||[Aug. 26th, 2009|05:37 pm]
Malachy Ronan Flynn
Back in London after a mostly successful tour. My Quinn surprised me halfway through by showing up, and then he came back for the special show in Hungary. We flew home together, even if he was asleep the entire time. It was really cute. I, however, could not sleep, because Deirdre saw fit to purchase the world’s biggest Turkish coffee for me as we left Turkey, and so I was jazzed the entire flight home.
I made the mistake of watching The Soloist.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying the movie was bad. In fact, the parts I saw were amazing, but I couldn’t finish it. Someday, maybe.
I’ll explain. The movie is about a reporter who finds a musician living on the streets of LA. The musician attended Julliard, but he never finished, because halfway through he started hearing voices. His name was Nathanial and he was a cellist, but when Mister Robert Downey Junior found him, he was playing a violin with only two strings. Eventually (through plot elements which made me cry) he ends up with a cello again, and he plays it in what was like a shelter for the homeless in LA and they all listen and they’re amazed. Up til that point, the movie was working for me, because I get it, and I know Spectre does too.
Later, Mister Robert Downey Junior looks for the musician again and he’s looking around the crowded streets at all the people and clearly feeling uncomfortable and I had to stop watching it. For some reason, that scene made me so paranoid. I glanced around the airplane to see if anyone else was watching it, because I was suddenly sure that if they saw that scene, they would know I’m a pretender. I’m not the bassist for a popular prog metal band. People don’t pay to come see me and my friends on stage. I’m living someone else’s life and I’m a fake, and I belong on those streets with the rest of them and I was so sure someone would scream it out at the top of their lungs any moment.
Of course, they didn’t. No one was paying attention to me, and even if they had been, it’s ridiculous to think they would think that of me. Because I’m not a pretender, but sometimes I can’t help but feel like one. That movie was more or less my reality for so long (minus the voices, I really promise…and I didn’t have a shopping cart, had a really big backpack…) breaking away from it is sometimes so hard. I have no idea if The Musician has a happy ending. If his voices quiet down, or if his friendship with The Reporter means that it doesn’t matter and Mister Downey Junior was the foot in the door he needed, like Spectre was mine. I do know it was based on a true story and so I hope. I hope so much. And I’m going to keep living my life as best I can, because regardless of where I think I belong, I’m here now.
And if you see a cellist on the streets of LA, say hi for me. And give him a few dollars. He probably needs it.