I loved this ‘track’ idea when we heard it. I thought I’d have TONS of ideas. So many, that I didn’t really think about it until about 2 weeks ago, while on holiday, and realised I had no bloody idea what to do. Was it entrance to a boxing ring? The start of a film? All the tracks that first came to mind were for the end of a film (‘roll credits’) and that wasn’t the brief, though perhaps a great new one.
Then, I didn’t really feel I was doing anything original. I had a playlist/mood board, but it didn’t really say much about why or what it meant to me other than ‘wicked track’. Then I read David’s post and realised you could really run away with it. And here we are. One of my favourite tracks, yes, and possibly not as original as either Joey or David’s, but the idea came to me very quickly once I listened to it. And while there’s a bit of disconnect between the song (and its release) and my ‘entrance’, it all fits.
So, here’s my scene. Sit back, and enjoy.
[Warning: Artistic licence and a time machine required]
Location: an English boarding school in the late 80s.
Kids sitting glumly in monochrome in their form room, doing more dreary homework. Not a sound. Heads down. Too many detentions lately. Not long to bed time. Another grey day in middle class, middle England. Until….
In come the 6th formers. Bored and irritated, with some imperceptible slight. It’s time to pick on whoever’s in front of them, and in this case it’s the nerds. Always the nerds. This time it’s the 2nd years, minding their own business. But here they come, all rolled up sleeves, small-knotted ties and wispy facial hair, kings of the world, at least in their own mind. And ready for another shitkicking of whoever, because these lads are in the first XI, and nothing ever happens to them. Think the classic high school movie cliche, jocks v nerds, except extract all the US glamour, sunny climate, and general colour and mix in a tablespoon of English uptightness, a few drips of angst and the whiff of educational institutionalism and it’s about to kick off, in the most one-sided of ways.
The 2nd years are fed up. They’ve seen this movie too. There’s never a reason for a shoeing other than ‘why not’? And if they’re lucky, they’ll just get their homework spat on, chucked in the bin or their tie pulled tight so they can’t undo it. At worst, bumps, bruises, or perhaps even a broken bone, ready to be covered up with a chat to the parents from the headmaster because ‘we can’t harm our glorious (not very good) reputation’.
First a push, then someone’s dragged out of a cubicle. There’s a smirk, and the gang spreads out. Time slows down. The inevitable awaits….
BUT WAIT. One cubicle is empty. No one notices. Until now. Cue music…. Revenge is finally to be exacted.
[Sound of loud music: Beastie Boys: Sabotage]
Switch to HD. Turn up the colour. Crank up the volume. The guitar kicks in. In walks the kid that has taken enough and isn’t going to take any more. Slow-mo as the first punch lands on that entitled, smug jaw. Out cold. Everyone turns, facing their target. A lucky punch, they think, he’s toast. But it’s just the beginning.
[Sabotage continues, vocals kick in],
Like a mix of Bruce Lee’s grace and power, Arnie’s muscle and Eddie Murphy’s cool, each attacker is repelled with a mix of roundhouses, blocks, jabs. one-inch punches, in slow-mo glory, taking down the older boys that have had this coming for 5 years, treating everyone lower than them like vermin because they’ve spent their lives being told that they’re alpha males who’ll never get their desserts (and yes, they’ll all still on to to be bankers and management consultants, divorced by 35 with a head full of regret and a cocaine problem, enjoy that) but this is the day of the fightback.
In they pile to the lone fighter: 6th formers, 5ths, until the scene resembles a cartoon dust cloud with limbs flying, until a lull
[Sabotage hits 1:37. and as the melody kicks back in]
A hail of bodies fly outwards like an explosion, through windows, walls, doors, until only the hero is left standing, surrounded by his classmates, mouths agape.
He surveys the scene, no movement, brushes dust of his shoulder, and walks out into the sunshine, as the track dies out.
There you go. Let’s call it long wished-for revenge, and leave it at that.