. there are a few great moments of stolen kisses--when Johnny licks Omar's neck secretly in front of his skinhead friends or when the two hold hands before departing a party under the guise of bro-y connection. there's a lot of queer proximity throughout the film, part of it being all of the masculine posturing in Omar's father & uncles taking the form of sexual bragging. but ultimately there is a loudness to everything but the sex in this movie. the first kiss is sudden and confusing for viewers but so is desire, i suppose, especially when it operates against all of the boundaries of the world
we're told Omar's father is a socialist but he's mostly just an asshole with ptsd and alcoholism. the politics of characters are all over the place--pretty indecipherable. everyone's doped out--all bombast & out of character one second and quiet the next. tonally, it's hard to know what this movie wanted me to feel and maybe that's the point. it's a world w/ no good options. we learn that love is either impossible or, simply put, transactional financial security. that hate is a more vibrant unifier and agent of change. that homosexuality isn't even enough of a consideration to be named or spoken of. that laundrettes are hard to run and seem like low return financial ventures yet Omar's trying to get more of them??? the more Omar works on the laundromat, the more he becomes entrenched in and indebted to the ideals of his family. & as the laundromat is the thin veneer under which he may reasonably spend time w/ his lover (all sex becoming workplace tangential), these modes & ideals dictate how he speaks to Johnny. the movie closes abruptly (only 90 minutes), with another tonal shift letting us know everything will be ok but as long as the joy Johnny & Omar experience together happens inside the fucked microcosm of the laundrette, Margaret Thatcher wins. may my 2 cents reign w/ the same ignorant authority.
i finished my beautiful laundrette thirsty for more TV & thought it finally time to put on the newest season of love island. my beloved friend sondy's coworker will be appearing at some point during the season, so i am committed to supporting her in this trying endeavor of keeping up w/ love island--a show that airs 5x a week (a part time job if u will). if u thought the microcosm of a launderette loaded w/ all the chaos of 80s British politics provided a stressful & wild underpinning for complicated love, u r really gonna blow ur top when u hear 2020 COVID fash implosion USA's love island is in fact a Vegas rooftop, overlooking our nation's stalled miniempire of expensive deflated thrills. as devoted readers of my blog know, i recently went to vegas to experience a little love island of my own (a couple thousand ppl vying for the love being exuded from mariah carey's distinguished vocal chords) and since have received about 1400 emails from The Venetian Hotel aggressively advertising their great rates while the world around them burns. temptation island? certainly. but love island no.
in its first episode, love island is a show where people are expected to look at each other and know instantly they have found love. five women stand in a pool of shallow water on a vegas rooftop--a doomsday scenario of sorts--awaiting their five suitors' arrival. women are told to step forward if a man emerges from the "tunnel" (from where? we ask, looking at the bounds of the roof) who they'd like to couple up with, but no one ever does. both parties stand mostly in silence. sometimes the women take a pity step but the men are easily able to choose which woman they find the hottest without their guidance. perhaps the boldest takeaway of the first 20 minutes of love island is that all men--no matter how reality show perfect--are duds. repeatedly the host asks woman contestants why they didn't step forward. small excuses like "he doesn't have facial hair" or "i don't like tattoos" are given in moments of dire panic by a group of women, who, even for how shallow the show wants them to be, join the rest of the world in being unable to picture the perfect or even a lovable man. who are you waiting for? the host asks again and one woman answers "a greek god."
the host gives each man the opportunity to steal someone else's already-claimed girl while the disappointed women's eyes fill w/ panic as the men scan the crowd. no one is safe on love island. i can't help imagining myself--ME--on love island. 5 perfectly chiseled and outgoing men, 5 women w/ disney eyes who can't stop giggling, & me, a cartoon character of a human who has the vivacity of a comfort shoe. one day i will make my reality tv debut, but in the meantime i crawl ever-closer to age 28--a kiss of death 2 my real(ity) youth.
she's back!!!!!
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