My name is Mickey Mouse
I built a house of clay
Donald duck came over and said
What the fuck let's smoke it all away

Friday, August 26, 2011

Wayne's World (1992)

Party on Wayne.
Party on Garth.

Wayne’s world is really a systematic subversion of the symbologies that underlie the structural world of entertainment. It is a discontinuous film: while it follows a temporal storyline, it plays with the direction of storytelling. After all, from the start there is no fourth wall.

The viewer is doubly present and powerless, but is engaged in such a way that there is the illusion of control; that the viewer’s presence is what develops and motivates the world itself. But only the player can really play the game; rewind, restart, the line of language is always there, and never quite sets itself in stone.

Wayne’s world is the flexible world, where language is a kind of open symbolism whose affect is found in the implicit gesturing of independence. The trick is that the framework for Wayne and Garth’s independence is actually just a manifestation of the structure that they are explicitly rejecting.
The world of the film, then, becomes not the place of the film, but a place of film in popular consciousness. It inhabits a place that is, even as it rejects an institution, wrapped up in the same framework it is trying to escape.

There is no technology here, but the language of escape. This place is the collision of dreams with the Id, with ego satisfaction. The deeper the dream goes, the longer it goes on, as it winds its way inwards, the reality increases; it is not so much a proportion as an inverse, the farther from reality a movie moves, the more real it becomes; not in a representative way, but in a lingual turn: the dream language is much closer to the heart of desire.

Repetition reveals the dreamer’s intent, as reality is superseded by alter-realities.

Wayne’s world is real, because it is not not real. As far as this logic lacks, the dream language compensates, by drawing attention to the structure of the film itself.

Cassandra, you hear the truth every time, and yet no one listens, because they look to hear.

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