Sunday, April 09, 2006


Oh, you just have to see it, I say to him over and over, so eventually we agree to go on Saturday night.

I check the paper, but there's only one show left in the Savoy, and I prefer going to the cinema in town instead of in a sterile shopping centre populated by people who have forgotten how to imagine.

It's at 8.05pm, and during the day, as I do my thing, I am always checking the clock to make sure we're on time. Other times, one of us will become too comfortable or busy with something else, and then noone sees the film.

After the show and the supermarket, I listen to the Folsom Prison album reading the Guardian magazine. Busy myself cooking, make a banana bread and some soup from bits and pieces of vegetables. And I wait.

At seven, he comes down from his room and we begin to walk in the evening light, passing Mountjoy jail, we wonder whether people find drugs in the grass, and I say I read that the jail was originally a resting place for prisoners on their way to Australia in the 1800s.

Even Parnell Street looks well, basking in golden light, and we're glowing after our walk. It is good to feel that you can walk into town from your home.

The Gresham Hotel looks well, and he nods at the perfect pint through the window. Tickets are bought and the girl urges us to get our seats, 'it's about to sell out' she says. He rushes me upstairs, and when we are seated, in the perfect seats, he says he thinks she said, 'it's about to start'.

A cross-section of Dublin sits in the tiny cinema, where it has been sent for the end of its run. I hear accents from the southside, northside, Poland, India and many other places besides. The sounds run one into the other making a happy sound, relaxed. Mild panic overtakes me, I feel as though we're in a plane, but then I put the feeling aside.

The film begins, and it's different the second time. I wonder what it is about this story that touches me - there's the love, certainly. But more than that, the interpretation Joaquin Phoenix takes of this man's live, his passions, the rage and hurt.

I remember that day a few years ago, listening to Johnny Cash's honest and beautifully sad version of Trent Reznor's 'Hurt' and Gerry Ryan announcing his death bringing tears to my eyes as I drove through town.

Johnny Cash - Joaquin Phoenix - Trent Reznor - each of these and others besides, touch on that struggle. The fine point, knife's edge... the danger within dealing with the reality without.


I love reading you. You help prevent me from forgetting that there are thoughts inside the heads of some of the people I pass each day.
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