I was having this fit of nostalgia for my olden days, so I popped in the second (after Run Lola Run) DVD I ever bought, Fight Club.
It's still sharp and dark, a little less cutting-edge than it used to be, but the part that really shakes my suspension of disbelief comes in the film so goddamn early -- before the dildo in the luggage even comes up.
It's the part where he goes to the doctor? And the doctor scoffs and declares, "You need healthy, natural sleep. Chew some Valerian root," that really just makes it impossible for me to buy. I mean, the whole film is kind of predicated on the idea that he cannot get sleeping pills, despite his debilitating, making him have single-frame-flashes-of Tyler-Dur den-over-the-copy-machine insomnia.
In the last three weeks, I've seen a doctor and a dentist (and an eye doctor -- new insurance, y'all). The doctor listened to me bitch about a back pain (albeit EFFING AWFUL) and prescribed me vicodin and muscle relaxers. The dentist saw my eyes streaming with tears and gave me painkillers and MORE muscle relaxers, to help me stop grinding my jaw when I sleep.
I have four bottles of hardcore drugs in my medicine cabinet, and this guy can't get an ambien?
PS: Sarah and I saw this move (second run) at Davis Theater at some point in the 1990s. I told her, "I just want Edward Norton to come down off that screen and date me."
She still thinks that's funny.
*this is how I am currently entertaining myself. By imagining everyday crap in the voice of JT. Maybe punctuated by her strumming that ukulele or whatever stringed instrument it was she used as a foil.