Flasz On Film

What would you be prepared to do to live forever, if it were technically possible?
Well, that’s a rather startling opening line. But in recent days and weeks I’ve been asking myself this very question, or at least a derivation thereof.

Having watched the 1986 Highlander specifically, this topic has germinated in my cerebrum as I began to wonder how the fundamental idea of not being able to die only superficially looks intriguing, while in fact it would be a curse. You would have to resign yourself to living in complete solitude because every time you’d form a bond with another being, be it a human or an animal companion, you’d inevitably see them die.

But what if we could modify the concept of immortality into something functional and manageable? What if you could decide on an ongoing basis to keep extending your life for as long as you wish until a time comes when you no longer feel like doing it any more, which would give you a de facto power over your own life and death? And that corollary popped into my mind even more recently, after I had the displeasure of having to sit through a handful of utterly terrible—borderline unwatchable—movies. Iron Lung and Mercy, I’m looking at you.

Even though it comes with the territory—if you want to write about movies, better be prepared to sit through some stinkers—it nevertheless feels sometimes like an utter waste of time. And time is the only real currency we cannot realistically replenish. I can always make more money or find a way to get more stuff, but time is the one thing that relentlessly passes by. I have only a finite maximum amount of time I get to live on this planet and sometimes the two hours it takes to look at a Youtuber-turned-filmmaker turn knobs and dials in an enclosed space feel as though they’ve been brutally shaved off my life expectancy. But what if those two hours you thought you’d never get back could be given to you in return?

I started fantasizing about this concept for no good reason other than it was something to occupy my mind with on my way home when I forgot to charge my wireless earphones and couldn’t listen to a podcast about the Punic Wars instead. I began to wonder if I’d be willing to agree to some kind of a Faustian pact with a weirdo genie (who most assuredly would be in charge of this magical affair) where the time spent watching a movie I ended up disliking wouldn’t count towards my total predicted life expectancy. What bothers me isn’t bad movies so much as the knowledge that I chose them.

Therefore, it wouldn’t technically be a waste of time. The two hours thrown away on the occasion of recently having to sit through Iron Lung and another ninety spent watching Chris Pratt watch a terrible choose-your-own-adventure movie in Mercy would simply not count. I didn’t think about the mechanics underpinning this phenomenon. I’m not sure if I’d just not age in that time or if I’d be refunded the time later on, which would be appended to the tail end of my life. I’d probably prefer not to age, because it puts less strain on the need to stay healthy and fit and I’m under enough pressure as it is. But then again, how would the universe know not to age me if I haven’t yet decided that I dislike the movie—or whether my dislike was already decided for me?

But to avoid getting even further into the weeds of this, let’s just assume that it doesn’t matter. You don’t get to waste however much time it took you to watch a terrible movie. And you don’t get to cheat either. It would only work if you genuinely detested the experience. Would you then, knowing that there is no downside, decide to watch more movies that you are more likely to dislike? Would you even adapt as you go along to dislike more movies and become a harsher critic, perhaps completely (or partially) unwittingly, as a kind of life-finds-a-way drive for survival?

I don’t know the answer to this. It’s possible that I’d become a bit more risky in my movie-watching choices because sometimes it is a factor in my decision-making after all. I only have so much time and I occasionally choose to avoid movies I feel I wouldn’t like at all. And ironically enough, I’m writing these words only days before Emerald Fennell’s adaptation of Wuthering Heights is about to open in cinemas. I’ve so far viscerally rejected all her other films (Promising Young Woman and Saltburn) and I’m not too keen on going out to see her new movie either. I still might. Again, comes with the job. But I am seriously weighing my options here because it’s highly probable that the time I spend watching Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi in period costumes would be better spent doing literally anything else. But if the time spent watching it never counted towards my lifespan, I might as well bite the bullet, watch more terrible movies and also do something else later. And then I’d get to write about these terrible movies too. Though, I expect that pouring raw sewage on increasing numbers of movies would become a chore rather quickly. In fact, it is already rather unpleasant on most occasions. There are exceptions, but the point stands.

All in all, I might as well either fade to black or abruptly change the subject to discombobulate whoever is unfortunate to have read this far. Or just get off the pot and admit that I’d be quite excited to feel as though I wasn’t wasting my time watching bad movies. Maybe a downstream side effect of it all would be that I’d end up watching more great films because the risk factor would be effectively nullified? Which then makes me think that I might as well behave as though there was no penalty to spending time watching awful films because the potential upside of finding a film that I didn’t know I’d like definitely outweighs any such risks. And somehow I have rationalized my way into buying a ticket to see Wuthering Heights this coming weekend because there is a non-zero probability that I wouldn’t hate it.

“Is There a Column in This?” is a series in which I stare at one of my intrusive thoughts until I find a way to write 800 words on the matter, if only to prove that it is possible.