They say seeing is believing—which is probably the other side of the “sucker born every minute” coin. Can we really trust our eyes after thousands of years of Jesus magic, peyote, Escher doodles, and Wachowski Brothers films? The Wachowski Brothers aren’t even brothers. BOOM! One’s a sister. Mind blown?
It shouldn’t be. Fact is, seeing is seeing and not very much more, which is probably the reason we evolved four other senses—”if it walks like a duck AND quacks like a duck”—see how it works? But while quintangulation was particularly important to our ancestors’ survival, the comforts of modern life are such that we’ll gladly subdue, numb, and warp our senses for a psychological kick, an old favourite being the suspension of disbelief that occurs within the cinema house as we play pretend: that Matt Damon’s a spy! That Matt Damon’s a math’s whiz! That Matt Damon’s—the rest of his oeuvre momentarily escapes me.
The point is we don’t rationally confuse films and reality, or even biopics and reality beyond the age of twenty-four, but we play along because our emotions have no idea that Tom Hanks laid down his life to save Matt Damon?! The humanity! Emotions playing Buffy to our rationality’s Watcher. So, with all of this topsy-turvy emotional chicanery going on, we don’t bat an eyelid when someone paints a few pyramids on a glass slide in Mexico, passes off a 7-11 in Los Feliz as The Louvre, or lands on the moon on Stage H, Shepperton Studios (eh, conspiracy theorists?).
But, far from the seductive glow of the silver screen, when some dork gives you a dose of reality, it can be rather interesting. And guess what—I’m that dork!
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