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 the introduction - and 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. 

 

“I know nothing of life except through the cinema.”
- Jean-Luc Godard

(The Obligatory Introduction Bit.)
 

Hi all, firstly thank you for buying this book (unless you’re just browsing
at it on the shelf so in that case just hurry up and pay for it – trust me
it’ll be worth it, probably) and for deciding that a bizarre mash up of
Autism and cinema might be worth your time.

I mean let’s be honest, these days you can’t move for Autism-based
tomes, from the tragic to the downright dull and everything in between
the shelves of every bookshop across the land (and online) are filled
with guides to Autism and parenting, Autistic struggles and sob stories
– and in the case of our American cousins, books on how to exorcise us
of our demonic possession and how to cure us putting bleach up our
bums - seriously) by people way more important (and now considerably
richer) than me.

Same with cinema.

But with less anal bleaching obviously.

So what’s so special about this particular work?

Well by mixing both topics together it’ll free up bookshelf space.
It features a fair few films that you’ve probably not considered are
actually Autistic.

It’s considerably cheaper than most others.
 

Plus it has some nice pictures.
 

Trust me, you’ll thank me later.
 

And with that out of the way I reckon it'd be nice and polite to introduce
myself to you all in a kinda 'getting to know you'/hellish team building
manner.

My name is Ash (it says as much on the cover), a father to three Autistic
kids (with a non-Autistic wife but let’s not hold that against her), I’m a
full-time illustrator, sometime balloon twister and one-time UFO faker
with a somewhat unhealthy and all consuming obsession with good -
and bad - cinema.

You see, when I’m not watching films I’m usually blogging or talking
about them.

And when not blogging about them I’m probably drawing illustrations
that are film-based.

And then at some point I’m even involved with making them.
 

It’s my ‘special interest’ – as no actually Autistic person calls their
hobbies.
 

Ever.
 

Basically I've been told I'm what happens when you buy Mark Kermode
off Temu.
 

Which is nice.
 

Though not for him obviously.
 

But where does this obsession come from and why horror in particular?
I hear you cry.

But not literally mind.
 

Anyway to explain this we have to go back in time to me as a small 2
year old boy.

You see my first memory isn't of my parents but of sneaking out of my
cot, crawling into the living room at my grandparents house and
watching the 1931 Frankenstein from behind a chair.

Seriously.

I remember it like it was yesterday and from that moment something in
my young and squidgy Autistic brain just clicked and before I knew it I
was hooked on films.Especially the stark black and white spooky kind.

As I grew older this obsession continued to grow, helped along by my
frequent Saturday night stays at my grandparents house and the BBC
horror double bills that ran from 1976 to 1983 my love of horror - and
especially the Universal classics of the 30s and 40s - was cemented.

After exhausting the run of Universal movies I began to soak up other
companies output from the time as well as immersing myself in
whatever literature about the genre I could find, because you can never
have too much information about your favourite thing, so whilst other kids had The Beano or Warlord or football sticker albums to
occupy their school break times, I had Famous Monsters of Filmland and
House of Hammer or one of those chunky hardbacks (usually by Alan
Frank or Denis Gifford who it seemed had the monopoly of horror
works in the 70s) so loved by WH Smiths and the like round about
Christmas time.

But let’s be honest here, trying to find new information – not to say
trying to see the actual films mentioned - the 40 plus years I had to wait
to see William R. Stromberg’s The Crater Lake Monster is testament to
that - was a task worthy of Indiana Jones himself but all that was about
to change with the release of a little known science fantasy film named
Star Wars.

You see, 1977 saw an explosion of film related magazines from Starlog
and Fantastic Films in The States to Britain’s very own Starburst.

And it’s from this very magazine that my love of film – and all the
associated facts and figures that folk like me love to collect - grew.
And there’s one particular person I can thank/blame for that.

Step forward Britain's greatest film critic, horror expert, Frightfest host
and top Disconnoisseur Alan Jones.

Through him I not only learned of a world beyond Universal, Roger
Corman and Hammer but also the conversational language of film, how to express my love and boyish enthusiasm in a way other than excitedly
waving my arms about whilst reeling off obscure facts as well as
introducing me to what would become two of my favourite directors as
well as my favourite genre.

And I’m sure I’m not alone in this.

Grab a group of 50-something horror fans and I’m pretty sure the
majority of them will be children of Alan Jones.

I mean to an Autistic person the pure, unadulterated sensory pleasure
of cinema is the greatest experience in the world (ask my kids) but to
then learn how to express that love and share it with others (obscure
facts and thinly veiled sarcasm included – thanks again Mr Jones) is a
social skill that most folk would die for.

I know I would.

You see in all seriousness cinema and film is my language.

It’s my constant companion, it’s shaped my entire life.

It’s my ‘social stories’ (as the professionals say).

My way of navigating a whole world that’s wild at heart and weird on
top.

Even the music I love has somehow been informed by my obsession
with film.

You want proof?

The first album I ever bought with my pocket money was Geoff Love’s
Big Terror Movie Themes and as my school associates were taping
Spandau Ballet, Duran Duran and Wham! tracks off the radio (home
taping is killing music kids!) I was desperately trying to get a record shop
to order Fred Myrow’s Phantasm soundtrack whilst trying to source
every bit of library music from Dawn of The Dead.

As you can tell, I was one of those teens that never got invited to
parties.

And if I did I’d politely say no.

I mean there were films to watch.

Plus by this point I’d realised that teen-led get togethers usually ended
in death and destruction.

And being the geeky kid there was probably no way I’d survive for the
sequel.

Phew.

So with this introduction – of sorts - done and dusted and in way of a
homage to Edward Van Sloane in the opening moments of James
Whale’s Frankenstein…

“How do you do? Our author feels it would be a little unkind to present this
book without just a word of friendly warning. We're about to unfold the
story of Spectrum Sinema, I think it will thrill you. It may shock you. It might even horrify you. So if any of you feel that you do not care to subject your nerves to such a strain, now is your chance to, uh... well, we've warned you!”

 

 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 usual in real-life situations too:
 

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