Brain Like a Pinball Machine

There is a scene in the film Afire from 2023 where the protagonist, Leon, is unable to focus on the burnt corpses in front of him but instead is thinking of the ash plastered lovers of Pompeii. He cannot bring himself to the emotional moment at hand. I’ve never in a film seen a scene that so well depicts how my mind works. Instead of the present, I’m thinking of something it reminds me of. It’s not that I’m not paying attention per say, but my association with what you’re saying has lead me somewhere unintended. The pinball has been cast and it is leaping to and fro.

It’s a double edged sword, having a mind that works like that. An example being I got very good at writing essays for English class because I was able to draw seemingly random connections to things that turned out to have a link. But then my interpersonal relationships can fall under that same lens, I see someone reach for a glass of water and I do not see them reach for the glass of water I am reminded of a film where I saw someone reach for a glass of water and I am somewhere else and they ask me where I went and how do I explain that inconsequential action took me through 75 years of film theory, lighting techniques, some random person on the internet’s bad review of a film by the same director who took the shot of the person grabbing a glass of water, the reviewers name reminded me of someone I went to school with and I’m wondering what they’re up to then remember something they did that pissed me off and now I’m in a bad mood and I can either explain or decide seem aloof and say “nothing”. You are Leon unable to cry at the sight of the burnt corpses. All you see are images of other things.

Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of one of these refractions and I’ll lose my place and be dropped back into the moment, lost and confused. Because I didn’t get to the end of the thought it erases everything that lead me there and I have to retrace my steps, so again someone will ask where I’ve been. Do I say “I don’t know”? Sometimes maybe, but mostly I will just say “It’s nothing”.

The film Afire also brings up that Leon, a writer, is so caught up in his own pursuits, he’s missing the opportunities right in front of him (and also the literal forest fire headed his way). He neglects to ask meaningful questions, sees himself as above those around him, despite all the time he claims to be writing he is actually faffing about, a typical writer’s habit. I discussed this with my anon film buddy friend (that’s the name he gave himself not me), who said “I feel the writer thing is somehow the most selfish pursuit emotionally”, I replied “I think it’s an issue with creative pursuits in general. We can claim all we want about sharing and community but ultimately we are looking into ourselves and you can get lost in that.” I don’t claim that to be 100% truth. I think it’s an interpretation many people take when making work. The writer as a solitary figure, who needs silence, no one around. It’s what Leon in Afire complains about when he learns he and his friend, Felix, will have to share their holiday home with someone else, a young woman named Nadja. He postures as a writer, but dismisses criticism, does not know when to let go. He wants to be the bitter genius no one understands, when actually he’s just bitter and the awful realisation that he is understood perfectly well.

I think people are more worried about being understood more than they let on. Because being understood means all your bad habits, the ways you chafe against others, it cannot hide behind mystery, you cannot hide behind being an “artist”. It’s contrasted with Leon’s friend Felix, who cooks, invites people for dinner, goes to the beach to swim everyday. To Leon, Felix is lazy, not working on his portfolio, gallivanting about. But Leon does not ask questions, he assumes, and turns out Felix has been working on his portfolio, and through working on it has made friends. Felix is open to the world and uses his art to assist him in that while Leon, always saying “Work won’t allow it”, uses it to close himself off.

The idea of the starving artist is a myth, a story in favour of individualism. Artists have always operated in communities, the lonely writer writes then goes for drinks with friends and colleagues. Rarely has a successful writer come to be without many people vouching for them. Perhaps it is the confusion when it comes to loneliness, one must assume lonely people are always alone. When we believe that lie our art suffers.

Leon is a poser, he knows the aesthetics, the look, but rarely do we see him write and when he does he knows it’s no good. But he’s got too much pride on the line, which means any criticism is an attack on him, rather than a necessary part of the process. Nadja, he only knows as a seasonal ice cream seller, her opinion means very little to him (when it actually means a whole lot, but her profession he sees as an excuse to write her off). When he discovers she’s doing a PhD in literature, he gets angry, and I remember thinking you’ve literally asked her zero questions and felt great vindication when she says “You never asked”. He sees the world how he wants to see it and because he intentionally makes himself so unpleasant, others go along with it. There are moments here and there, where he lets go of this image of himself, you see a real person, not a character going through the motions. It is only when he is able to confront himself that he is able to write something that is not, as Nadja would say, crap.

Masking is a term used a lot in discussions around ADHD and autism, it is when someone covers their natural tendencies in order not to stand out, to seem “normal”. You do what you think you should do rather than what you feel or are naturally inclined to. Be that facial expressions, eye contact, editing yourself. I for one have always been bad with eye contact, I’m always looking around, so I tried to get better but I end up just staring at people. I am incredibly conscious of how I appear to others, desperate to not cross a line, to act the part. Masking, like anxiety, is just a more extreme version of a thing everyone does. More often than not, I feel that no one truly knows me, because there is always this person I present as. I worry if I am myself around others I will not be acceptable. And there’s two ways to go about being this way, you play the part, you act accordingly or you isolate. Leon is both playing the part and isolating himself. And because he wasted so much time being so inwards, when he does try to break out he is interrupted by forces of nature because he’s still playing a role. He doesn’t get his movie ending, grand confessions, he pushed people away far too long for that. His unwillingness to be vulnerable, instead pretends he is a mysterious, genius writer, initially to protect himself, is what hurts him the most. It is only when he examines the mask does he get a chance at being truly free.

The film begs the question “How can we pretend?”. How can Leon pretend? How can any of them pretend they are safe from the fires? A slice of life film set during the ongoing apocalypse. The film is overshadowed by the threat of burning to death. Is the film saying our petty squabbles are pointless in the face of climate change? That our masks are pointless, that we should be running into each others arms before it’s too late? Perhaps, but not so dramatically. Leon wants to be something that has never existed. Those slice of life films from the 1960s and 70s were fantasies. The lone writer has never been without friends. We cannot pretend horrible things aren’t happening.

Escapism in film, in stories, is to seek validation in ones own already established opinions. This film does not believe in such things. How are we to grow as people, as artists, if we trap ourselves in the shallow pool of escapism? I often think of how people discuss Catcher in the Rye, how much they hate Holden Caulfield, how terribly selfish he is. And I always think about reading that book at 18 years old and feeling like I was being seen, flaws and all. I related so much to Holden whilst also being able to recognise his faults, some we may even share. If we present as glossy flawless people, we will only let others down when we are inevitably human. Look at celebrities, face tuned and otherworldly, and see how delighted people are when they fuck up. Holier than thou or PR protected, we are always looking for the truth in one another, be it ugly or beautiful. To act as if you are outside of that is to set yourself up for failure. And I use the word beautiful in a very particular way, according to my own belief, that beauty must be flawed. “Out damn spot” you’ll never get the dirt off your palms.

But Leon does not pretend to be perfect? You ask, and I ever the prepared essayist say in return say that he is performing a certain kind of perfection. He is performing as an asshole. He cannot let any beauty in or it will crack he sense of self. He sees Nadja, a beautiful woman, and hates her because he fancies her. For some reason men do this a lot in film and real life. They hate the women they want to love. They hate them because she does not want them. He assumes this, again. Because he is playing an asshole and an asshole would not even entertain the idea that she would like him back as he is. She must hate him because he is misunderstood (and again, she understands him perfectly well).

No one really wants to deal with reality in this story until it comes crashing down on them. Perhaps it is a story about fierce acceptance. The world is a thunderous force, and you will have to reckon with it regardless of layers you try to put up against it. You cannot run away to the countryside, it will find you there too. It will find you in a love story, in a coming of age, in a slice of life. And you can either try to do the best you can, to do better, or you can burn up. The fire does not care regardless.

Thank you for reading,

Enya xx

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