What's that, you say? How could I have not seen it? Have I been living in a cave?
Well, sorry. With that attitude, maybe you don't deserve a post.
I've seen bits of it before, but hadn't seen it all the way through.
Anyway, I really enjoyed it! It wasn't as disurbing as I thought it might be, and was much funnier than I thought it would be.
Malcolm McDowell was tremendous, and it was visually great. Kubrick is a bit insidious, in that I never think about him as a favourite director, but I like everything I've seen of his. I might have to investigate some more of his stuff. Next stop: Barry Lyndon!
***
In the end, staying up until 3am watching the film was a bad idea, as I was phoned the next day by my temping agency asking if I could do a day's reception work.
Which I did. And I can honestly say it was a highly unpleasant experience.
I was working at a University administration building, and it was a nice location, and pretty quiet. There was nothing really objectionable, it's just that the concept of a temporary receptionist doesn't really work.
A receptionist has to contact people and know what's going on. That's their job. But I didn't know who anyone was or how anything worked. The basic function part of the role is answering questions. Of course, I had no answers. All I could do was listen to the question, apologise, and find someone who knew. They could have got a robot to perform the same function. At least a robot would have made the whole thing less socially awkward.
So I spent the whole day in fear that someone would come in, or the phone would ring. I was constantly alert and terrified, like an over-caffeined meercat. It was horrible.
My awkwardness was particularly evident when I had to answer an entryphone to let people through the car-park barrier. It happened several times, and was always exactly the same:
I'd say: "Hello, Reception".
They'd say: "Pogdfgsgsgdsgd*crackle*dgsgsgsgsdgsd".
So I'd say: "Excuse me? Could you repeat that?"
And they'd say: "Pogdfgsgsgdsgd*crackle*dgsgsgsgsdgsd".
And I figured I couldn't ask them what they said again, so I'd just buzz them through.
I suppose they might have been saying: "We are the Nightmare Fireball Soldiers of Allah! You will all pay!", but I took the risk. There were no explosions that I know of. Of course, the explosion alarm might have gone off, but I wouldn't have known what it meant.
The only other interesting thing about the day was that the reception desk had a panic button. It was there in case you get attacked or something.
But it struck me that calling it the 'panic button', doesn't exactly radiate confidence.
By calling it the panic button, they have automatically ruled out the possibility that the situation can be resolved with any decorum. Your dignity is nullified by the mere presence of 'the panic button'. It's not an 'emergency button', or a 'help request button'. Semantically, you're required to piss your pants.
I don't know if it's a button to press when you're panicking; if it was, I would have hoped for a button you smash with a giant mallet, that creates a big 'awooga!' noise. Or is it a button to create 'panic'.
"Well armed robbers are in reception, but let's all stay calm. I'm sure we can resolve--"
*PANIC ALARM*
"--WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!!!!!! SMASH EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING!"
And then they torch the place and start eating each other.
***
I saw this on Graham Linehan's blog. Although quite amusing anyway, it has special impact for people who share my surname. Enjoy!
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