anything makes her smile -- I know, I've seen it before

[enthusiastick]

demiurgent did an interesting little riff today on what he identifies as "best of" lists, and what I think of in my head as Top 5s. (I think of them as Top 5s because I'm a little obsessed with High Fidelity, and that particular Nick Hornby-ism has worked its way into my brain and my soul.) I call the piece a riff because its got a relatively direct, uncomplicated theme and clocks in at under 2,000 words. For me, 2,000 unified words would be a triumph. For Eric, that's a riff.

And it occurred to me, not for the first time, that I'm really bad at that sort of listmaking. I'm really bad at picking things that are my favorites. Which is odd, because (let's face facts) I'm a geek. And Top 5s seem to me a fairly ubiquitous unit of geek culture. Most other geek-people I know can, with a little bit of thought, give you their Top 5 Hot Redheaded Actresses, or their Top 5 Pre-2000 SciFi Films. At least, that's my impression. But I've always been terrifically bad at it. If pressed I can usually come up with something, in twice the length of time it takes everyone else. But it always leaves me feeling unsatisfied. I always have a vague and unsettling feeling that I've left something important out, and I often have the sense that I've been forced to make a value judgment where none is really possible. That I've compared apples to oranges, and I'm unhappy about it.

I ran across a classic example of this just the other night, when I was hanging out with Stephie K during our abortive attempt to see the Rent movie. We bumped into a friend of hers at the Virgin megastore, an employee on his dinner break. We chatted for a short while, and this fellow and I (whose name I do not recall, because I am bad with names) seemed to hit it off pretty well. Mostly we bonded over ridiculing Stephie. And at one point, in the natural flow of conversation, we were discussing writing and literature and other important things. And he asked me, seemingly innocuously, what I would say my all-time favorite screenplay was.

My stomach gurgled nervously. I furrowed my brow, suddenly aware of an uncomfortable warmth and sweatiness I had not felt a moment before.

"Usually I tell people my favorite movie is the Shawshank Redemption," I offered, after what seemed like an agonizingly long and uncomfortable silence. Pathetic, I thought to myself. I can't even really decide on a favorite movie -- I've just got something I tell people is my favorite.

We were both unsatisfied with my response, and in a perfectly friendly manner this fellow clarified that I hadn't actually answered his question. I felt like I was being interrogated, as though minutes or even hours had passed during which I hadn't said a word. "I dunno," I began awkwardly, shifting in my seat. "Maybe... Adaptation?" This seemed to satisfy him, and the conversation mercifully moved on.

I was lying, of course. Adaptation isn't my all-time favorite screenplay. Mind you, I have no idea what my all-time favorite screenplay actually is. My mind isn't built for that sort of analysis, and is capable of that sort of comparative judgment only under the greatest duress. So for future reference, if you ever ask me which is better, X or Y, and I stare at you in blank horror as if you've just confessed to compulsively mutilating puppies... that's why.

Comments

[pooka-madness.livejournal.com]

I disagree. Great movies have been made from crappy screenplays, and vice versa.