Friday, September 30, 2011

i dont even fucking know

Two (more or less*) adjacent montages from 2004's I Downloaded A Ghost

The first, the moment of defeat, when all hope is lost; having just got her father fired, and her ghost-friend condemned to limbo, Ellen Page enters the lowest point of the film. The narrative arc has bottomed out, and we can tell because... she's putting on makeup and a dress.








But, then! She and her friend find evidence of where the BURMESE FELINE has been taken, and know just what to do. The boy asks: So, who is going to fix this situation? The new Stella, or the old? And she doesn't skip a beat; "the old." So they don smocks and power tools and build a fucking house.








So, I did what I do





*Okay, fine, they're split up by a scene where Carlos Alazraqui does a fucking stand-up comedy routine in the bus he was killed by, to try to learn how to haunt it. Fine. Fuck.

1 comment:

  1. "and build a fucking house."

    Or, perhaps more accurately, they build a fucking set, inside of another set; a facade of a haunted house in a facade of suburbia. And there is a strangeness, because just after you've watched them build this Haunted House, of course you enter it; and of course, of course, there could be no other way, the interior of the Haunted House is, impossibly, larger than the interior. What happens in there cannot happen in a space as small as what we see there before this Haunted House is erected.

    This is, perhaps, a stupid thing to say, a meta-ier than thou, positively House of Leaves-esque. But then, couldn't it be said anyway, that perhaps this is exactly where Scream (what is it, 2? 3? I think it's) 3 falls short? When our heroine walks onto the set of whichever Stab film is in production, and it is her street, and she goes in, and there is her house, in full, a perfect simulacrum? Or more serious fare, like Synecdoche, NY, or The Matrix, that insist that proliferating simulacra, of memory, technology, creativity; that these simulacra have quite as much space on the inside and the outside, though flat they may be? Isn't it, though, the real condition of the house, that it is more like set than simulacrum? That it always, whether in lived experience or as financial instrument, takes up much more space within than it could possibly seem to without, from memories both mental and physical, as well as with its long snaking tail of credit, mortgage, security, derivative, so on, so on...

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