Fear, Loathing, and Laphroig

There are two movie theatres in Lancaster. A while ago, Vicki and I went to see Star Trek: Insurrection at the ABC which was a pleasant enough experience, but there was no beer. Last weekend, however, we went to the Duke's to see Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. The Duke's is the local playhouse as well as serving as a cinema. It's very old and there are worn bits in the stone where Robin Hood and his Merry Men (among others) leant against the wall. The foyer is a bar and quite a pleasant one at that: wood, stone, carpet, feisty barmaids with firm buttocks.

It was a bit surreal. First, there was the name of the theatre: the "Duke's". We were going to see a film about Raoul Duke at the Duke's... The coincidence was almost too much for it not to be a conspiracy of some kind. Then, totally unexpected, we walk through the front door into a scene of debauched, drunken depravity. The management was selling intoxicants to a bunch of obvious druggies going to see a film that venerated their evil sub-culture. It was a different crowd than I had seen at most venues in Lancaster. The men were shaggy; the women wore glasses. There was some freak with dreadlocks -- the first time I'd seen them since I left Edmonton. They were obviously all addicts.

I ordered Vicki a pint of dry cider and myself a double Laphroig.

Side note: I haven't figured out the social dynamics of ordering drinks in a crowded bar here. I've been in places where you have to be aggressive and it's everyone for themselves. And, more commonly, I've been in places where you placidly wait your turn and the bartender will become irritated with you if you try to butt in front of someone. In England generally, and certainly that night at the Duke's, things are considerably more odd. There was a crowd of people around the bar but it was difficult to tell if they were in a queue or if they were just chatting or whether they were temperance advocates functioning as a blockade. I sidled closer and closer to the bar, keeping an eye out for any trace of annoyance from those I passed. No one seemed to take any notice of me. I paused when I was stopped by a layer of people plainly waiting to be served. As I stood there, I watched as a man who had just entered the theatre elbowed in front of me and ordered two pints of bitter over the heads of the people standing at the bar. The bartender served him without any sign she thought it was odd. Then she served one of the people in front of me. At that point, a space opened up at the left edge of the bar. Despite the fact that I was surrounded by other people plainly waiting their turn, I was able to casually and naturally walk up to this spot and jump ahead several thousand places in the queue without anyone seeming to take any notice. As I did so, some other queue jumper ordered drinks from somewhere deep in the back of the throng. Everything seemed to be governed by some set of rules I didn't understand. I didn't want to appear pushy but I also didn't want to be overlooked so I fastened my gaze firmly on the nearest barmaid. I was even more baffled when once she was done her current order she asked me what I wanted, ignoring the two people next to me who stood there with fivers in their fists and thirsty expressions on their faces. They had been that way since I had first started working my way through the crowd. I think it must all be governed by class, a holdover from feudal times perhaps.

I was glad that we were able to drink booze while we watched the film. It aided the experience, kind of like "Sensurround" did for Earthquake where the theatre actually shook during the earthquake scenes.

Terry Gilliam does an admirable job of bringing the book to the screen. I was never much of a druggie myself. I loved the book but for Thompson's style and the way he shaped his language, rather than what he actually had to say. The movie (and the book) are about the adventures of Hunter S. Thompson and his friend Dr. Gonzo (an attorney) in Las Vegas for Thompson to cover a motorcycle race and, later, a convention of District Attorneys. They get extremely stoned, wreck a couple of hotel rooms, act bizarrely in public, and are generally a pain in the ass to everyone they meet. The movie made me think of my treeplanting days and a sub-culture of that sub-culture that I tend to think of as the "Givers". The name comes from "Team Giver" which comes from the phrase "Give 'Er!" which is a rallying call to bad behaviour. "Givers" are the kind of treeplanters who get extremely drunk and stoned on days off, wreck hotel rooms, and take turns stage-diving onto stolen wedding cakes. They are the bane and shame of the industry and the source of many of its best stories.

I was never a Giver, but back before I had any responsibilities in the business, I used to enjoy being around them and watch their destruction and doom with fascination. That all changed in 1991 when I became a foreman and started trying to book hotel rooms for a crew that had been in the bush for five weeks. The romance was over. From that point forward, drinking with the rest of the crew gained a new, unpleasant edge. But this movie brought me back to those heady days when I didn't give a rat's ass how much damage anyone else did as long as it didn't get pinned on me.

At the end of the movie, however, I picked up our plastic drink cups and dropped them in the garbage on the way out. I knew that Thompson and the rest of the Givers of the world were cut from a different mold than I. I was safe and responsible and dull.