I’ve never snorted cocaine or been present when someone else did. But I would know exactly how to do it because I’ve seen it five thousand times in movies and TV.
I’ve never held a handgun with that cupped, two-handed, arms-full-out stance, which is, presumably, the prescribed way. I could do it flawlessly, however, because I’ve seen it ten thousand times in movies and TV.
I’ve seen coitus and onanism simulated in movies and TV too many times to count, though with negligible how-to value.
The trinity of drugs-guns-sex has had a grip on show business for decades, evolving steadily from play-like to realistic.
There’s no righteous indignation coming here; I’m too compromised and ambivalent on too many fronts to simulate prudery or lofty virtue. It’s simply an interesting topic to mull over.
I’ve been a fan of The Sopranos, the Godfather movies, The X-Files, NYPD Blue, Grey’s Anatomy, Deadwood, True Blood, GLOW, and the comedy of Jim Jefferies and Amy Schumer, for example, just to establish bona fides for not being squeamish. I get no jollies from murder and mayhem per se, but when the trinity gets good dramatic or comedic backing it works for a larger purpose.
If spectacle in which the trinity figures prominently disappeared, there would still be Foyle’s War, The Crown, Endeavor, Broadchurch, Arthur & George, Inspector Lewis, Grantchester, The Ambassador, Lark Rise to Candleford, Emma, Cranford, Toast of London, Shetland, W1A, The Office-UK, and Doc Martin.
[Copyright (c) 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.]