In which The Ferret proves himself a real cutup
We are in the iconic movie theater Kyiv just off Lev Tolstoy Square in downtown central of this ancient capital of Kyivan Rus.
The feature, premiering in English and called “Quandrum of Evil”, is showing in the Red Hall. But, unprecedentedly, it is also being shown in the Blue Hall across from it, as well as in the little hall on the third and top floor under the theater’s angled roof – at the same time.
The movie begins abruptly, as if we are already in the middle of the action, which, in a sense, we are, without showing the customary trailers of the movies coming to this theater in the next month or more, without running the title or any credits; no music or sound of any kind.
At first, a short, stout young man in a checkered shirt and saggy jeans that are, nevertheless, somewhat tight around the groin, with wavy black hair fills the screen. He is surrounded by darkness, and the echo that returns from his voice suggests that we are deep in some godforsaken chamber.
As he talks, in the background, somewhere behind the young man’s left shoulder, we hear the nerve-shredding screams of a decidedly older, raspy voice, but the sound engineering has purposely muffled its volume (we sense this is for the time being, as we already know the source of the screaming will soon be revealed) so that we can clearly hear what this matter-of-fact young man has to say. He, by the way, isn’t bad looking and seems to project some kind of raw, even perverse, sexual power, which proves strangely attractive and beguiling.
He tells us:
What you are about to see is real. No sleight of technology, expensive or otherwise, has been used to create any illusions whatsoever. When we watch movies, we automatically suspend our disbelief – an ability that is intrinsic to our nature, like breathing. We watch the screen and we can tell that what is happening is not real, yet we are willing to accept it for the sake of sating a real need to live through a spectacle of our own devising, after which we experience a release while feeling pleasure at having been entertained.
But any horror that we experience in reaction to illusions created for that purpose, by moving images projected on a screen, is as artificial as the illusions themselves. These feelings are, in a word, fun, but they are nothing compared to the horror we would experience in real life when truly faced with horror; being forced, for example, to watch someone slowly getting carved to death. When compared, the two types of horror are so different as to be opposites.
As a live conduit for the real horror you are about to experience, on this side of the screen I have engaged my good friend, Welsh Losser, author of many self-published books, among which a favorite of mine bears the illustrious title, “Losing May Be a Viable Option”, the reasons for which personal preference among his numerous, largely plagiarized monographs, you will soon see; according to his resume, a professed lawyer in spirit, if not in education and practice, a shameless and unconscionable self-promoter, and the star of numerous YouTube videos on memory, leadership, public speaking, and presentation skills based on ideas and entire systems brazenly stolen from the officially published works of men, dead or otherwise, far greater than himself, whom you are about to see – Welsh Losser, that is, as we have no use in this modest little production for dead men; until, of course… well…
Now, my fine cinemaphile friends, sitting inside this theater watching me, unlike my friend Welsh Losser (here, the camera starts to slowly pull back to begin revealing a fireplug figure strapped into some kind of chair of torture), you are not, nor will you be, strapped into your theater chairs. For you will find that as the horror increases, even to the point of being unbearable, you will not be able to leave your seats despite the most strenuous efforts of your will, as if riveted to those seats by a strange, perhaps malevolent, but in any case invisible force. Ha-ha? You may be laughing now, but as the camera pulls back to reveal my friend Welsh Losser, you become aware that your laughter quickly grows uncomfortable, belying the true motive behind its emission – a futile and foolish essay at hiding your fear.
(By now the camera has moved back far enough to reveal a screaming Welsh Losser strapped into the torture chair. His head is in a vice to keep it from moving. His eyes are opened wide in the extreme, red and tearing, and it is clear that for some reason he cannot close them. It is also clear that he is on the brink of going completely insane.)
Oh, and by the way, the young man continues (the camera continues to pull back and angles slowly to now capture what will momentarily be revealed over his right shoulder), my name is Josh Davies, and I humbly throw myself at your tender mercies and embrace the knees of your generous spirit, begging your forgiveness for not introducing myself earlier, for no matter how I’ve tried to correct them, being uncontrollably impulsive since birth, my entire life I’ve been stuck with a number of bad habits and crude manners, which, at this point in my life, are beyond the hope of reformation, but rather, are the subject of pity and at worst of light reprobation, and not your anger, at the very thought of which I shrink.
(Josh Davies smiles. The sound engineering now allows Welsh Losser’s lunatic screams to reach nearly their full volume, though they are still being audibly muffled.)
Oh, and another thing, as you watch Welsh Losser here, over to my left, undoubtedly shocked, you may wonder how it is that his eyes never blink or close. Well, before making this film, I decided not to bother with a close-up of Welsh Losser, allowing you to see the reason for his extreme… wakefulness, as that would ruin the artistic sweep of this one very long shot, which is essentially how I planned it. So I will tell you.
I didn’t want Welsh Losser to miss any of this, as it concerns his good friend and, shall we say, very close companion, The Ferret, who lies right here, over to my right, strapped down to this, oh, what shall we call it, examination table…?
So, without any objections from Welsh Losser, as I explained to him it was for the artistic integrity of this movie – ‘You’re doing it for the art, Welsh,’ I said, ‘for the art. Imagine, finally, your biggest role ever – now you’ll really be a star’ (the sound engineering increases the volume of the screams, though they are still audibly muffled), I sewed his eyelids to his brows. Hence, he cannot physically cause himself to blink.
(Josh Davies again smiles. Now the camera has moved far back enough that we finally see The Ferret, strapped to the table.)
Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve mentioned The Ferret, but I haven’t introduced him to you. Well, without further ado, here he, uh, it, uh, he… is. Again, I beg your indulgence and forgiveness, since, as you yourselves can see, it is not easy to define precisely what, or who, The Ferret is.
Without going into time-consuming explanations, years ago I created The Ferret by taking what was, or could have been, a young human being, not yet adolescent, and transforming him into a mutant freak. Believe me, ladies and gentlemen, not that long ago he was a far more interesting beast, with batwings that could really fly and a turtle shell that allowed him to survive precipitous, many-storied falls, landing on his back without a scratch, and he was able to speak. Not to boast or brag, but I had also equipped the ends of his tadpole legs with cloven hooves with which he could scale walls, such as the sides of glass buildings, simply by perpendicular resistance – something one might only see in fantasy and science fiction movies, comic books, or cartoons.
But my biological engineering was such that with time The Ferret would transform into a large rat, which is what you now see strapped to this table before you. Although I do assure you, there is the vestige of a real human being inside this giant rat.
And its mouth, you ask? For dramatic effect with respect to what I am about to do to The Ferret, I have decided to seal it closed with glue, with the black tape over the orifice being a visual touch added to highlight and emphasize his newly acquired inability to emit what would undoubtedly be most annoying rat-like screeches, shrieks and screams in response to all of the unspeakable pain he is about to receive. With Welsh Losser already screaming over there in his chair, in a way giving voice to what his intimate companion The Ferret is about to endure, I also did it for the contrast between the silence and the scream that these two characters at this very moment proffer.
(Now without saying a word, Josh Davies reveals a very large serrated kitchen knife and turns toward The Ferret. At this point, the sound engineering finally allows Welsh Losser’s screaming to reach its full volume while in a very matter-of-fact manner Josh Davies silently goes about carving up The Ferret.)
People in the audience are also screaming, screaming true. Some are fainting, others are throwing up. But none of them can close their eyes to what they see happening, nor can they leave.
Filed by John Smith, August 23, 2014