This was originally posted on Toxic Monday Morning Office Blues, Again
"The mind abhors the cognitive vacuum of effects without causes." - Matthew Schneider (associate professor and past chair of the English and comparative literature department at Chapman University)
"Most things in life, good or bad, they just kind of happen to you." - Uncle Pat (actor Ron Dean in the film Cocktail)
"The mind abhors the cognitive vacuum of effects without causes." - Matthew Schneider (associate professor and past chair of the English and comparative literature department at Chapman University)"Most things in life, good or bad, they just kind of happen to you." - Uncle Pat (actor Ron Dean in the film Cocktail)
In light of recent musings on the nature of remembrance, today we take a look at the nature of creation through my strange fascination with Cocktail.
The autumn of 1996 was the end of a distinct phase in my life. It had begun in 1994. Beginning with heartbreak, my outlook through that time could be described accurately as intermittently hedonistic and acquiescent in equal measure. I had spent the final year in flat that I rented with Cousin J. During that time I was in a cyclical state of debauchery and regret with a seemingly endless roster of short stay and longer stay cast members. It became clear, as the lease was due for renewal that many of the hopes and dreams Cousin J and myself had had for the place were in tatters. In tatters in much the same way as the flats' fittings, furnishings, walls, doors, windows, pets (a story for another time!), fire extinguishers, and plumbing. During these last days, as everyone else had moved out, Cousin S and I found ourselves increasingly isolated and nearing an odd kind of dementia. We were both working part-time in off-licences and bringing home more wine than we should have. This was coupled with trips to see a bloke called "Frank" who lived upstairs, from who we would purchase "Juventus" cigarettes. The walls of the place had slowly been covered in images of our heroes and Cousin S had taken to building tents inside the rooms. And as all around us collapsed like Rome burning, we rooted through what had been left of the various video collections over the previous twelve months. In simple terms, we began watching the film Cocktail every night.
Surely Cocktail is just a shit film – a formulaic adjunct to its own soundtrack? Isn’t it just an extended video to get people to buy old songs repackaged in new CD format by showing blokes throwing bottles around? It is rumoured that even the Cruiser baulked at the script. What with his reputation for artistic integrity? It is also rumoured that, none other than the great Paul Newman told him to lighten up. He allegedly told him that he shouldn’t worry so much about finding work with meaning. And he was spot on. To comprehend something as facile does not necessarily strip it of its value (whereas to impose simplicity on inherently complex ideas or constructs does). Sometimes it’s worthwhile to watch crap, indeed essential. To ignore the countless streams of “product” produced by our society is as bad as limiting yourself to it. Besides, there are plenty of worse films fate could have left us with. One of the main issues is the presence of Tom Cruise. Tom Cruise's characters are by and large deplorable slimy shits. Cruise is the kind of man who is unique in the sence that he appears to be an immensely popular bloke without actually having any friends and no one actually liking him. Due to Brian Flannigan being an uncannily similar kind of chap, one of the first benefits of Cocktail is that it allows honest exploration of this.
The amount of times we watched Cocktail was unparalleled outside the world of Star Trek obsessives and serial killers. And this is when our perception of it changed. It’s true that the first time we view something we do it as mere spectators. After that subsequent viewings are experienced as participatory. We feel a certain level of ownership without having to excerpt any creative energy – an odd womb-like passive participation. This was the basic thinking behind the levels of repetition in the Teletubbies, with their, ‘again, again’ mantra. The side-effect of this was that damaged clubbers also found solace in the show. This is also why adults enjoy collecting DVDs that they can watch over and over again. The level of comfort that can be derived from repeated viewing of an old favourite is such that I find myself choosing DVDs on their potential as sleep aids. So if repeated viewing alters a film’s context, how about constant viewing? Firstly you become aware of the work within its social and historical context. It’s interesting to see how much of a comment on society the disposable pop of the time can be. The previous year Oliver Stone released his scathing comment of capitalism in the Reagan era. Yet upon repeated viewing, Cocktail began to reveal more about the era than Stone ever could. Secondly, and it is important to bear in mind the other factors occurring in our lives at the time, but it soon got to a stage where much of what the original film’s intended narrative became irrelevant. What’s more seemingly insignificant interplays between characters, incongruous facial expressions or oddly delivered lines, even extras – especially extras become the focus. S and I would get excited in the moments before Owen the “stoned” Ambulance Attendant would appear on screen and laconically declare, ‘Brian, we’ve got to hit the road, man.’ There was even a scene in which a vaguely Chinese looking man walks across the screen in a hideous leather jacket and Elvis glasses carrying a cardboard box that garnered invented significance and back-story. Thirdly, and at this point I can only talk for myself, I began to reinterpret the film almost completely.
I began to see the film as an entirely more complex piece whose subtexts are: aspiration is a bad thing, life is essentially meaningless, education is a con, labour is not a necessity, the bourgeoisie and the art establishment are untrustworthy, drinking is great, and love is all you need. From this point it struck me that anything we can imagine can exist, simply because it exists in our imaginations. Our entire universe may only exist in the imagination of another being. It is feasible that it was only imagined momentarily and has been left unchecked by the creator. Hence the inexplicable neglect of our creator and ergo, the oblivious to life's tragedies and human suffering.
The human mind, when faced with fractured or unsound narrative will resort to conspiratorial thinking. Much in the same way that Behind the Music will squeeze every human story regarding to musicians into an identikit framework, my mind found meaning beyond the inane. Often in life we impart meaning on things without significance while ignoring the things in life that have quantifiable value. Because of this, the creator or author of any piece of work that is uncared for has little ownership of how it is interpreted of what it becomes. Cocktail itself was initially imagined by Heywood Gould as a book which he then, probably after reading about Syd Field's trademark paradigm, reinvented it as a screenplay. As luck would have it, I found a used copy of the original book some years later, and it wasn’t such a bed read. The film is hardly recognisable. I’ve read Syd’s book, and one of the main points he tries to get across is that if you whole idea for a film is too complex, just pick a section that’s easy to understand and charmlessly stuff it into his paradigm. It seems Woody used a sledgehammer. Whether Gould intended any of this information to come through in his film becomes immaterial.
