Brief movie review: Mystery Men (1999)

Inspired by some fellow journallers who said they were really excited about this film coming out, I went -- hoping, perhaps, that it would at least be funny.  And it was funny.  In spots.  Though we can't remember what it was we laughed at exactly.

However, the Pee-Wee Herman guy has proved that he can continue to be infantile in his humour, and occasionally warrant a laugh or two for it. And Tom Waits is so much less depressed (and depressing) on film than on his albums.   I'd still wait for it to come on television, though, unless you're particularly amused by adolescent bathroom humour. Differing opinions welcome, of course.

I was struck today by how my life has become a roller coaster -- so much activity so that I'm almost always off-balanced, and stretched to and beyond my limits.  And how I've always preferred ferris wheels to rollercoasters, both at the carnival and in life.  So how did I get on the wrong ride? And how do I get off?

Now, roller coasters and ferris wheels share some traits: they both offer a new perspective on the surroundings; both offer high and low views of the surrounding.  Both involve motion.  But there the similarity ends.  Roller coasters involve intensity, excitement, being off-centre.  Ferris wheels follow a predictable course; the motion is slow, the circles are complete, the cycles definable other than by beginning and end.  And one time around does not constitute the whole ride on either -- you have more than one opportunity to see all that the ride has to offer. (No, this doesn't mean  believe in reincarnation, just that the simile struck me.)

When I look at that description, I realize I do not crave the absolute predictability of a ride on the ferris wheel.  But I know that in real life, I would never give up a chance to go on a ferris wheel (going out of my way at least once a year to make it happen).  And I would never  get on a roller coaster. I never have.  Not even when I was small and my dad worked at the carnival, and all my rides were free.  So the roller coaster isn't it -- not at the carnival, and not at life.  Not for me.

Hmmm.  The rides I used to like were the tilt-a-whirl: you went round and round, inducing excitment and sometimes vomiting (not really; it just felt that way), but never really leaving where you started.  The world under you spun, and your little home spun; but your location in the grand scheme of things stayed unchanged.   I'd be on that ride at least two or three times, before I'd give up my entitlement to unlimited rides.

Then there was the scrambler.  Let's see.  A huge machine jumbled around the order and location of the car you were in, and you were thrown around by that motion.  But again, when it all stopped -- there you were. Exactly where you started.  I could ride that one all day, and sometimes did, in the halcyon days when my dad worked at the carnival.

But the ferris wheel.  Now that I would ride.  Again and again.  And again. And again.  In fact, I did all the others first, saving the best to last (as was my wont as a young child), and then stayed on the ferris wheel until my mother made me go home.  All the other kids were so jealous, cuz I got to stay one for still another ride, while there mothers were pulling them away, urging them to take their precious ride tickets to another thrilling ride.

I still don't think there is a ride that explains what I want out of my life, how I want to organize my life so that I can live it the way I want to.   I know the roller coaster isn't it.  Ever.  And sometimes, that is what my life feels like.  But the ferris wheel isn't the perfect answer either; not enough motion and too predictable, even for me.  I suppose once I figure out, I could see whether it could make me a fortune as a carnival ride designer.  Kids do still go on carnival rides, right? They're not all virtual and computer-driven, right?  I need to get myself to a carnival!

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