Phallusie fallacy

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I
have
come, or
came across
one time a poem
about a swan. A shitty
poem to my mind
missing a point
a quite salient
point I thought,
a point I shall
reiterate right
here for you my
erstwhile chums
so here it comes:
poetry is only ever
real to me when it
reflects its spoken
origins: The music
and the sound of it
are both what make
a poem a poem- you
see? In short, some
words chosen quite
arbitrarily for their
typographical shape
:either to help a poet
describe the curve of
a majestic Cygnus on
a lake, or some bloody
Giraffe, or any other of
the many things you see
In nature with a general
profile that isn't difficult
to recognize, with a long
vertical section that maybe
also lends itself to this cheap and
pathetic dull trick that has about as much true lyricism
real musicality...creativity and charm as my...love truncheon
Spitting & spewing..man-goo in a crudely-drawn..and frankly crap
doodle on a toilet wall somewhere. Somewhere as horrible and unsanitary and
as frankly revolting as I found this poem 'about a swan', 'in the shape of a swan'
to be. Now, when you combine, as sets, the amount of people who are incensed by a
'poem-in-a-shape' with the amount of people who read this blog then the final subset
you are left with is a small set indeed; in truth, I don't think anybody really cares and
who knows? perhaps there are even those who would be more offended by a typographical
phallus in their browser than are offended by the sight of a a poem in the shape of a swan
Anyway, I think I can say that I've made my point,- Poetry is for sounds and visual art is for
shapes and now there is nowt left for me to do... perhaps waffle on about nothing especially
interesting or important until I fill up the sac....seem to be getting away with it, of course
why shouldn't I? Really it just makes sense........The conclusion is 'just a load of balls'!-as it
should be, frankly there is somethin'............something perfect about that in my
estimation: -it fits so well....................I can only describe it as
poetic............................................... justice.

A Pock Sonnet

A sonnet's hard to write; you will agree.
This clunky effort's evidence enough.
That 'Sonnettie' construction's not for me.
For Sonnettry's an Art what I find tough.
The words don't seem to fit, or sit, quite right.
The rhymes feel over-laboured, to the ear.
To call a spade, a spade,— this poem is shite.
No, Sonnet-writing shan't be my career.
The style, the sound, the metre and the tone.
-They almost work; but in the end they fail.
In truth, I've not done anything, but shown,
scant grasp of what true Sonnetry entails,

But if I had the skills I would impart,
A sonnet that would break your fucking heart.

Hazey recollection.

I was just on the radio* talkin' about "funny stories from your childhood"

*Limerick's live 95fm... Check me out; I'm Mr Showbiz, me.

I didn't get to say this one on air but it's my fave so I thought I'd throw it up here. I still remember, quite vividly, being walked to school through thick fog for the first time and being absolutely freaked by it. "What's happening Mammy? Why can't I see?" "It's fog. Don't worry about it. C'mon" "What's fog?" "Fog is when God gets up late in the morning and he doesn't have time to make the world properly — so he just makes the small bit that you are in so you can walk to school in it; he'll fill the rest in later on and it'll be grand, now c'mon." Now I'm a grown up person like as what understands perfectly what fog is,— but to this day every foggy morning takes me back to that magical afternoon that I spent, spellbound: — earnestly looking out the window of Holy Trinity National School, watching HolyGod fill in the details after a late start, and wondering what it was that kept him up so late the night before.

Thanks Hazel. I miss you every day.


And most of all on foggy mornings.

More blatant purloining

Having had Dawkins write the last post for me, I realised that I might get away with a bit of the old 'well-written-content-created-by-someone-other-than-myself' a second time, and so, I present to your weary web-worn opticals, my favourite post from another blog; 'Chant of the Barbie Dolls'. Do check it out if you're down that way.

Quod Erat Demonstrandum

Descending the lift from work the other day, I noticed a guy get on carrying a book. As you do, I glanced down to scan the title and was instantly intrigued: "How to win every argument". It's rather an out of character thing for me to do, but I couldn't help myself spontaneously opine to the guy, whom I didn't know, since we were otherwise bereft of company for the duration of the trip, "That's fundamentally a pretty dishonest book isn't it?". He seemed puzzled but said "Well, actually it's really interesting, I'm finding it really useful. But why would you say it's dishonest?".

"Well", I replied, "you can't always justifiably win every argument since you can't always be right, can you?". He pondered this for a while, as the doors pinged and we reached the ground floor. Then he said as we went our separate ways, somewhat wistfully I thought: "You can't always be wrong either though can you?".

As I descended the escalator to the tube I pondered this: "Hmmm. Stalemate", I reasoned.

So much for the book.


That blog again:
'Chant of the Barbie Dolls'.

Ratified Rhyming (a true story)

I have lamb on the pan,
and a rat out my back,
Questions rumble,
around,
in my mind.

Is this one simple meal,
causing torment unreal,
to that rat?
are my actions,
unkind?

Is his rat-mind in hell?
Does that lamb-burger smell
make him want,
to break down,
my back door?

Does he watch from his lair,
With an envious stare,
In his mind,
does he let,
a Rat-Roar?

Does the smell of the meat
make his rat-stomach leap?
(Rodents eat,
very often,
I've read).

I should purchase a trap:
kill that rat with a snap,
Or perhaps,
I should feed him,
instead.

No! the feeding of rats,
is proscribed in these parts,
"Rats are vermin,
Not creatures,
for pettin'"

This rat-tails' at an end,
We can never be friends.


Is it callous,
that I'm,
after gettin'?

This is exactly how naive I am.

I'm sure it has been pointed out before, by clever folk who notice such things- that 'the accessible philosopher of today is the stand-up comedian'; and that comedy shows in general,(the good ones,) often illustrate better than anyone else the underlying reality of things.
I'm drawing down from two Golden sources of just this type of brilliance to explain my own current dilemma: the Simpsons and South park.

My dilemma is one I always face around election time; but as I occupy a similar political niche to the 'Dude' in 'The Big Lebowsky',(i.e.'Somebody the square community doesn't give a shit about'* )I normally wouldn't bother sharing it.

*-and by that I just mean that no political stragetist worth his salt is going to advise his candidate to spend any of his precious campaign-time securing the 'penniless-single-failed-dramatist' vote.

But this time it's different. First of all, this time I am half-way through an eighty-year olds' life-span, which is pretty grim when you think about it,(and I do). And, looking at the effect that all my previous votes have had upon politics in this country, it's hard not to feel that there isn't really any point in taking part in this charade any longer.

But, then again, this time is different for other reasons: this is one election where I feel that I share my dilemma with many more people than usual. And what dilemma is that?- Well this is where the Simpsons and South Park come in.


The Simpsons were probably specifically addressing the American two-party presidential race when they had their evil aliens both run as either the Democratic or the Republican candidate,- and thereby taking advantage of the fact that nobody ever considers a third option.

I'm sure that you get where we're going with this.

The Simpsons did it first, but, (to me,) South park did it better when the school had an election to choose a new Mascot for their team and Stan couldn't see the point in taking part in any democratic process which offered him the choice between a 'Giant Douche' or a 'Turd Sandwich'.



I have been dealing with this choice my whole democratic life. But I live in a country where people seem to inherit their election preferences genetically and politicians run 'Clinics' where they behave as if they have been personally responsible for everything their 'clients' receive by right as Irish Citizens.

As the Americans say: "It's the economy stupid" and any bunch of gangsters would continue to be the nations darlings so long as everyone had cash in their pockets. But this time 'round it's different. This time 'round, I'm not alone in thinking: "These are not the people we want making decisions that affect our future". My dilemma is, 'I'm just gosh darn it plum sick to ma teeth of havin' a vote that don't matter none and I'll vote for anybody halfway good who has a ghost's chance of getting in' but I cannot see that person on the ballot.

The Nordic countries seem to work fine to me. Who wants to do that to Ireland? Who wants a good balance between taxation and services? Who wants lower crime? More money for education and bottle-banks inside the shops that work like cash-machines and not only 'wash and return' ('instead of smash and remould') - but also pay you for doing it? Who wants broadband as a right? Who wants good libraries everywhere?
Who wants fines set not by amount but as a percentage of the guilty person's income?

Anybody who wants to do that to Ireland, you have my vote. I don't care what your Granda did in the Civil War, I don't care whether you can get me a medical card no questions asked, I don't care if you want to sell Leitrim to the Japanese or invade the Isle of Man: this is what I want for my home country. Make a commitment to that and I will vote for you.

And that's an election promise.

Down in the woods.

I'm feeling a bit like the poor man's Emily Dickenson today.
I do apologise. Anyway;- d'jever have one of those dreams where you're in an enormous north european forest?...and you know that night is falling....and you're lost and off the path, and fear is driving you forward a little bit faster than you know is safe and you're almost bracing yourself for the sound of your ankle breaking....

No?


Oh it must be just me then:

Scramble on, blind from sweat, or blind from tears,

‘Twill make no difference if you break your neck,

and smash your body, break and rend and wreck,

your twisted form, to lie frozen for years,

in this dark place of silence; no thing nears,

and no-body will come this deep to check,

if pain or perspiration cleft your trek,

and made you stumble here among these firs,

and lie out broken on the boulders white,

bare bones that mark the glacier's torn road,

The headstones of an ancient cemetery.

No. Wipe your eyes, for you are losing light.

and can’t look back to see the night erode,

the fading blossom from the Cherry tree.

Easily suede.

Can you imagine if there had never been Elvis?

Do you believe that agoraphobics would suffer less in solitary confinement?- or more?

Have you ever dreamt of Jeannie?

Does Elvis strike you as a magnificent, or tragic figure?

If you were confined inside a bottle for a thousand years and then one day you were liberated and could grant a wish to the person who freed you, and the wish that they asked you for, was to speak and understand a language, that they didn't know, absolutely fluently, and you said "yes no problem,- what language is it?"
and if they replied "Irish",
- would you consider it a bit of a waste of a wish?

Do you think that if Elvis had not been around to be Elvis, that someone else might have gotten the job?

Do you believe that the language used to express a thought changes it?

Do you believe that in a universe devoid of Elvis, Marylin Monroe or James Dean that the walls of Abra-kebabras would be adorned with representations of other icons of the era or do you think that there would be people you've never heard of on those walls:
stars that 'didn't make it' to take their place?

Do think Elton John's a bit crap?

Do you think any of his songs would be improved by translation into Irish?

If you were confined inside a bottle for a thousand years and then one day you were liberated and could grant a wish to the person who freed you, and that person was Elvis, and the wish that Elvis asked you for, was to live a normal life free from the constraints of fame and success, would you consider it a good or a bad thing?

If upon granting that wish, you no longer had to be a Genie and could now walk the earth, and you decided to spend your first night at the first gig of the 'no-fame or success' Elvis, and you went there, and he played and sang beautifully to a room of people that kept talking and completely ignored him; would you find that sad or smile and think 'job well-done'?

Do you see what I'm trying to do?

Do you think that buildings become especially beautiful as they are destroyed by fire?

Do you think a song of sadness would sound more, or less poignant if sung by an Elvis that nobody but you could hear?


Do you think that this is how Irish songs sound to those who speak Irish?


Can you tell what I've been reading recently?

Did you enjoy it yourself?

Welcome to the Garbagerie...follow the happy feet.

I have always believed that there has to be a way. There has to be a better way, there is, there has to be, surely, some sort of approach. I mean at least until I’m made Emperor of all the land and am placed in a position of absolute power, (with many wise and trusted advisors at my disposal mind you). There has to be some way some approach to living life that is ‘right’; some small way at whittling down some tiny piece of the Universe into a better thing than it would’ve been otherwise. My bit. Where shall I begin with this? It’s a difficult thing to explain to anyone who wasn’t around for it, but back 30 years ago, when I were a gorsoon, the whole idea of Nuclear War really felt like a ‘when’ rather than an ‘if’. There was 'two tribes' and 'If the russians love their children too' films like:'the day after', 'when the wind blows' and 'bomb threads'. It weighed heavier on the consciousness of some kids more than others obviously and an interest in Science Fiction didn’t help; so many stories began in the aftermath of a nuclear apocalypse ('a dog and his boy''mad max''damnation alley') that it started to simply be more or less a given. And you can see why it was a popular genre -the apocalypse is a great thing for the story maker because you just take the world that you know and the people you know and ask a big ‘what if?’ and take it from there. Pretty cheap to film too, it makes it possible to set your western in a dump. It's kind of a depressing view to be taking in all the time as a kid though. While I may have believed in the possibility of global catastrophe as a given; I have still always believed that there had to be a way to avoid it. The apocalypse hasn’t gone away of course and these days it’s environmental, but it’s still there in fillums and books and comics and what have you, and it’s still inside my head. I believe in it, I suppose, it’s in there deep. It definitely affects the way that I feel about my bit. It’s not that honestly think that next week the world as we know it will collapse in some instantaneous natural disaster but, I dunno…all this waste is piling up so quickly. Those photos from space of all the detritus we've left up there over the past 50 years only.... there has always seemed an element of madness to the ‘work-and-buy-and-consume-and-die’ template of life that society in general and television in particular seemed to be telling me was the whole point of existence. And also, it seems to be getting worse. People talk about raising 'awareness' but back when I was less aware, the problems hadn't become so acute,- for example: Before I ever realised that i 'ought to'; I used to buy fair-trade sugar. Grown by farmers who made a decent wage and were not the pawns of enormous multinational corporations exploiting unjust economic arrangements with weaker countries to the point of slavery: it was called ‘Siucra’, and it was made locally and you can’t get it anymore. You can get something in the distinctive purple and white package that’s called ‘Siucra’ but that’s only because enormous multinational corporations exploiting unjust economic arrangements with weaker countries to the point of slavery recognise a trusted brand when they see one. To buy fair-trade sugar now, I have to pay extra, get less and have it shipped from half-way across the world. There’s a lot of these kind of things, ‘dissappearing world’- old git type complaints really, that I’ve witnessed in my life and continue to witness and that depress me. The policy of ‘planned obsolesence’ in manufacturing for example seems to me to be an actual intentional crime against the future. It makes absolutely perfect sense economically to create irreparable products with a limited life-span, the fact that this is a shocking waste matters not. The factory needs orders like the body needs food. The waste product is 'the product'. In buying this product the consumer not only hands over their capital but also takes upon themselves responsibility for the waste. There is no reason in the world, from the factory’s point of view, to make a repairable long-lasting machine. It’s counter-productive to the factories aims (and the company's survival) to do so. Looking after my bit will never change this. I feel that exercising my right as a consumer to choose more sustainable products e.t.c. only turns that desire 'to do the right thing' into a commodity itself. One example: Recently, I bought a torch, (I say recently I actually bought it for the Electric Picnic) it was about three times more expensive than a normal torch because it wound up and not only didn’t need batteries but could charge my phone. I don’t get to splash out often on, what was for me, a frivolous ‘boy-toy’ so I was only delighted with meself. It could charge any phone*. (*Any phone; how? It could charge any phone because all phones charge the same they just have bizarrely different sized and shaped attachments so that you have to buy a different charger for each different type of phone. There is no godly reason for this except economics). I had splashed out. On a torch, that I couldn’t afford, but that I felt in some way represented my attitude to a society built on constant consumerism. I needn’t tell you that it took all of ten seconds for someone to point out to me that the many plastic moving parts required to make it work were not manufactured with either longevity or repairs in mind and I had simply been another 'consumer-sucker' fooled into buying a piece of straight-to-bin-tat having been fully convinced that it represented some aspect of my personality and ‘aspired to’ lifestyle. Looking after your own bit is a lie. I think that I’m going to have to stop whittling. I think I’m going to have to abandon my own personal feeble attempts at staving off the apocalypse and just accept that actually sorting this stuff is not an individuals job, it’s a governments job, it’s a global governments job. And even if I could magically grant tomorrow to each person a global right to vote for a global government to solve these problems no global population would vote that global government into power. And if i could, and if they did, global business would not allow it to exist five minutes. And I thought the idea of nuclear war was depressing.

post haste

Okay, I have been drinkinanidge, and it's not a good ideato be abloggin' at this late hour: but I've been thinkinanidge, on my long walk back from Bentley's,- about how best to explain things about a child-centered and over-analysed science-fiction film series as I see it:

and I have this to say:

In terms of creating a good story, full of elements that serve to enhance it and make it interesting, and then returning to that story and trying to pretend that the elements of the origonal story were part of some 'bigger picture' that you had in your mind all along and that those elements had some other function apart from making the origonal film cool:

StarWars prequels = HighlanderII












StarWars prequels=HighlanderII

remember that people

images stolen from b3ta

When Fembots Dream of Electric McGuffins:original

Okay folk, first download this mp3 and while you're doing that, I'll explain:


I'm trying something different today; having sworn off flesh and blood women, for obvious reasons;- I took a couple of food-pills, hopped into my flying car, and went out and bought myself a couple of sexbots, (why not? after all this is 2011).

They're working out so well, in fact, that I have even let them write the blog:
So, without further eloquence; todays' 'Things and also Stuff' was inspired by the fembots' horror when they heard R2D2 described as a 'McGuffin' on the commentary of the Star Wars DVD.

You can listen to their version or read my version, but I recommend you do both at the same time

When Fembots dream of Electric McGuffins

'Sense and Sensibility' is a meaningless title, it just more or less means the same thing twice. This was not always so.

It seems to be that 'Sensibility' used to mean something more akin to 'Sensitivity' and vice versa.*, so the title of the Jane Austen novel: 'Sense and Sensibility' would be more readily comprehensible in modern English if it were re-named 'Sense and Sensitivity'.( One sister is all prudent and careful-like: 'Sense', and the other is all about emotions feelings: 'Sensitivity').

Why and how the words 'Sensible' and 'Sensitive' so dramatically changed meanings since the 1800's ,I have no idea. But they definitely did, and they retain their original meaning in their French, Spanish and Italian counterparts; leading to occasional confusion.*

I'm only bringing it up today to demonstrate that I am aware that words can dramatically change their meaning over a fairly short period of time.

So, you may ask; if I can accept that language is organic and fluid, and that words change meaning over time; can I ever accuse anyone of using a word 'incorrectly',- simply because they attribute a different meaning to it than the one that I have assigned?

Yep. I think I can.

I mean, I think dictionaries are there for a reason: it's all well and good for language to develop, but I do think we should take some pains to slow down this process.
We should slow it down as much as possible so that language maintains it's comprehensibility for as long as it concievably can. We should resist the temptation to happily bounce along tolerating lazy writing, just because it feels less formal.

Don'tcha think?

Getting back to Jane Austen again, isn't it wonderful that we can read something as bitchy and as perfect as:

"Elinor agreed with it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition."

and understand it perfectly?

So I wish today to discuss the sad corruption of one the loveliest elements in the modern story makers' jargon; the 'McGuffin'( corrupted and abused by such greats as George Lucas and Harrison Ford, no less).

We all know what a McGuffin is, right?
Well at least we've all heard of one ,No?
Well at least the term is half-way familiar, Yes?

Oh sod it.

Okay books and films and plays and comics have stories, and, as well as 'lost love' and 'personal relationships' and 'punishment from the gods for saying or doing something silly in the first act', sometimes stories have 'McGuffins'.


The McGuffin is the name for a story element coined by Alfred Hitchcock, the importance of the McGuffin lies usually in its' perceived importance; a McGuffin is... a McGuffin should be....ummm ...er... they get the figs and they get the dough and they kind of....

Oh never mind: here's a couple of definitions culled from the electric tube omni-brain we call the web:

"a plot element that catches the viewers' attention or drives the plot of a work of fiction"
^ MacGuffin, Princeton University, WordNet 3.0


" a device or plot element that catches the viewer’s attention or drives the plot. It is generally something that every character is concerned with."
^http://www.essortment.com/all/alfredhitchcoc_rvhd.htm



"a term for a PlotEnablingDevice, i.e., a device or plot element in a movie that is deliberately placed to catch the viewer's attention and/or drive the logic of the plot, but which actually serves no further purpose - it won't pop up again later, it won't explain the ending, it won't actually do anything except possibly distract you while you try to figure out its significance. More specifically, it is usually a mysterious package or superweapon or something that everyone in the story is chasing."
^http://c2.com/cgi/wiki?McGuffin

Main Entry: McGuffin
Part of Speech: n
Definition: in film, a plot device that has no specific meaning or purpose other than to advance the story; any situation that motivates the action of a film either artificially or substantively; also written MacGuffin
Etymology: Alfred Hitchcock's term, based on a story where this device was used in a story set on a Scottish train
^Dictionary.com's 21st Century Lexicon


I could get more but I'm sure that basically you get it by now.I'm also sure that you've noticed that definitions of this word fall into two types: a general one and a specific one, and that these differ on one important point,i.e. is a McGuffin a catch-all term for all plot devices such as diamonds, the microfilm, unobtainium e.t.c.? - or does it only refer to things which seem important but never are?In other words; to qualify for true Mcguffin status, must they invariably transpire to be not as important as they seemed?

A dictionary will not help us here, because the fact is this is contested ground. Hitchcock invented the word, but he did not give it a specific definition.

He said:

"It might be a Scottish name, taken from a story about two men in a train. One man says "What's that package up there in the baggage rack?", and the other answers "Oh that's a McGuffin". The first one asks "What's a McGuffin?". "Well", the other man says, "It's an apparatus for trapping lions in the Scottish Highlands". The first man says "But there are no lions in the Scottish Highlands", and the other one answers "Well, then that's no McGuffin!".

So you see, a McGuffin is nothing at all..."

Oh Hitch, you lovable old wind-bag. Only you could be so maddeningly enigmatic and so completely specific at the same time. Don't give us such a great word and such a central term to your whole philosophy of storytelling and then tell us that it means nothing at all! Unless...

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what I believe to be of paramount importance in this anecdote, is the setting. Why? I ask you, did Alfred set his illustrative parable on board a train? Perhaps you feel that it's for no other reason than that's as good a place as any for strangers to discuss luggage. You may be right.

I do not concur.
Let us listen to the evidence again and consider the setting and the interchange in situ:

"It might be a Scottish name, taken from a story about two men in a train. One man says "What's that package up there in the baggage rack?", and the other answers "Oh that's a McGuffin".

Clackety-clack, Clackety-clack, Clackety-clack, Clackety-clack,Clackety-clack,...

The first one asks "What's a McGuffin?". "Well", the other man says, "It's an apparatus for trapping lions in the Scottish Highlands".


Clackety-clack, Clackety-clack, Clackety-clack, Clackety-clack,...



The first man says "But there are no lions in the Scottish Highlands",
and the other one answers

Clackety-clack,Clackety-clack,Clackety-clack,

"Well, then:

Clackety-clack,Clackety-clack,

that's no McGuffin!"

Clackety-clack, Clackety-clack, Clackety-clack, Clackety-clack,...

Whistle and steam

The train enters a tunnel and the carraige is plunged into darkness.

When it emerges back into the light, the scotsman, his mysterious package and his interrogative companion are nowhere to be seen: in their stead, a portly middle aged man in a black suit with a large bow fiddle case. He undoes the clasps on the case and opens it revealing... nothing. Not even a bow fiddle. He turns, looks directly into the camera and with a dead-pan expression says:

"So you see, a McGuffin is nothing at all..."

Okay so I overdid it on the end bit, so really just consider the MacGuffin as far as the tunnel. From the time that our Caledonian traveller places his strange parcel on the rack it becomes the focus of the story.
We are then told a name and we get to wonder what the name means.
We anticipate new knowledge, and not until we hit that tunnel are we aware that we've simply met a Scotsman who has a roundabout way of telling people to mind their own business.

It matters not a jot.

Why? Because simply speculating on the elusive McGuffin has already taken us miles into our journey.

That, as I see it, is the true nature of the Hitchcockian McGuffin. To simply lend an interest and focus as the story begins; simply to get us past those first few train stations,and suburbs and deep into unknown territory.

With this in mind as a McGuffin we can see what a perfect example we have in Psycho. A woman steals money and skips town. The audience wonder:'Will she get away with it?', 'Will she just bring it back?','Will she get caught?', nobody wonders 'Will she get chopped up in the bathroom by a lunatic transvestite when she's taking a shower?'
This is because we are every bit as distracted by the McGuffin, as the traveller was intrigued by the parcel.

It's like telling someone to pay specific attention to the fact that 'T.S. Eliot' is an anagram of 'toilets', and that when T.S. Eliot described the the ‘meaning’ of a poem - he compared it to a bone thrown by a burglar to distract the watchdog of the mind while the poem goes about its own, deeper business: he was describing his version of a McGuffin and the anagram of his name is of no importance.

I hope I have gone someway to illustrate the McGuffin as I interpret it and why I believe it is erroneous of George Lucas to describe the plans for the Death Star as a McGuffin.

And why neither 'the Ark' nor 'the crystal skull' nor the 'holy grail's is a McGuffins no matter what Harrison Ford claims.

Hitchcock left us with a parable, not a definition, so the borders of McGuffindom are hard to patrol; between 'diamonds', 'rosebud', 'secret formulae' and 'letters of transit' there are a lot of maybes and few 'pure' examples of what he was getting at, but one thing I am sure of:

Death Star plans aint it. Whatever the man on the train was up to, he wasn't looking for Ould Ben Kenobi.

It can be argued that McGuffin has been so widely mis-used for so long that the word no longer actually means what it meant and that it has now gone the way of 'sensibility'.

If this is true, I can think of nothing more tragic:
The McGuffin gone: the loss of a great word, from a great man, for a great concept


and a victory to ignorant indifference.

Maltese Falcon part five

THE THRILLING CLIMAX OF 'THE MALTESE FALCON MAY BE ALREADY TAKEN':

FOUR: (to five) How y’getting on?

FIVE: What? yeah, I’m just…you’ve taken it into some strange areas.
I don’t know what it is your tryin to say…

FOUR: Finish it. Let me know what you think of the endin’

(pause)

THREE: Okay not a play, but Leo Colgan right? He had a great idea for performance art…

ONE: Performance art is called Live art now they changed it.

THREE: Yeah?

ONE: Yeah like Windscale to Sellafeild.

THREE: What’s windscale?

ONE: Sellafeild is Windscale.

THREE: What’s Sellafeild then?

ONE: Look never mind, go on with your story.

THREE: Okay! Leo Colgan Right this was his idea:, you come out. No wait, there’s a flame like a candle or a bottle of gas or anyway there’s a ‘pilot’ flame.

ONE: Yeah

THREE: And then this guy comes out on all fours right? And he’s totally naked with one candle say there, in between his fingers and another candle sticking out of his hole. And he lights the candle out his hole and then he turns around and he lights the one in his hand and says, y’know like ‘Groucho Marx’: "Who says you cant burn the candle at both ends?" and then he waddles off.

FOUR: Genius.

ONE: And what’s that got to do with anything?

THREE: I’m just sayin’

TWO: Tell-you-what? Do you have any black insulation tape?

FOUR: I’ve some in the kitchen why?

TWO: Where? Can I have a bit?

FOUR: Sure one second (he gets up) Why?

TWO:( standing)No tell me where it is, I’ll get it.
(five takes out a pen and starts making notes)

FOUR:Okay I think there’s some in the tool box- What d’you want it for?

TWO: Yeah, in the toolbox yeah?

FOUR: There’s some in the toolbox, in the top of it, and the toolbox is in the red press.

TWO: (leaving)In the red press in the kitchen?

FOUR: Yeah but c’mere…

ONE: Leave’em off.

FOUR:(to five:) Whaddya doin’?
FIVE: Give us a minute.(pause)

FOUR: Wine anyone?

THREE: How are we for more?

FOUR: I think I should have one more hang on…(moves toward kitchen)

TWO: You can’t come in!

FOUR: What?

TWO: No please. One second. I’ll be out one second only you can’t come in…

THREE: What’s happenin?

FOUR: I dunno.

ONE: Loo-lah. (pause)

FOUR: Look, can I go into me own Kitchen please, we need wine here.

TWO: ONE SECOND!

FOUR: I liked that Leo Colgan thing.

ONE: (to three)You should do it!

THREE: Ah no it’s his thing, besides it’s a lot of trouble to go to for one gag. Plus.

ONE: Nudity

THREE: indeed. plus

FOUR: Plus hot candle wax dribbling down your nether regions.

THREE: Zactly.

ONE:(taking out a fag and pointing it) Here’s one thing y’don’t see

FOUR: What?

ONE: In plays nowadays. You should put a fag in it.

FOUR: What like a fag fag?

ONE: Hear me out.

THREE: As a character?

ONE: No for smokin’

THREE: I think it’s been done.

ONE: OR HAS IT?

THREE: No. I think the ground-breaking innovation of a smokin’fag in a play is a bit of a convention by this stage.

ONE: OR IS IT?

THREE: Are you just gonna keep doing that?

ONE: No hear me out. It’s against the law.

THREE: It’s against the law.

ONE: Yes it is, OR IS IT?

THREE: Stop. Just stop.

ONE: What I mean is, what happens nowadays… no honestly…what happens nowadays if you go and see a play and there’s a bit where someone is havin’ a fag?

FIVE: I dunno they have a fag. What’s the point?

ONE: When someone has a fag, when someone had a fag in the beforetimes YES! and I agree right enough but in the nowtime they wont do it. They wont do it because the law, you see so instead they have these- what do they make them out of? really really really horrible stinky herbal things.

THREE: oh yeah.

FOUR: oh yeah they’re rotten.

ONE: they are, they are rotten and even if you sit far back they really.

FOUR: They stink out the place.

THREE: They stink out the place yeah.

ONE: They stink out the place and not only That but like for five or ten minutes even afterwards oaaaaaak! rotten.

THREE: Rotten.

ONE: And the smell just hangs around then.

FOUR: Those herbal fags do stink.

ONE: They stink and they undermine the actor because They try and accent and costume an’ all, I mean nobody believes but the point is convincing.

FOUR: Convincing.

ONE: And a stinky herbal fag is not only unconvincing, it’s… It’s a reminder y’know?

FOUR: yeah.

ONE: worse than a pantomime horse. So, ‘what-would-happen-IF…?

(two goose-steps in from the kitchen, trousers rolled-up, hair slicked to one side. Under their nose is a small square of insulation tape. two Sings:)

TWO: Zerse a flahr zat grows in the meadow!
hapapabommebomme,
Unt her name
hapapabommmebomme,
Erica!

(one: claps)
TWO: Ein Volk! Ein Reich! I’ne losing me moustache hang on a second.
(goes back to the kitchen)

THREE: What the fuck was that?

ONE: Priceless.

FIVE: Sorry , what’s goin’ on?

TWO: (offstage) All the glue gone off… hang on I’l clip another bit.

FOUR: You’re grand ,you’re grand.

THREE: We get it!

TWO: (re-emerging)What you think?

ONE: Brilliant!

TWO: Yeah?

THREE: That was the best Charlie Chaplin I’ve ever seen.

TWO: How was it Charlie chaplin?

THREE: Because you were better back in the days when you were silent.

TWO: no it was Hitler.

ONE: Y’don’t say?

FOUR: Hitler

THREE: Hitler. Look. call me a purist.

ONE: No. It was good.

THREE: Why was he singing? You never, Hitler’s not normally singing.

TWO: I know that’s just me kind of… developin’ the character.

FOUR:(to two:) Well develop yourself back into the kitchen and bring in the vine. Mein Herr

ONE: What was I sayin’? yeah. Fags. What-would-happen If…

THREE: If?

ONE: Smoke real fags.(two returns)

TWO: There’s the wine.

FOUR: Smoke real fags?

ONE: Yeah.

FOUR: That’s the innovation.

ONE: Just light it up (he lights the lighter)

FOUR: Hang on wait a second.(three: blows out the flame)

ONE: Honestly why don’t they? Seriously, Who’s gonna go up in the middle of a play and go "You can’t smoke here, stop the show"

FOUR:That’s not the point.

ONE: That is the point.
FOUR: No the point is, People have allergies and sinuses and half-a lung-to-begin-with or whatever . They might not interrupt the show but you’re making them uncomfortable, and you’re breaking the law. At least one of which is wrong but only one of which you can be prosecuted for.

ONE: ah well, Fuck it, If I cant smoke onstage might as well have one here.(lights lighter)

THREE: Actually do you mind?

ONE: What?

THREE: I have sinus problems that are aggravated by cigarette smoke.

ONE: (extinguishing lighter) Are you serious?

THREE: No. (ONE: relights lighter)

FOUR: Even if you’re not, I am.

ONE: What?

FOUR: No smokin’ in the gaff.

ONE: Ah c’mon!

FOUR: No I’m serious the flatmates’ll go ballistic.

FIVE: You know what you need?

FOUR: A balcony, I know.

FIVE: Allow me to re-phrase, you know what this play needs?

FOUR: What?

FIVE: A point.

FOUR:A Point?

FIVE: yes. a point. Banter is all very well, and you do make some points, you make some valid points about the medium. But I’ve read this. I’ve finished it.(to two:) There is some crying.(to four:) not crazy about the way it ends. Can I ask you a question?

FOUR: Sure.

FIVE: Do You hate theatre?

FOUR: You think I hate theatre?

FIVE: Well yeah that’s just the impression. I don’t I mean. This, I’m sorry to tell you but this isn’t a play. This is not what a play is. That’s not to say I didn’t get a kick out of readin’ it. Or people wouldn’t enjoy it. parts anyway. but god if ever anything insisted upon itself…

FOUR: What d’you want me to do?

FIVE: I want you to think about your audience. An’ I want you to think about realism.

FOUR: I’m thinkin’ about them.(pause) I’m sorry I really need to go to the jax.

ONE: I’m next.

FOUR: There’s another bathroom under the stairs.

ONE: Deadly.

THREE: I’m after you.

(four:,ONE: and three: exit. Pause. Sound of ONE pissing like a racehorse)

TWO: I’m gonna need to go soon.

FIVE: Oh have you somewhere?

TWO: No. I mean if I don’t want to wet myself.

FIVE: Oh right.

(The sound of(ONE) stops. four: returns)

TWO: is it free? (ONE: returns)

ONE: Under the stairs is free.

TWO: Thank god (two: exits)

(The sound of somebody(two) pissing like a racehorse)

FOUR: God it’s really loud in here, is that from under the stairs?
(pause) we hardly ever use that one.

FIVE: I can see why.
( two’s wee sound stops .three: returns)
FOUR: I was to think about my audience.

FIVE: Yes. do. Is there one free?- back in a moment. But here’s a question, How much realism is necessary?(exits)

FOUR:Realism.

ONE: realism.

FOUR: how much is too much? (two stops pissing)

ONE: I’m getting another can.(exits)

FOUR: How much is too much?

( The sound of grunting and the smell of ammonia fills the air)

THREE: Christ!

FOUR: What? (shouting) Ah Close the door!

(muffled sound of two:) It is closed!

THREE: Jesus Christ! I’m goin to the kitchen.

(ONE: returns)
FOUR: Open the windows in there.

ONE: what? What’s the smell?

THREE: Never mind. I think now’d be a good time to go out and have that fag.

ONE: Yeah?

THREE: I’ll join you

ONE: I didn’t know you smoked.

THREE: I don’t.

(FOUR: reads the script that five: has been writing on)

(five: returns)

FOUR: I’m just readin’ your notes.

FIVE: What’s the whiff?

FOUR: You don’t wanna know.

FIVE: Smells like

FOUR: You don’t wanna know.

FIVE: Where’s?

FOUR:Out havin’ a fag.

FIVE:Are you alright?

FOUR:Yeah.

FIVE:Are you cryin? (He is)

FOUR:Fuck! Smell’s actually makin’ my eyes water.

FIVE:D’you wanna go outside?

FOUR: Nah I think the worst of it’s over.

FIVE: I don’t think you should read the notes

FOUR: How come?

FIVE: I was only writin’ that to get my thoughts straight. I didn’t mean for you to read it.

FOUR: Sure what other way would you write?

FIVE: What?

FOUR: What you write in private is all the more valuable isn’t it?

FIVE: depends

FOUR: on what?

FIVE: Depends on you, depends on how interested people are in you. Getting’ back to Hitler, Mein kampf is a pretty shitty read, but y’know even though that was the form everyone wanted to buy the Hitler diaries.

FOUR:(gesturing to script) It’s dire isn’t it?

FIVE: It’s a bit of a wank, but it has potential.

FOUR: yeah.

FIVE It just doesn’t say anything.

FOUR: Yeah.

FIVE: What do you want to say with it?-D’you want to say, "Look at me I’m so clever?" Innovation for it’s own sake’s not much of a statement.

FOUR: That’s not what I want to say.

FIVE: Then what do you want to say?

FOUR:I want to say ‘Look at this’ because this is all it is. All it is is this and that shouldn’t take from it. I want to say ‘check out what’s really happenin’ here. Reality in counterfeit. Yes.But.… Plot. Any number of plots any number of stories. Like when you’re a kid, a film is real. There all real people, and you get older and you start to notice, I dunno ‘Camera-work’ and ‘isn’t that your man from that carry-on film?’ And it’s not real anymore and you still enjoy it.

FIVE: But you enjoy it for different reasons.

FOUR: For different reasons exactly. You see enough stuff and examine it and then after a while you see it’s all formula. And then it’s like peppy le pew.

FIVE: Speakin’ of which…

(two: returns.)

TWO: Where is everyone?

FOUR: Havin a fag. In peppy le pew it’s always the same. There’s a skunk and a cat and the cat gets a white stripe and the skunk spends all his time trying to seduce her and in the end, the skunk has his smell masked and the cat is chasin’ him and he’s not interested. The same. Always. But after you’ve seen it twice, you know what’s gonna happen so you ask other questions: not ‘How’s it all gonna turn out’ ‘cos you know that. You ask, How is the cat gonna get it’s stripe this time? When and how will the turn-around be?


FIVE:And?

FOUR:
There’s no plot.

FIVE:

I know there’s no plot.
FOUR:
There’s no plot in this play here.

FIVE:
That’s what I’m sayin’.

FOUR:
Because maybe we’re beyond that.

FIVE:
Somehow I doubt that very much.

FOUR:
Maybe it’s time to stop tryin’ to manipulate peoples opinions with false emotion.

FIVE:
Maybe you just don’t have the ability?

FOUR:
Well alright there’s that too but plots, go see a film if you want to see a plot. Films, Films have replaced Theatre, they have. Long time ago, but only the way electric lightbulbs replaced candles. People still like ,want and use candles. They’re not important anymore, the way they used, to be but, lightbulbs… not the same. There’s things you can only do with candles and plots isn’t it.

(three returns)
THREE:
Is the smell gone?

TWO:
What smell?

FOUR:
don’t mind’m

THREE:
is the wine all gone?

FOUR:
Just about.

FIVE:


There’s such a thing as too much realism, and there’s such a thing as being too naked.

FOUR:
There’s some baileys if anyone wants…

FIVE:
The truth is, what this whole thing boils down to, is basically admitting, you’re basically admitting with somethin’ like this that you don’t have enough interest in the world around you to be a writer.

FOUR:
What if this is the world around me?

FIVE:
Well alright if the only problems you have to face in life are aesthetic ones but don’t expect anyone to feel sorry for you.

ONE:
(coming back from the fag break) Oh lads will you ever shut up about it?

FIVE:
I’ne tryin to help my friend.

ONE:
Are you though?

TWO:
I think I’ll try that Baileys. Where is it?

FOUR:
Over the red press,and bring in some more glasses. should be on the sink.

FIVE:
You just need,You just need.

THREE
: You need a drink!

FIVE:
No listen to me. Concentrate. This important.

(one: belches)

THREE
: Oh very lady-like

ONE:
Fuck off.

FIVE:
You need to think about, seriously.

FOUR:
what?

FIVE:
Okay. On your own. On your own, up! up!

FOUR:
(getting up) Up where?

FIVE:
Not you. Everybody else, Up!(one: and three: rise)

ONE:
What’s goin on?

THREE:
Don’t ask me.

FIVE:
Now there!(he gestures to the audience) Blank wall. see? That’s your audience.

(two: returns with the tray in his hand, there are four glasses of baileys on it.)

THREE:
Ladies and Gentlemen a toast! – to the audience!

ONE:
Huzzah!

FOUR:
Hang on what’s goin on?

(two: looks at the tray)
TWO:
hang on I have an idea!

(two: goes back to the kitchen)

FIVE:
An audience, sooner or later- you have to face them. An’ account for yourself. So this is just, Just an exercise. WE’ll go.

ONE:
To the kitchen!

THREE:
Huzzah!

FIVE:
We’ll go to the kitchen, and you think.

ONE:
and we drink.

FIVE:
And no, listen, talk to ‘your audience’. We won’t listen, talk to your audience and just simple statement. Say what you want to say. When you know what that is, then you can give it a bash. So you just say it. Whatever it is, and then maybe, how will we know? Then you say: ‘The End’ only loud. And we can come back in.

FOUR:
I don’t see the point.

FIVE:
Shushsh,do it, you need to do it. For yourself. ‘The End’ and then we come back in and we’ll all bow.

FOUR:
Why?

FIVE:
To the audience.
(two: emerges with. a larger insulation tape moustache and a floppy chef’s hat on Holding the tray like a palette and dipping a chopstick into it, as if it were a paintbrush.)

TWO:
I ham leonarrdo da veeenchy! I know very many feeelosophy and syanse, I learn eet froomaybook!

FIVE:
Come on out! everyone out!

THREE:
This place is a fuckin’ madhouse.

TWO:
I know naatheeeng

(everyone leaves)

(four: looks at the audience and is about to speak, then sighs.

To kitchen,)
You’re too quiet, I know you’re listening.

THREE:
We’re not!

FIVE:
Shut up!- We wont listen, I’ll tell you what,- we’ll sing!

ONE:
We’ll sing?

TWO:
I know naatheeeng

THREE:
What’ll we sing?

ONE:
Dunno you start it.

THREE:
me?

FIVE:
Just do something anything.

ONE:
Okay Okay,(sings)
If you leave me now, you take away the biggest part of me

(one:three: two: and five: all together)
Woooooo no baby please don’t go.
(one,two AND three continue to sing all through the next bit, but don’t know the words)

FOUR:
(to audience)Hello audience (back to the kitchen) Ah no I cant!

FIVE:
Just do it!

FOUR:
(to audience) Okay then the truth. The truth is. The truth is I don’t have anything to tell you. Nothin’ that you don’t already know anyway. I just hope you don’t get bored. (back to the kitchen)Okay you can come in now!

FIVE:
‘THE END’

FOUR:
WHAT?

FIVE:
You forgot to say ‘THE END’

(Shouts) THE END!

(one:,two:,three: and five: come in from the kitchen and bow obsequiously)