Fight Club is easily the best film I have ever seen. Today I mentioned 4 novelists, poets and playwrights as “my favourite writer (singular, non-plural)” in a tute. But Fight Club is my perfect piece of cinema. It’s so perfect on every level; visually, audibly, orally Fight Club is as close to my ideal theatrical experience as can ever, from the night I first saw it, be conceived. I mean, c’mon:Narrator: I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn’t screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all those French beaches I’d never see. I wanted to breathe smoke.Tyler Durden: Where’d you go, psycho boy?Narrator: I felt like destroying something beautiful.
The soundtrack is possibly the opus of Dust Brothers musical output - the finest crisp and nocturnal ambient industrial. It gives me happy nightmares if I listen to it at night.
The sheer concentration of original thought communicated in 2 and half hours of any other thriller in the WHOLE WORLD EVER couldn’t possibly come close. Human character is all that matters. All the split-system ACs, Pokémon cards and chaise lounge suites can burn and burn hard. We’re all meat and animal so fix up, look sharp.
Maybe if it was another movie we watched that movie night my brain and my life would be different.
Fighting is savage, primal, focused. Like sprinting or meditating sans the social bindings. It’s a physical primal scream. Because really:
Tyler Durden: How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight? I don’t wanna die without any scars. So come on – hit me, before I lose my nerve.