Screen Rage

Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m somewhat of a technology geek. Look behind the shiny black gloss of my minimalistic audio-visual units and you will see enough wires to hog tie a sumo wrestler and a quantity of multi-plug adapters that would throw a fire warden into the depths of a nervous breakdown.

Sadly, the dream of my dedicated cinema room – a projector powered monstrosity complete with iPhone controlled roller blinds, reverb dampening panelling, reflection reducing wall-coverings and speakers so loud they blow women’s clothes off – was put on hold by a recent lack of moving house (yep, still bitter). Instead, I upgraded my old 42’’ Panasonic Plasma to a 55’’ Samsung D8000 LED. Technically it’s just an LCD display with LED edge lighting – but the marketing machine wants idiot customers to believe it’s a new and improved technology. In fact, it’s not. Colour uniformity is not as strong as my plasma and there is some “banding” on the screen but the contrast and blacks are outstanding. More importantly, it’s really thin and pretty and the only way the missus would let 55’’ of televisiony goodness dominate our living room!

But enough of the geekery. The point I was trying to get to is that I love anything that involves screens. From gaming to sport to Neighbours (the reason Sky+ was invented) to films, I am happiest when my feet are raised and my eyes and ears are filled with audio-visual goodness.

The only problem that this causes me is that I simply now cannot cope with even attempting to go to the cinema. It’s just an infinitely more pleasurable experience in the comfort of my own home.

Deluded cinema chain CEOs and marketing directors claim that despite monumental improvements in the quality of the home cinema equipment and content available to all at an ever depreciating cost, people will keep coming back to the cinema for that “big screen experience”.

Really? What exactly do you mean by “big screen experience”? Perhaps you mean paying vastly inflated ticket prices (dreamed up by your overly zealous private equity investors in an attempt to milk their recently acquired cash-cow) whilst supporting a failing industry that not even the studios care about by buying post-mix Pepsi and god awful popcorn with a gross margin of well upwards of 90%? Or perhaps you mean the “experience” of listening to the local yoof compete to see who can swear the loudest on their mobile in a bastardised attempt at English consistent with their sub-80 IQ endowment?

I realise that the above is just one end of spectrum but the other end is just an infuriating, perhaps even worse. Encircled by a “so different yet so identical” troupe of skinny jean & thick rim glasses wearing rahs with hair exhibiting more volume than even the winner of the previously mentioned swearing contest I can’t help but visualise a Tarantino-esque massacre starring the majority of my neighbouring Shoreditch cinemagoers¹

However, my biggest gripe with the rest of the film watching population has nothing, in fact, to do with the cinema. Instead, one simple sentence can serve to fill me with such rage that the hijinks of the multiplex yoof and the artistic integrity of my East London brethren pale into insignificance. A sentence so powerful that when uttered within earshot leads me to break free from the shackles of my lethargy and desire not to be an opinionated cockbag and rant (often at length) in the direction of its deliverer.

“It’s not as good as the book”

My muscles tense, my teeth grind and my face goes a shade closer to aubergine – and that’s just my reaction to typing those words.

In my opinion very few phrases, actions, concepts or ideologies serve to portray such a damning combination of pretention, flawed logic and an inability to discern opinion (let alone valid opinion) from fact.

To quote my fab fiancée (albeit slightly out of context) “it’s not what you said, it’s the way that you said it”. More specifically it’s why you said it.

So if you ever find yourself about to utter the unthinkable, stop and ask yourself “why am I saying this?”.

For reasons I will come on to:

“because the film is better than the book”

is not a valid reason. Ever. In 100% of cases.

In fact, you are not even really thinking that at all. What you are actually thinking is:

“I believe that society considers books to be a more intelligent pursuit than watching a film and by asking this question I am letting everybody know that I read and am therefore better than them”

If this is in fact what you are thinking, then congratulations, the high-beams of my rage are shining right in your beady little lifeless eyes. In my experience, approximately 99% of you have been thinking this exact thing when delivering the evil phrase in my presence.

A couple of days ago, I experienced the 1% - No, not the 1% we would all love to be a part of, not the 1% the more liberal tax dodgers amongst us decide to protest about rather than working harder with the aim of joining the 1% - the 1% of book advocates devoid of sinister motives (or at least relegating these motives to a secondary “fringe benefit”).

I watched Moneyball. Moneyball is an absolutely brilliant film where a fascinating story (especially to an ex-economist baseball fan like myself) is complemented by superb dialogue and a great performance from Brad Pitt (who despite every fibre in me wanting to dislike through jealousy, I think is brilliant). As soon as the end credits began to roll, I relayed my enjoyment to Twitter, Facebook and via text message to some select recipients. It was by the return of text message that it happened:

“It is awesome, but the book is a lot better (less Brad Pitt and his family moments)”

The next day when I saw the culprit, I sternly asked him to explain his actions. He explained (quite well in fact) that he was purely interested in the story – the details of the historical events that formed the basis of the film and the statistics and maths behind the concept of exploiting market opportunities in baseball to win without an enormous bank roll². The book provided more of these details. Was the book better at providing the information he needed to fulfil his intellectual curiosity? Absolutely. Was the book better than the film? Heck no.

I have been making a mental note of all the people who have told me “it’s not as good as the book” and I am quite tempted to let them know how wrong they are in as unnecessarily public and ass-holish a manner as possible.

Picture the scene, friends cook dinner for two or three other couples. They spend hours preparing everything from scratch, seek out expert advice on the best wine accompaniment and painstakingly prepare the requisite iPod playlist.

The food is fantastic, the conversation witty and erudite, the atmosphere refined yet relaxed – an excellent evening. The hostess asks:

“How was the food?”

“Not as good as a moonlight stroll along a deserted beach”, I reply.

Instantly I become and asshole. More importantly I am completely wrong.

Here lies my point. These two things are completely non-comparable so saying one is better than the other is just stupid. It’s like asking whether Lionel Messi, Matt Kemp, Kobe Bryant, Tiger Woods or Phil Taylor is the best sportsman. Actually, that’s a bad example because in my opinion (notice the correct use of an opinion rather than assertion here) Woods and Taylor take part in hobbies not sports, but the point remains.

When I watch a film, I switch my brain off. I let the sights and sounds communicate the director’s interpretation of a story, usually confined to a 2 hour window. When I (rarely, I must admit) read a book, the onus is on me to paint the pictures in my head from the words on the page, for tens of hours over a number of days. There’s nothing similar about the two activities save that they both involve a story. Saying one is better than other is stupid, it does not make any sense.

So, if you’ve bothered to read this epic, I just ask one thing of you. By all means tell me the book is more detailed, tell me you prefer the pictures you form in your head to what’s on screen, tell me you dislike the fact that the film misses out some plot points. Just don’t tell me the book is better, because you’re wrong.

¹ Ironically, it is exactly this Hollywood style action sequence that would be met by the derision of my Shoreditch compatriots

²He did then go on to try and explain how well read he was on the subject by telling me about how the theory has since been discredited, so the “look how great I am for reading books” agenda was still in the background

Tard Rage - Part 1

Bluntly, lots of things piss me off.

At least 90% of these things are caused by specific individuals (the remaining 10% split between frustrating tasks, my Xbox and the everyday plight of our deteriorating society¹). Of these individuals, I would estimate that at least 75% know of my dissatisfaction with their actions shortly afterwards².

I suppose that the obvious question is “why is 68% of my rage is outwardly and shamelessly invected at specific people?”. I believe, however, that through one particular timeless cinematic moment, a Jack Nicholson quote is worth 1,000 words:

“There are two kinds of angry people in this world: explosive and implosive. Explosive, which is the most common, is the type of individual you see screaming at a grocery store cashier for not taking his coupon. Implosive, the least common, is the cashier at the store who remains quiet at his job day after day until he then finally loses it and just shoots everyone in the store”

Granted, this profound insight was actually delivered to Adam Sandler (or was it Ben Stiller? I’m pretty sure they’re actually the same person) and thus the film itself was, undeniably, terrible but you understand the underlying message and this “better out than in” philosophy was something I strongly advocated throughout my formative years.

However, in evolving from an angry, opinionated teen to the fine, mature, highly successful and wise future leader that you no doubt see when you look at me today, I have learnt that the 75% expression of rage I mentioned previously – or rather the antithesis-ish 25% associated with it – is far more important than I had assumed.

It is at this stage where I would like to give a subtle, yet anonymous, nod to a special friend of mine. This fine specimen has really helped me through some tough times and taught me that the emotional capital, morale and camaraderie that can be built from respecting the 25% is the key to success, and in all serious, happiness.

Actually. Screw anonymity. However, before I shamelessly shed this friend’s disguise, it is worth providing some context around how our paths became so inextricably linked.

In my previously life I was responsible for managing a team of fresh-faced, enthusiastic strategists as we provided advice to a firm of super-sharp, super-demanding private equity investors looking to acquire a well known retailer. Deadlines were tight, stakes were high and client demands (as ever) were completely unreasonable. 6 weeks into the process and morale was waning and temperatures waxing, all exacerbated (man, I really love that word) by the Orwellian monitoring, variable temperament and additional unreasonable demands of our Senior Manager. This person’s processes of logical thought and project management mantra was (whilst generally effective) completely different to anything I had experienced before, or have since³.

My frustrations were mirrored and amplified by the rest of my team and despite dogged attempts to cheer up and motivate the team, it was clear that this was one instance where repression, grinning and bearing would have to win over kicking, screaming and raging.

It was then that I met him.

Like a Wayne Rooney hair transplant, he is almost unrecognisable now from when we first met. Sat unused aside an empty box of Wasabi’s finest sushi was Ragey – expressionless, armless, yet an instant and talismanic symbol of how we the people could prevail against adversity.

Meet Ragey - the Rage Spoon

After a facelift and appendage transplant, Ragey became an icon. The premise was a simple one - only one team member could possess Ragey (the “rage spoon”) and only this person could express anger, frustration or outright rage in the workplace. A formal, verbal request to receive the services of “Ragey” was required for a transfer of guardianship.

I half expected the repressed anger to build up and eventually overflow, but this explosion never materialised. Ragey’s happy-go-luck expression and the privileged knowledge of his existence and symbolism (initially only afforded to the project team) meant all the bottled up tension simply effervesced into nothingness. Unreasonable expectations were met and the pain of the process was (partially) forgotten shortly afterwards.

On the day I left that job, I tearfully bestowed Ragey’s keeping unto a good friend. I am glad to hear that the legacy of the 25% lives on, it certainly does with me.

I realise that I have now written quite a lot regarding the 25%. I had planned to include an example of my recent interactions with the 75%, heralding from my recent experience of the perfect storm of Tardship that resulted in the collapse of my house move. However, the lethargy has set in. So I just added “part 1” to the title instead.

¹ Approximately 66.66% of these reasons are not blatant lies

² Or appearance, odour, presence etc.

³ As an example, when I suggested during our post project review that we hadn’t got the 80:20 balance (i.e. 80% of the result with 20% of the effort) quite right on the project I was informed that the SM “didn’t care if the last 20% takes 5 times as long as the first 80%, we must get 100% of the way there”. Incidentally, this moment was somewhat of a turning point in where I saw my career going. Just to be clear - this person is great fun socially and someone I would consider one of my closer friends and the previous job, we just clashed when it came to working together!