SPECIAL SCREENING

“I’m going to make a demand on you,” the filmmaker said to the viewers. “I’m going to force you to actively watch. The film you see today is not the same as the film that others saw yesterday or that others will see tomorrow. If you were part of the audience yesterday or plan to be part of the audience tomorrow, know that. You are being asked to reorient yourself constantly. There is an important scene in the film of a person sleeping. In some versions, that person is a man, in others a woman. This is connected in my mind to the theory, first articulated to me by Larry, that sleep is the only effective site of resistance to capitalism. It is, despite biology’s attempt to the contrary, a rather pure articulation of community and togetherness. After you watch the film today, I will ask you all to send me videos of yourself sleeping. Some will be incorporated into later versions of the film. And let me anticipate one of your questions. Yes, nudity is fine. I cannot determine for you how you should sleep. And like most other people, I like a little skin. Pause for laughter. Oh, I am sorry. I have that written down: ‘Pause for laughter.’ Let’s take the house lights down and start the film.”

©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas

ON WEEKDAYS ED WAS A LAWYER

On weekends Ed was Easter Valiant, white gown, white wig, quasi-operatic vocals. Each year, in May, he performed one of his mother's albums in its entirety. This year it was her 1973 hit album Gee Golly, which kicked off with the title track, and as he sang the opening line—“There’s no need to be frightened / We know enough to let the light in”—he resented, as he had as a child, the veneer of cheerfulness that characterized the song and the record that followed. As he sang, though, he recognized that it was precisely that quality that had given the album its universal appeal, and he foresuffered the dread he would feel the following year, when he was scheduled to sing Same For Me, her 1975 follow-up, an album of pinched, prideful convolutions that rarely strayed beyond the boundaries of her own diminished talents.

©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas

ELLEN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

Ellen the neighborhood isn’t what you think. Nothing is. But we have to address our memories. You see, Ellen, when we came in here last April we noticed things. We both did but let’s focus on what you noticed or what you told me you did: a pastry shop that had beautiful cakes in the window,  a local theater complex with a mural on the building’s side that transfixed you for its similarity to Joseph Stella’s Brooklyn Bridge. Also when we went to the taco stand down the street, that Asaf Avidan song you like, the only one I know, was playing and you turned to me and just said “love.” I’m not saying that sold me on the place, but it didn’t hurt. We’ve been here six months now and there have been significant alterations to what was previously believed. The theater complex is closed, mural painted over. The taco place disappoints with music choice as often as it satisfied. The pastry shop was never as billed. The daughter of the owner was filming a movie so she put the cakes in the window. They deal, as it turns out, primarily in stale crossaints and decent coffee. A woman who works there treats you shabbily probably because she had a little crush on you at first and was unhappy to see me when I showed up to meet you. You have joked with me that you are planning on leaving me for her. Don’t joke. Why did we ever leave the other place? It wasn’t perfect but it was the same exact distance from perfect as this place, with the benefit of being…what’s the word?….ours. 

©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas