We're in for some Chop!

I watched Aliens in class today and found it unsettling. It's part of the curriculum for a class designed around Literature for Screenwriters, an interesting class if you're in to this kind of thing. We examine the deep roots of some of filmdom's most abundant story-trees, including the Bible and, this week, Beowulf itself. Our movie, like the poem, was long, which I expected, but I am amazed that James Cameron found a soul bold enough to light his creative, albeit disturbing, visions. Aliens left me paranoid and a little paralyzed--i think the physical stiffness is from sitting in our theater-shaped classroom for so long, though. I guess I'm curious because most movies--post-coital--don't leave me feeling this affected. However, my mood can potentially be attributed to this awesome hangover I've got.

Last night's cosmic decree was that I turn twenty-two, so I did. I slept for the entire day and avoided the usual and highly stereotypical means of young-person celebration, which involve a good deal of alcohol, and more alcohol. But then...


...about eleven, we all ventured out to a new pub that's opened just a door down from work. When I say "we" I am of course talking about Karfilov, Beatrice, and I; Beatrice didn't drink, big surprise, and Karfilov had himself a few beers before contacting the owner about a feature for the school paper. In the interim I drank too much, however, and must have been a fright this morning when I stumbled in to Classics ten minutes late, dripping sweat, and probably green. As we talked about Odysseus' pain, his honor, and his trip to the Underworld I made a comparable journey down the hall, and returned some time later with what dignity I could still summon. I hope I didn't smell too much, some of the girls in this class are cute, and one of them remembers me.

I spent the rest of the period nobly wiping snot into my sleeve and trying to look as pathetic as possible. This did not get us out early. I slept all afternoon, maintained a headache through Aliens, and emerged thoroughly mindfucked. Why was this, though? I've seen plenty of violence, gore, and death, I'm quite use to flashing lights and loud noises, and the surge of adrenaline I walked home with was by no means some fear-ridden resistance that undoubtedly laced a few of my classmates' nervous systems. The hangover, then? Or the disturbing brilliance of a one-trick pony at the height of his filmmaking prowess? Could it be Cameron?

I don't think so. When I recognized Corporal Ferro as the dropship pilot from Starcraft, and the dropship itself as the Pelican from Halo, I realized that Aliens has a breadth of influence I've underestimated. And the guys that made those games aren't as creative as I thought. My respect for one has superceded my respect for the others.

I still wanted to play Halo when I got home.


If you have a hangover, I don't recommend Aliens.