…Of All The Arts — Chapter 1

THE MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL THE ARTS

I. (Virtually no) Exposition and (Most of the) Characters

We are both just a fantasy

won’t you please keep imagining me?

The Dillinger Escape Plan

“Paranoia Shields”

A man was sitting in an armchair reading a newspaper.

“It’s an extremely boring newspaper. I’m sick of reading it” – said the Armchair.

“It’s the only one we’ve got. It’s hard to find a proper newspaper these days, living in the Very Distant Future, you know. Everybody turned to more unorthodox ways of receiving information a long time ago” – replied the Man grudgingly.

“Are you sure we’re in the Very Distant Future?” – asked the Armchair. – “Look around you. Does anything in our apartment strike you as particularly futuristic”?

The Man observed his surroundings and found them to be quite ordinary and decidedly unfuturistic.

“Well, it must be the Very Distant Future” – said the Man at last, somewhat hesitantly. –“There is no sentient furniture in the Present. Not as far as he knows”.

“Who are you talking about?” – asked the Armchair.

“The guy who is writing us right now. He wouldn’t have started all this mess, if not for that foolish notion about a chair able to read. So, here I am, talking to a cranky old piece of junk”.

“You’re being unfair and insulting”. – replied The Armchair calmly. – “I’m a young and healthy armchair. If I’m a little bit creaky these days, you’ve got only yourself to blame for this. Your ass keeps getting fatter and heavier as time goes by”.

“That was not funny!” – said the Man, obviously scandalized. – “A grudgingly unsubtle joke!”

“One can hardly make subtle puns about such a voluminous object as your buttocks”. – The Armchair was obviously enjoying itself.

“Not only are you a talkative creature, but a caustic one at that!” – Said the Man. – “I’m already tired of this ass-kicking contest”.

“We might as well change the subject” – agreed the Armchair generously, satisfied with a quick and decisive victory. – “Let’s look for something interesting to read. What about that book tucked under your pillow? Is it any good?”

“Ah, that’s the one about Robinson Crusoe!” – Said the Man. – “Yesterday I drowsed off somewhere in the beginning, almost after the shipwreck happened. And left Robinson in a quite desperate situation. You’re right, we should finish it”.

Saying this, the Man promptly got up from the Armchair and took the book from under the pillow. Reading it, however, proved to be rather demanding task, for Robinson obviously didn’t want to be read. He wasn’t desperate at all, but looked extremely bored. He has already salvaged everything valuable from the ship and was sitting on a piece of rock, observing his island wearily. What he wanted was to return to normal life. Right now, this instant.

“Sir, would you be so kind as to tell me, for how long shall I dwell upon this godforsaken place?” – asked Robinson, as soon as the Man opened the book.

“If my memory serves me well, in this edition there are about 270 pages for me to read and a little less than… er… Twenty eight years for you to live right where you are now”. – The man was obviously confused. – “I must assure you that you’ll find some company for yourself sooner or later”.

“Twenty eight years?! Damn you, Daniel Defoe! Pious bugger!” – Robinson was obviously aghast. He stood up from his rock and started pacing back and forth. – “This will not do! I am resolved to have my liberty!”

“Oh, calm down, Mister Crusoe! We’ll get you out, no sweat.”

The Man extended his free hand towards the book, as if he expected to receive a handshake from it, held it outstretched for a while, and then frowned in puzzlement.

“It should have been easy. If I can communicate with you, Mister Robinson, I must be able to simply pull you out from your world into mine”.

“Obviously, something in our fictional universe does not allow us to simply pull an object or a person out from another fictional universe. We’ll figure it out somehow. Let’s stick to plain conversation for the time being”. – interrupted the Armchair.

Robinson flinched, hearing this unexpected addition.

“Am I correct to assume that your armchair is taking part in this discussion, sir?” – asked Robinson incredulously.

“Yeah, it does! Sometimes it talks sense, I must admit” – the Man replied, with unexpected pride in his voice.

“That is most curious. Is it usual practice in your world, to have talking furniture around?”

“I don’t really know, or care” – shrugged the Man – “This story takes place in my apartment, and is pretty much limited to it. So, I’m unaware of the whereabouts of other inhabitants of my fictional universe. Unless someone decides to pay me a visit, of course.”

“Speaking of the story. What sort of a person is our creator and what does he plan to do with us?” – asked the Armchair, again trying to take control over discussion.

“I can’t say much about his plans as of yet. Apparently, he wishes to be a brand new Kurt Vonnegut for his generation” – said the Man. “As to his appearance and attitudes I can just say that he has three heads and eight tentacles and prefers to drink…” – the Man abruptly stopped talking and pressed his hands to his mouth, as if trying to constrain himself from speaking. His face went red as a beet-rut. He lifted his head up to the ceiling and began to yell fiercely.

“Even though I am a character of your story, you can’t make me speak aloud any gibberish that crosses your mind! You think I don’t know that you’re an ordinary human being, just like me or Robinson?!” – Angrily shouted the man. – “And you’ve stolen the bit about beet-rut from a novel by Jo Nesbo!”

“All right, all right!” – said the Armchair soothingly. – “If he doesn’t wish to tell us anything useful about himself, then he thinks it’s unnecessary. Maybe later we’ll find a way to approach him.”

“This is very good, but what do you suggest we should do now?” – asked the Man, still not recovered completely from his blast of anger.

“It’s absolutely clear to me, that we should drink some tea” – replied the Armchair calmly. – “The Kettle started to sing, don’t you hear it?”

“This kettle is boiling over! I feel like I’m a banana tree[1]” – sang The Kettle, perfectly imitating voice of Freddy Mercury.

“How often does this wondrous kettle sing?” – asked Robinson Crusoe, who reasonably stayed out of the discussion while the Man was displaying his bad temper.

“Well, quite frequently” – replied the Man. – “It sings when it’s about to boil, or whenever else it wishes to. Sometimes it sings to mock me, sometimes to amuse me or lighten my mood.”

“I find its singing truly astonishing” – said Robinson. – “Could you, sir, fetch a cup of tea for me too? Does your mysterious Creator allow it?”

The man seemed puzzled. In fact, he already poured the tea into three cups, for the Armchair also found a way to devour tea quite rapidly, simply absorbing it by its upholstery.

“I don’t really know, but who can blame me for trying” – said the Man decisively. He turned his face up to the ceiling once more, and started to shout: — “Hey you! Have some decency! Let that desperate man have his cup of tea!”

After that the Man extended his hand towards an open book. To his surprise, this time a hand, wrapped in some worn out and soaked up cloth, emerged from the book and gently took a cup of tea from the Man’s fingers.

“You see!” – exclaimed the Armchair. – “He’s a nice enough fellow! And there is no point in shouting and turning your head to the sky every time you wish to speak to him. He’s not some sort of a deity. Just an amateur writer.”

After that, things were settled for a while. The inhabitants of the apartment sipped their tea peacefully.

Little did they know that a ruthless killer was coming to get them.

[1] A quote from a song ‘I’m Going Slightly Mad’ by Queen

Next Chapter

…Of All The Arts — Chapter 2

II. Lars Saves The Day

But you forget that in your fairytale, bitch, I’m the wolf!

The Dillinger Escape Plan

“Black Bubblegum”

There was a quiet but broad alley, which led straight to one of the windows of the Man’s apartment. The trees in that alley were largely unattended, and stretched their branches where they pleased, often entwining with each other, thus creating a pleasant shade. Through that shade yet another shadow moved without a sound.

The killer was getting closer and closer.

He moved swiftly and effortlessly. His outfit was immaculately black. His meticulously polished Beretta 92 ominously gleamed in the sun. He was right as rain and merciless as the flood. He was, of course, a true professional. His rules and principles were indisputable. He was the unstoppable force and the immovable object. He kept a stiff upper lip and he shot from the hip. He was the ultimate edition. He was the best.

At last, he came closer to the window and peered through it cautiously. It didn’t take him long to detect his target. The Man stood with his back to the Killer. Everything went according to plan. Silently the Killer undid the latch on the window, sprung it open and came through it. The Man startled and turned around, but it was too late. No more than a split second has passed when the Killer already took his aim, pulled the trigger and…

The Beretta coughed strangely and produced a splash of confetti. As it happened, the killer simply disappeared with a sound similar to that which a bubble makes right before it bursts. The Beretta, however, remained. It landed on the floor with a hollow clunk.

“What happened? What’s the reason for all the noise?” – Robinson caught only a glimpse of what had just occurred and was obviously bewildered.

“Some freak, dressed in black, came through the window, made an attempt to shoot the Man, and then disappeared without a trace. His gun failed him somehow. I must admit, that the whole situation is beyond my comprehension” – the Armchair briefed Robinson with a touch of tremble in its voice.

The Man, however, seemed to recover from this unexpected assault quite quickly. He strode confidently through the room, picked up a gun and put it in his pocket.

“That was just a hitman, and of course he failed his task” — the Man started to explain. – “How could it be otherwise? You see, lads, in this house we abide by the rules of Dogma 95. There is even a portrait of Lars von Trier in my apartment”.

The Man pointed at the wall, where there was indeed a picture, showing a short-haired, unshaven man, who seemed unable to decide whether he wants to smile or to frown. — “And the rule number 6 of the above-mentioned Dogma states clearly, that ‘The film must not contain superficial action. (Murders, weapons, etc. must not occur.)’. The same is true for our story. So, our mysterious gunslinger just doesn’t fit into this fictional universe!” – concluded the Man triumphantly.

“I must say, that your explanation served only to my further confusion, sir” – said Robinson Crusoe. – “What does “a film” mean?”

“Well it’s sort of a theatrical performance only… er… more realistic” – explained the Man. – “But I think you are able to understand the main point: murder is impossible here. As well as a properly functioning weapon” – he took the Beretta from his pocket, examined it closely and put it back.

“To me, however, everything is crystal clear now” – said the Armchair. – “Of course, we can’t just pull Robinson in here. He, too, doesn’t fit in the world, that functions in accordance with the Dogma’s set of rules. I doubt that Von Trier or Vinterberg would ever tolerate talking furniture or singing kettles in their movies, but Dogma 95 does not define clearly what kind of characters could or could not be used. So, there is some room for maneuver. But the rule number 7…”

“Of course! The rule number 7!” – interrupted the Man. – “Temporal and geographical alienation are forbidden! And Robinson is a man from the Past!”

“That’s correct, my boy” – spoke the Armchair patronizingly. – “You could only get in here some character from von Trier’s movies. Particularly from those which he filmed in the 90s, when he followed his own rules most closely. How about ‘Idioterne’? That one was filmed in 1998.”

“I’d rather not” – replied the Man curtly and shuddered.

“I suppose, we must transfer the book into some Robinson-friendly fictional universe” – said the Armchair. – “I suggest…”

And then the world just stopped. The Man seemed to be captured in half-motion. Everything was perfectly still and eerily silent. So it was for several hours. Then suddenly everyone came alive again with a convulsive sigh.

“My friends!” – exclaimed Robinson Crusoe immediately. – “I can see you again! Where have you been? For some time it seemed to me that you’ve disappeared and I was left alone on this damnable island again!”

“That I can explain easily” – said the Armchair. – “Apparently, our Creator drowsed off in the process of actual creation and stopped writing us. That’s why our little world simply stood still and waited for him to wake up. And our link with Robinson was temporarily broken.”

“This is intolerable!” – exclaimed the Man angrily. – “He should finish the story as soon as possible and let us go on with our lives!”

“Therein lies another problem” – said the Armchair. – “I don’t think he himself knows how this story should end. Of course, he could interfere directly, write himself into a story, and put everything to rights. But he is not God Almighty or Ziltoid the Omniscient. So he fears that his direct interference will only complicate the situation. He even considered a possibility that a friend might step in and help him to finish this. But in the end he decided that we’re smart enough to find the ending on our own.”

“Not until you’ll help me with this terrible misfortune! I don’t want your story to end when I’m still trapped on an island” – Robinson didn’t even bother to conceal pleading notes in his voice.

“Now it’s all messed up! You cannot give up![1]” – sang the Kettle in almost-too-sweet yet still pleasant voice of James LaBrie.

“Nobody’s going to give up!” – objected the Armchair. – “I was about to make a suggestion before it all stopped, remember? Do you recall that old Italian comedy with Paolo Vilaggio? I suggest that you and Robinson should get inside that movie. It should be easy to release Robinson from his book once you’re in there.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I think I have… er… a copy of ‘Signor Robinson’ somewhere” – the Man seemed to be mildly confused for no apparent reason. Nonetheless he proceeded to a bookshelf and searched in there for a while.

“There it is!” – he exclaimed finally, and turned around to show his companions a…

Next Chapter

[1] A quote from a song ‘Agony’ by James LaBrie

…Of All The Arts — Chapter 3

III. For A Few Robinsons More

You were always in search of me

Takes a second to find what you seek.

The Dillinger Escape Plan

“Paranoia Shields”

“…A VHS tape?! Now that’s futuristic! You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“As good a data carrier as any! We’ll have to use what we’ve got! After all some movies were never released in any format except for VHS.”

“If there is no other choice then so be it. How do you suppose to get in there?”

“That is not a problem. Since I’ve got the Robinson’s book with me it’s possible to establish a connection between our world and that of ‘Signor Robinson’.”

“Put the tape into the recorder then, and let’s get over it!”

***

On the screen, a man with a grumpy face, wearing pants made of grass, waistcoat of indescribable colour and a shapeless headdress, was trudging along the sea-coast, speaking fervently into a transmitter, which, without a doubt, was dysfunctional.

The Man put the book gingerly in his pocket and touched the screen tenderly with his fingertips. He was sucked in immediately and completely.

As the Man emerged on the sea-coast, Signor Robinson came closer, showing no sign of fear and bewilderment. He kept the same pace, but stopped talking to himself. Without a word he took the book from the Man’s hands, opened it at exactly the same spot at which the Man was forced to give up the reading earlier, and started to shake the book fiercely.

First, there came the sounds. Startled yelps and muted swearing were accompanied by clatter of utensils and splashing of the water. Then finally Robinson Crusoe emerged from the book, falling clumsily on the sand, face-forward. He got up promptly, apparently enraged, but quickly subdued his anger and looked attentively on his more recent version.

Definitely, there was some resemblance between the two of them. The original Robinson wore similar outfit of grass pants, waistcoat and conical hat. He was however, better build, heavily bearded and wore more pleasant facial expression than his Italian counterpart. He also had a small hatchet, attached to his waist.

Finally the two Robinsons shook their hands. “Thank you most kindly, sir” – muttered Robinson Crusoe. “Va fanculo![1]” – muttered Signor Robinson in response. The two of them were obviously content with each other. Then Robinson Crusoe shifted his gaze to observe his surroundings.

“So far I’ve only exchanged one deserted island for another. How do you plan to return home, sir?” – He stared at the Man intently, waiting for response.

The Man was busy examining the book. Most of its pages were utterly blank now, save for the part that the Man has already read. But as he opened his mouth to answer the question, yet another odd thing happened.

Suddenly everything disappeared, including Paolo Vilaggio’s character. The Man and Robinson plunged straight into black and white ripple and monotonous buzzing.

***

“What is this?! Where are we?!” – Robinson thrashed his limbs wildly, unsuccessfully trying to hold on to something.

“This is the white noise! A badly recorded tape! Some part of the movie is missing” – replied the Man.

Having nothing to hold on to, both men entered the state of free fall. Their efforts to change the situation proved to be futile. They couldn’t reach the edge of the screen, and most certainly couldn’t return to the apartment.

“We have to do something! I’m almost deaf and blind from all this noise and ripple!” – Said Robinson, clutching the Man’s hand tightly.

“Signor Robinson! Signor Robinson!” – The Man started to yell desperately. – “Help us, please! Aiutarci[2]!”

These words, at last, had the desirable effect. A plump hand with short fingers emerged on a screen, took the Man by the collar of his t-shirt and pulled him alongside with Robinson into another part of the movie.

***

Signor Robinson examined hapless travellers closely, found no sign of physical damage, muttered another obscenity, and turned away from them. He had a companion now. Wide-eyed, lean and shapely black girl stared at the Man warily. Robinson Crusoe, in turn, fixed his gaze on the girl. He eyed her as avariciously, as any man would, after spending several years travelling aboard various ships with solely masculine crew.

“Si chiama Venerdi![3]” – Signor Robinson introduced the girl quickly, before devoting his attention to her completely

Her voice chimed melodically, increasing Crusoe’s affection, as she spoke to Signor Robinson in Italian. The Man deciphered only the word ‘Robby’. He understood, however, that it was time to get out of the movie.

“Concentrate, Mister Crusoe! Take my hand again. I’m going to rewind the movie right to its end. Time to go home!”

The man produced a remote controller from his pocket and pressed the button. Events of the movie started to flow rapidly past them. As it turned out, Robinson Crusoe somehow managed to follow them, without missing anything important. At some point his hand clutched the Man’s elbow tightly, causing him to stop pressing the button.

“I’m sorry, sir, can you stop for a moment? It seems like our Italian friend is in danger. He helped us twice. I suppose, we might want to return the favour.”

The Man looked around. There was no doubt, that ‘Robby’ needed help. Down in the sea, at quite a distance from the shore, there was a neat white yacht. A middle-aged woman with a preposterous haircut was standing at the upper deck. Her face wore triumphant and predatory expression. She was looking directly at Robby.

Robby was trapped. Hopelessly.

A giant fishing net descended from the yacht, wrapping Robby completely in its tight embrace.

Robinson Crusoe averted his gaze for a moment to look at the Man, and couldn’t believe his eyes. The Man’s face was radiant with joy.

“We absolutely should help him, my friend! And I think I know how!”

The Beretta was already in the Man’s hand. Robinson was bewildered.

“But it’s dysfunctional! We saw for ourselves!”

“It stopped being dysfunctional as soon as we set our feet upon this shore! In this fictional universe Lars von Trier has no power over us, and his pretentious set of rules doesn’t work here.”

“Even so, who do you intent to shoot? And how can you be sure that you’ll hit the mark at such a distance?”

“The bastard, who writes us, didn’t even bother to give me a name or a description, remember? And that gives us some advantages. It is also very fortunate, that the movie is Italian, and its director is well-known not only for his comedies, but also for spaghetti westerns. In this, he was almost equal to Sergio Leone. So, I might as well be The Man With No Name!”

Confused by this extensive explanation, which, of course, seemed nonsensical to a man from 17^th century, Robinson wasn’t ready for what happened next.

The Man’s appearance and posture changed entirely in an instant. The most prominent details of his attire were now a wide-trimmed hat and an olive green poncho with white pattern wrapped around his shoulders. There was also a cigar in his mouth. All in all, he looked exactly like Clint Eastwood’s character from the Dollars Trilogy. Awe-struck Robinson noticed that the gun also underwent significant changes.

“Yes, it’s no longer a Beretta! It’s Colt Single Action Army 5 ½! With rattlesnake grips, of course!” — The Man promptly took aim and pulled the trigger. The bullet cleanly severed the rope, by which the net was attached to the yacht.

“Robby!” – exclaimed Venerdi, who stood motionless on the shore while her beloved was captured, unable to do anything. Now she splashed through the water, eager to help Robby, who was striving to release himself from the net.

“Our mission is complete! Now, we are almost free to go!” – The Man was keeping the sailors at bay with his gun, preventing them from recapturing Robby.

“Don’t you think we should take this strange couple with us as well?” – asked Robinson, watching as the sailors from the yacht and the black men from the girl’s tribe started to move toward each other with equal determination.

The man took three more shots, splashing the water and discouraging both sides of the conflict from taking any further actions. Robby saw the opportunity and ran towards the Man. The girl followed him, clutching at his hand.

“All right! It seems like they wouldn’t mind to get out of here. And we don’t want to cause an interracial conflict” – agreed the Man, and took Robby’s hand. Robinson Crusoe was more than pleased to hold Venerdi’s hand. – “Let’s give these morons something to cooperate on! Let them chase us. The movie is about to end. I can see the closing titles on the horizon!”

And so they ran. As the Man predicted, the extras tried to chase them, but the titles were too close.

Falling through the titles felt very much like what Alice must have felt while falling through the rabbit hole. When the movie came to a full stop, the screen turned off by itself and the whole foursome appeared in the apartment, where the journey started.

“Make yourself comfortable!” – exclaimed the Armchair cheerfully. – “As I can see, you’ve managed to release two Robinsons from the grip of various malevolent forces! I’m impressed, my boy! There was a fair amount of overacting on your part in the final scene, but nonetheless, take my sincerest congratulations!”

The Man wasn’t sure how to react to such profuse praising. Robby already managed to take the Armchair, with Venerdi on his lap.

“Mister Crusoe! Stop staring at the girl” – The Armchair obviously was forced to remain silent for too long, and now tried to compensate it. – “We shall fetch you some beautiful actress from Lars von Trier’s movie, when this story is over. I wouldn’t advice to take Charlotte Gainsbourg, for her characters are extremely unstable in both ‘The Antichrist’ and ‘Nymphomaniac’. Possibly, Nicole Kidman from ‘Dogville’ or Bjork from ‘Dancing in the Dark’ will match your tastes? We shall see!”

“There is still one problem left” – reminded the Man – “The ending of our own story”.

“A problem? Not anymore!” – The Armchair was extremely proud. – “Your adventures amused and inspired me! Watching them, I was able to think of a solution both brilliant and simple!”

“Speak it out loud then!”

After a lengthy dramatic pause the Armchair finally spoke.

“We, ladies and gentlemen, should make our story into a movie!”

[1] ‘Go fuck yourself’ in Italian

[2] ‘Help us’ in Italian

[3] ‘Her name is Friday’ in Italian

 

Last Chapter

…Of All The Arts — Chapter 4

IV. Endless Endings

After this is done, you can go your way

Don’t forget. This is how

Everything should be…

Don’t you ever go.

The Dillinger Escape Plan

“Sick On Sunday”

The sun was setting down slowly. The scene was set and the decorations were ready. The director was about to give his commands.

“That’s it? Will it be sufficient?”

“Of course! From now on our Creator has only two options left, bearing in mind the fact that his main characters are heavily engaged in production of a movie about themselves. He can either start to write basically the same story all over again, adding some details about the movie’s production. Or he can end it all right now. I wonder why he hasn’t done it yet.”

“Say, isn’t it right, that the characters of our movie will be forced to make a movie about them in the end, thus creating an endless link of movies-within-a-movie?”

“That is beyond my comprehension. Most certainly, there is a possibility to make the first movie in history, which contains its own remake within itself. Let’s not talk about it. Tell me, have you agreed to play the lead role?”

“No. Let the professional actors do their job. I’ll settle with a small cameo appearance.”

“Whose part do you plan to perform?”

“Why, Robby’s unfortunate wife, of course. But we have no time to discuss the details.”

“Why is that?”

“You, being an Armchair, are unable to look down and see for yourself. I, however, can see it clearly. Two simple words. Six letters.”

THE END