Bookish.

Well don't say I didn't warn you. 

 

Been busy beavering away on a book version of Spectrum Sinema, the 'wee turn' (which I think is the professional term) I performed during he magnificent Paul Wady's Eccentrics Unite! Fringe show, for the last few months with the hope of getting the whole thing finished by the end of the year (college/hospital/house/usual real-life madness permitting).

Anyway being a glutton for punishment I thought I'd share a sneak peek at some of chapter one -  here so folk have an idea of what I'm talking about.

I might even share a few chapters along the way if anyone's interested.

So without further ado may I present Spectrum Sinema.

Enjoy.

I hope. 

 

 Chapter One.

"There's the whole world at your feet. And who gets to
see it but the birds, the stars, and the chimney sweeps?"

 
But what was my first “proper” cinema experience? I hear you cry.

I must point out that anyone expecting a coherent and linear timeline is
in for a major disappointment as I write how I think and speak – in a
random pattern that only really makes sense when you look at the big
picture.

Yup, Autistic thinking is a bit like have a library on a rollercoaster in a
maze for a brain.

Luckily we’ve stuck Post-It notes up everywhere so we at least can
navigate it.

Mostly.

And this particular Post-It leads way back to early 1974, my parents had
gone to see The Exorcist and with me being only 4 years old I obviously
wasn’t old enough to go with them so to placate this unusually
precocious and somewhat unearthly (some would say ungodly) child my
nan decided instead to take me to see Mary Poppins.

I actually have a vivid memory of being oh so slightly annoyed at not
getting to see the film my folks were seeing as the strobe-tastic trailer
(and the piercing Lalo Schifrin music, deemed way to scary for the actual
film itself) looked fun but soon settled into my seat, Kia Ora and
popcorn at the ready with absolutely no idea of what I was about to see.

At this point it didn’t matter though, as I remember being utterly
fascinated and oh so slightly obsessed with the size of the massive deep red seat I was in, everyone around me seemed to be murmuring giants and the smell of food and fags filled my brain.

By the time the lights went down and the scratchy Pearl And Dean intro
cut through the dark silence I was mesmerized.

Oh and – internally – utterly terrified by the sheer bloody size of the
people on the screen.

But I stuck with it (I’m nothing if stubborn) as another valuable film
lesson was burned onto my brain.

Films didn’t have to be black, white and serious to be scarily enjoyable.

Thanks to Mary Poppins – and in particular the scene near the end
when the old woman tries to entice the youngsters Michael and Jane to
go with her – I discovered they could be colourful and scary too.
Thank you director Robert Stevenson, my fear of black clad, (very) old
cockney ladies has never left me.

Seriously.

On the way back to my grandparents I mulled over these brand new film
rules that were now etched on my brain forever.

From that point my cinema education had begun in earnest and
weekends at my grandparents became my classroom for years and years
with Saturday afternoons (and occasionally Sundays) bringing forward
such delights as the original King Kong and Mighty Joe Young, Hoppity
Goes To Town (still my favourite animation), reruns of The Man From
UNCLE stitched together movies and most importantly the work of Ray
Harryhausen and probably THE greatest fantasy film ever, The Wizard
of Oz.

At this point I feel I should go off on one of those rollercoaster tangents
I mentioned earlier as I reckon that most non-Autistic readers will look
at the above references to “film rules being etched on my brain” and
probably just take it as a flowery way of saying I quite enjoyed myself.
But when it comes to an Autistic brain that’s not the case.

 We do literally etched – or more precisely marker pen – information
into our heads.

And in all caps too.

Our first experience of anything becomes (for good or bad) the default
setting for that experience going forward.

Oddly enough this can also explain things like the whole
sensory/fussiness issue when it comes to food, clothing and the like.
And in my case films too.

Confused? 

I’ll attempt to explain it quickly and succinctly, I mean we’re
still in the 70s and there are loads more movies to get through before
we hit the really important stuff.

So probably the best – and easiest - example to use is a good old
fashioned cheese pizza.

To most of you a cheese pizza is, well, a cheese pizza - you have deep
pan, thin, four cheeses, stuffed crust, different brands etc - they may
taste oh so slightly different to you but you know in your brain (and in
your stomach) that it's all that big crazy thing called 'cheese pizza' and
you've catalogued it all away under that heading.

But to folk like us the first cheese pizza you ever try is the definition of
cheese pizza.

There can be no other.

So you carefully programme it into your memory that this is what
cheese pizza tastes and looks like.

No other one, just that.

The others taste and look slightly different therefore can’t be cheese
pizza, otherwise they'd all be the same.

It'd be like if i gave you a wine glass filled with cold water and told you it
was white wine (or gave you a copy of The Last Jedi and said it was a
perfect example of a good Star Wars film) you'd know the difference and
so do we, only this time with pizza.

Or Star Wars.
 

Simple eh?
 

Thought so and with that out of the way we can hurtle forward (or is
that back?) to November 25, 1972 where the brave crew of the ANSA
spaceship Icarus, led by curmudgeonly Colonel George Taylor are
preparing to go into hypersleep for an exciting near-light-speed space
mission…
 

Or to be more honest The Plaza Cinema Dudley in mid-1975 where an
enterprising cinema manager has decided to show every Planet of The
Apes movie, one per week for five weeks probably due in part to the
popularity of the newly broadcast – yet sadly short lived - TV series.
Clutching my Mego 8 inch Ape action figures to my chest I begged my
parents to take me and as luck (and having a Sci-Fi fan parent) would
have it they agreed.
 

Although I’d only seen the TV show I already knew that the Apes movies
were the best thing ever, I’d even read it somewhere so it must be true. I
wouldn’t go as far as to say I was a little obsessed but later that year I
begged my (still long suffering) parents to take me to see ‘Circus
Hoffman’ (held in the glamorous surroundings of The Racecourse,
Wolverhampton) because it just happened to feature a live-action
Planet of The Apes adventure and begged and begged to get my photo
taken with the apes.
 

The photo was totally out of focus and I remember the queue of angry
parents demanding their money back for such a shoddy picture as I
clutched mine to my heart.

OK so I’m easily pleased.

Sometimes.

So it came to pass on one wet West Midlands night I saw a film that
would thrill and terrify me in equal measure and showed me how fully
absorbing on every level cinema can be, an almost Stendahl Syndrome
of celluloid.

The actual psychosomatic condition that is, not the 1996 Dario Argento
shocker.

Seriously, to this day film can make me shake, cry, get giddy and short of
breath and it can have nothing to do with the plot. The sheer size and
colours and sounds can be overwhelming, leaving you feeling like a tiny,
insignificant speck falling into the screen.

And it’s THE greatest feeling on Earth, both safe and scary all at once.
Honestly I get tearful and almost overwhelmed even trying to explain it.
Nothing comes close.

Marie-Henri Beyle (Mr Stendahl himself) summed it up best When he
visited the Basilica of Santa Croce in order to see the burial places of
Michelangelo, Galileo, and Machiavelli – as you do - as well as that of
the composer Rossini (among others).

“I was in a sort of ecstasy, from the idea of being in Florence, close to the
great men whose tombs I had seen. Absorbed in the contemplation of
sublime beauty . . . I reached the point where one encounters celestial
sensations . . . Everything spoke so vividly to my soul. Ah, if I could only
forget. I had palpitations of the heart, what in Berlin they call 'nerves'. Life
was drained from me. I walked with the fear of falling.”
 

Well replace Galileo with the binary sunset scene from Star Wars, Sam
Flynn entering The Grid for the first time in Tron Legacy, Bruce Wayne
stepping into the light of the Bat Symbol in Batman Returns, Dorothy
leaving the safe sepia-toned hues of the farmhouse to step into Oz or Lightning McQueen and Sally taking a leisurely drive around Radiator
Springs in Cars and you’ve kinda got an idea of how cinema makes me
feel.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, the film hasn’t started yet and I’m
currently sitting through adverts for various local indian restaurants,
Stanton’s Music and the Arcade Toyshop, totally unaware of what’s
about to pass.

As soon as Jerry Goldsmith’s discordant score echoed menacingly
through the cinema’s tinny sound system I should have realised I was
venturing somewhere that to be honest no 5 year old should go - from
the terrifying reveal of Stewart’s emaciated corpse through the
nightmarish wail of the apes hunting horn via the hideous fates of
Landon and Dodge to what is probably still THE most incredible twist in
cinema history (and quite possibly the most copied/parodied) I sat
transfixed in a state that fluctuated ‘tween joy and terror and on the
way home only two things filled my brain – counting down the days till
the next installment and updating my list of film rules.

 

Film Rules by Ash (age 5 and a bit)
 

Black and white films are true stories – colour films are fiction.

Except at the cinema where all films could, in fact, be true stories.

Old Victorian ladies are all witches of the kind found in Hansel and Gretal
and WILL eat you.

The Creature From The Black Lagoon theme is the most frightening music
ever, if it comes on TV (or is announced as being broadcast) the TV MUST be unplugged at least 30 mins before broadcast and not be turned on till the next day.

Sword wielding skeletons are terrifying too.

As are giant ants.

Sword wielding skeletons astride giant ants are therefore the most
terrifying thing in the world and must not EVER be featured in a film
Drawing them in the back of a school exercise book however is an
acceptable form of therapy.

Planet of The Apes features real monkeys.

As does The Wizard of Oz.

Glinda The Good Witch is not to be trusted.

Grandpa Potts from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and The Brigadier from Doctor Who are related (as is anyone with a moustache and an army uniform) so can be trusted to help you in times of need.

Heroes with ginger beards and loincloths are generally grumpy (and a wee
bit sweary) but will probably look after you if you find yourself on a future
earth overrun by sinister simians.

 

Obviously these rules will grow over time and – not so obviously – the
majority of them will still be in place to this day.

Look we’re nothing if not consistent.

Which meant I spent the next week badgering my parents (and anyone
else in earshot including teachers and random strangers in shops) to
give me a hint at what to expect when we finally got to see Beneath The
Planet of The Apes 7 days later.

7 days?

It seemed like an eternity.

As an aside (I do this a lot) when the Star Wars Special Editions were
released in 1997 we left a showing of The Empire Strikes Back to find a
small boy in the lobby sobbing uncontrollably onto his dads shoulder
whilst crying that he couldn’t wait a week to discover the fate of Han
Solo and to find out if Darth Vader really was Luke Skywalker’s father.

Had he been there in 1980 he’d have probably never recovered when he
found out we had to wait 3 years.

Kids today eh?

Anyway, the week eventually passes (very s l o w l y as time usually does
when you’re a child) and we’re finally back to the Plaza where I (over)
excitedly wait to see what will happen to George Taylor - currently my
favourite hero ever - and his monkey best buds Cornelius and Zira next.

Obviously I’ve no idea but I’m pretty sure there won’t be anything in it
as arse-numbingly terrifying as the first film’s score.

Or that bit when you discover what happened to Landon and Dodge.

I’d spent a week preparing for this moment and was ready for anything.
I mean yes ~I was a wee bit disappointed when Taylor disappeared after
5 minutes leaving Nova in the company of yet another stranded
astronaut Brent but soon got into the swing of things, utterly engrossed
by the total madness of the whole thing with it’s mix of militant monkey
mayhem and oddly dressed pyschic humans living underground in the
bombed-out remains of New York as I excitedly waited for Taylor to turn
up and rescue everyone.

Then totally out of the blue those aformentioned oddly dressed pyschic
humans suddenly started tuelessly singing hymns at an atom bomb
whilst tearing off their faces to reveal their true forms.Radiation scarred ‘mutant’ survivors of the war that caused all this
madness in the first place.

Talking apes and jumpsuit clad humans with mind powers I could do but
this?

It literally blew my tiny mind and I remember just sitting in a slack-jawed
daze, realizing that I had no way of knowing how this would end but
deep down hoping that Taylor (with help from Brent) would save the
day.

Because that’s what heroes do.

Epecially in the movies.

If only someone had told screenwriter Paul Dehn that I’d probably not
be writing this today.

I mean I was right about Taylor turning up at the films climax and
attempting to help Brent but was totally unprepared for him to get shot
in the chest moments later before giving the apes the ultimate in ‘fuck
you’s’ by blowing up the entire planet in the films final moments.
I’ll never forget leaving the cinema that night, numb and confused by
what I’d seen, my cinema-obsessed kiddie brain broken by what I’d just
witnessed.

In a good way obviously.

Suffice to say I went to see Beneath The Planet of The Apes a mere child
who enjoyed films but left as a proper cinema connoisseur.

Well as proper a cinema connoisseur as an Autistic 5 year old can be.

And yes, I am very aware that I was an oh so slightly odd child.
Luckily I grew out of it.

Or was it that I just stopped caring?

Answers on a postcard to the usual address.

And before you ask the answer is no, the fact that the next movie was
called Escape from The Planet of The Apes had no bearing on anything
except that I only had 7 days to process the whole situation and also
add a new rule to my list and one that would transcend cinema to become useful in real-life situations too:
 

And that was that sometimes there are no rules.....