I have been processing something for the past two days now, and I tried my best to keep it to myself. No. This needs to be expressed in some fashion for my own sake. I need to put it out there.
This is not going to be edited for readability. You’ve been warned.
So, the story begins with my family getting a brand new TV and a cable connection with it when I was in 8th grade. Up until that point, there was the TV that was older than me, with no remote control and with just two channels. The new TV came to the house when the older one finally gave up. And when you’re getting a new TV, it was the logical choice to get a cable connection too. And it blew my mind, all those channels to flip through. I quickly found my favorites: Discovery, Animal Planet, Star Movies and HBO.
Discovery and Animal Planet for the curious guy in me. It was then that Lord of The Rings would air frequently on HBO, and it blew my mind. I decided that if I were to watch a movie, I’d rather watch Hollywood movies (the initial argument in my head was that I’d rather watch expensive movies, because I’d heard that Hollywood movies cost at least a 100 times more than the most expensive Malayalam movies. How poverty seeps into a kid’s mind).
More than 12 years later, I’m a textbook movie buff. I saw the world outside my country and culture through movies, and I’m pretty sure a great part of my worldview is also influenced by them. I tend to forget my own life events, but not movies and movie makers. I watch all sorts of movies in all kinds of languages. Good movies give me the high that nothing else does. As a science geek, I’d watch all the sci-fi movies I could get my hands on.
Movie tickets were my single biggest expense during my college years, after food. I’ve always been poor, so I defended this spending by not spending much on anything else. Three pairs of jeans, three shirts and two shorts were my entire wardrobe. A new piece of clothing would be bought when one would start falling apart and become unwearable. Oh, and 2 t-shirts too. The argument was that since we were all after happiness in spending our money, I said that my ‘happiness quotient’ for movies were more than my ‘happiness quotient’ for looking good (I hadn’t come across ‘Utility’ back then).
As time went on, my understanding of the movies, and also the obsession of it, grew. I would have gone out and worked to become a filmmaker, if only I had some level of creativity in that direction. A bit more of self-loathing and I could be on my way to become a writer though. Life hasn’t been particularly fun lately, and movies became my mode of escaping the angst of existence, the pain of it.
So, Marvel. For a guy who didn’t grow up reading superhero comics, but would every way qualify as a geek, the Marvel movies were really something. I was a fan.
If I remember correctly, I’ve watched every Marvel movie since Captain America: The First Avenger at a movie theater. With every new Marvel movie, I was even more invested in the world they were building, in awe of it. They were all fun. They didn’t change my life, but they were fun. And I fell in love with the characters, with the stories.
This was one of the biggest movie making projects in history, and I was totally in awe of it. When Infinity War was announced, I told to myself that I’d watch this one in IMAX if there was a possibility for it. And when it was announced that they’re going to shoot the entire movie with IMAX cameras (albeit digital ones), I was psyched, to say the least. This was one thing that I was going to treat myself with.
I was at my home when the movie came out. Dirt poor, unemployed and almost on the verge of accepting defeat. Hating myself for what I am, what I’ve become. When people were celebrating being ‘different’, I just wanted to blend in a bit, to be less of a freak.
But I was looking forward to this one. I’d watch the movie in all its IMAX glory, Thanos would help me transcend myself, and I’d come out the hall a new man.
There were no IMAX screens near me. Bangalore was the nearest one, and it was 500 kms away. Not a problem. I’d catch an overnight train to Bangalore, crash at friends’ place, watch the movie and catch a train back. Around 500 rupees for train tickets one side (around US $ 8), movie ticket for almost the same price. A total expense of around 2000 rupees, or US $ 32. Your next shirt and pants are getting canceled. Not a problem.
Of course, I knew this would be considered crazy by people around me. I mean, they have a point. The guy can’t buy food for himself, and he’s going to travel 500 kms for a freaking movie? I wouldn’t blame anyone who’d call me crazy.
But for me, there was no way around it. The alternative was to not go, of course, but then I’d regret that all my life. I’d regret not seeing that 26% extra footage, not getting transformed into the world like I should be. I mean, heck, I’d probably come out the IMAX screen and complain about not getting the seat next to me which would have marginally improved my viewing experience. That’s how big a perfectionist (asshole) I am. So yeah, I was gonna go.
But the issue was tickets. Almost all the tickets for all the shows at IMAX screens were instantly booked. There were of course a few seats in the front and stuff, but I wasn’t going to sit there to watch this one.
So I got to Bangalore two days early, hoping to book tickets for the morning show on Friday morning, 4th of May. And I did get the best seat for the show.
SPOILERS AHEAD
Spoilers, that one thing that could destroy it all. The one Achilles’ heel. I’d gone almost completely off the grid in the week between 27th April and 4th May. I’d even stopped myself from watching any official trailers, except the first one (I was too weak to resist the temptation on that one).
But the one variable I didn’t count was the place where I was crashing in Bangalore. My friends weren’t too keen on watching the movie in IMAX, so they’d watched it the day before I reached the city. And, spoilers.
Spoilers. It was fun for them. They were having a good time. I pleaded, begged to leave me alone. Told them it was more than a movie for me. Told them to at least consider that I’d spent all this money to get there and watch the movie. No. They were having a laugh. I’d cover my ears and make sounds, but I had to use my hands at some point. I had to do stuff. They’d drop spoilers at random points. I was helpless, but I had this one sliver of hope that they were giving me all the wrong info, just to mess with me.
Again, spoilers ahead if you're still reading this.
But no. They just didn’t get me. It was just a stupid cartoonish movie for them, and they told me everything. When Loki
was dead in the first 5 minutes, I’d known it already, but thought it wouldn’t destroy my experience much. That all the other stuff that they told me were lies. They weren’t.
When the one solid character development was happening with Thanos, when he was shedding tears before throwing Gamorrah off the cliff to get the Soul Stone, I’d known that because my friend had told me that Thanos kills Gamorrah to get the Soul Stone, a soul for the soul. He’d even told me of Red Skull’s appearance. So the only emotion I had when I saw the scene was anger.
The same when the epic battle was being fought in Wakanda. I knew that the last fight was in Wakanda, for Vision. I knew that. And the most hurtful of all, they’d told me who all dies. They told me about Thor’s new hammer, and also that ‘the dwarf from GOT makes Thor a new hammer’. They’d even told me Thanos’ dialogue at the end, ‘you should have aimed for the head’, and the snap. So I knew that. I knew that only Rocket would survive from the Guardians of the Galaxy. That Black Panther would die. That both Vision and the ‘girl with him’ would die.
I knew it all.
They even asked me ‘why are you going to watch the movie now, you know everything that happens’.
A stupid movie and a bit of fun for them, almost ten years of movie build-up and heart-break for me. I felt nothing but numbness at the climax of the movie which blew the whole world’s mind. I bloody knew it all.
I came out the hall empty.
I came out the hall angry.
END OF SPOILERS
I got to their place, packed my bag and told them I’d never visit them again and left (My train was departing that same evening).
They’d called me a few times, I didn’t pick up. I haven't called them back till now.
I’ve been thinking about this whole thing. Did they even get a good high out of ruining my experience? Did they do it because they thought it was just a silly movie? I’d made it very clear that it wasn’t just a movie for me. I had practically begged them.
Or maybe they just couldn’t understand. That different people could value things differently. Maybe they thought that movies for me couldn’t be much further than what movies were for them?
I don’t know. But it’s not just the movie. People should be able to respect someone else’s priorities, no matter how silly it may seem.
I’m sure the whole world would call me downright stupid for going such lengths for a bloody movie, but it gives me some kind of meaning. It gives me the power to fight another day. And that’s more than what most of the stuff in my life can give me.
I don’t know. I’m angry that this was taken away from me, and I’m becoming tired of being angry. I’m not someone who holds a grudge against anyone. But this was a bit too far, a bit too valuable for me to let go.
I would never understand what people experienced when they saw Infinity War. I wanted the best possible experience of a world phenomenon, and went great lengths to get it, and ended up missing it altogether.
Maybe this is the Universe punishing me for having my priorities messed up. For wanting more than what I’m supposed to want. I’m constantly accused of that. Wanting job satisfaction and all that in a third world country and coming from the bottom 20% of the society on top of that. Your job’s supposed to feed stomachs, nothing more. May be, just maybe get to the second level of the pyramid. Self-actualization? That’s reserved for the very few among the first world. I don’t know.
May be all this suffering would amount to something later. Forge meaning and build identity. Yeah. May be Viktor Frankl’s right. You could find meaning through suffering. But, I don’t know. This just feels meaningless now. Like random data points in a self-correcting system. Just a point in the dip in the graph of human history, soon to be forgotten.
May be that kid all those years ago chose wrong. I should have done what everyone around me did. I should have learned something that everyone else learned, got a job that everyone else got, chased a few girls like everyone else, get married, make kids, raise them, and die happily and peacefully.
But. But, but, but, but. I just can’t. It wasn’t a choice. I’ve always had more questions than they had answers. This puny head of mine have always been filled with the grandest of thoughts. If there’s even a slightest probability of something greater, something bigger, shouldn’t I go for it? But I feel weak and tired, too tired to keep this up.
May be I’m supposed to go through all this suffering to harden myself, to be able to achieve something. May be. May be not. May be I’m just plain old stupid. Crazy.
