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53) A Haunting in Venice
🕑 Added 2024-02-11 18:36:37 +0000 UTC27th August 1997 (Wednesday)
Ricky Stirling (POV)
I laid down on the bed, my naked posterior facing up, but covered by the blanket to preserve my dignity in some form. I raise my head up from the pillow, my eyes following her frantic movements as clothes all but fly in the air… in her rushed attempt to pack her bags.
Bags… Plural.
While all I had packed for the 10 days trip to Italy was a mini-suitcase.
Then again, I can’t really blame her for her preparation, considering all I had stowed away in my bag was 2 pairs of formals, for the premiere, and awards ceremony, essential toiletries, briefs, socks, and a few other utilities.
I didn’t bother to pack casual wear, mostly because I planned on buying a bunch of clothes from Rome, if only to blend in with the locals. My mastery over the Italian language, and my Sicilian accent locked and loaded, will make it a piece of cake really.
Also… I’m rich as hell. Why travel with clothes, when you can just buy new ones from any corner of the world?
And also because I really wanted to add another dimension to the famed proverb, ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do’. It’s quite literally the sole reason why I am planning on spending 2 days in Rome, starting tomorrow, before taking a Le Frecce high-speed train to Venice, for the eponymous Film Festival.
I rest my head on the palm of my hand, my elbow on the bed, as the duvet slides off a little revealing everything north of my nipples to the air-conditioned motel room.
“No need to sneak a glance you know? You can stare all you want, I personally, would love nothing more.” I smirk teasingly, catching her wandering eye, as she blushed momentarily… before scowling, and going back to ignoring my glorious presence.
“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about it, my sherry? So I sprung up the dates without warning-”
“The plane leaves tomorrow morning Ricky! And you didn’t bother telling me, until 15 mins ago after we had finished our nightly romp?!”
“Well, I sure as hell wasn’t gonna tell you in the middle of it! Or before it, really. Then you would’ve started packing, and wouldn’t make time for the… romp as you so innovatively labeled it.”
She stared at me in disbelief, her right eye twitching all over the place, as she harbored thoughts of punching my perfect face. Then she glanced at my sharp jawline, before dropping the stupid, albeit tempting line of thought. “What else should I call it then? Coitus? Copulation? Fucking like a pair of bunnies-”
“How about making love? Sounds more refined than its varied synonyms.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny. And seriously, don’t spring these things on me at the very last minute ‘kay? I’m a busy woman, living paycheck to paycheck. I can’t afford to be as spontaneous as you.”
“Makes sense, I guess. Sorry. The original plan actually, was to fly with the cast on 31st August, but I had always wanted to visit ‘The Eternal City’, and the cradle of the Western Civilization.”
“I’m sorry, the- what of what?” She questioned, as she recommenced her hasty packing.
“Cradle. Of Western Civilization. It’s always been a fascination of mine.” I said, sitting up on the bed, as the comforter slid off my torso. “The city, which served as the capital for 3 major civilizations. The Roman Kingdom, Roman Republic, and the famed Roman Empire. It has been referred to by many as the first ever sprawling metropolis of this world. So a change in plans had to be facilitated-”
“Without consulting me-”
“I’m sorry. No really, I am. Yes, I do have the emotional bandwidth to feel apologetic, as ludicrous as it might seem- No, I’m not reading your mind, for an actress, your poker face sucks ass. Now, before your wayward thoughts so rudely interrupted me-” She scoffed loudly, rolling her mesmerizing set of eyes, “We’re gonna explore Rome together. Just think about it Sherry, our first ever trip as a couple.” I shuffle towards her, my knees propelling me forward on the bed, as I look up in her eyes, grasping her lithe hands.
“A tour of the city- no, not like that, a proper tour! We visit historical monuments all day, capture amazing memories of a lifetime, a romantic dinner where we’ll wine and dine… before the night devolves into passionate bliss, as we fulfill our carnal desires-”
“Oh Come on! You jus- you had to ruin it didn’t you?” She pushed me away, ensuring I fell back onto the bed, back first as I chuckled.
“It’s what I do dear… It’s what I do.” We shared a glance before she finally cracked a smile, as she continued her packing frenzy.
…
…
6th September 1997 (Saturday)
Vanessa Campion (POV)
“Madame, for today, you will be seated in the mezzanine section.”
“Mezzanine? But yesterday, I had a seat with my fellow jury members in the center of the theater! The VIP box, ‘symbolizes my authority and importance within this festival’ or so I was told by Mr. Renard. Am I being replaced, my dear boy?” I jokingly ask.
To his credit, the usher replied instantly, “The mezzanine too is symbolism at its finest Madame. After all, the unique vantage point it provides, displays your elevated status to any and all attendees.”
Oh my. Young, handsome, and quick with his tongue... I might just snag him for the night if someone doesn’t try and stop me.
“Bold. And quick with your tongue.” I lean in a little, cupping his butt, as he stiffens a little, whispering in his ear, “find me later. You might just be in for a treat laddie.”
He stutters a little, before taking off, no doubt in a desperate effort to get the hell away from me.
A chuckle breaks out to my left, “Now why did you have to do that? You realize he’s not going to come back here to escort us out when the movie ends right? We’ll get lost all over again for goodness’ sake!” My fellow Jury member, Dijon Laurent commented, an irritated glint in his eyes.
“Oh relax, will you?! Let a ‘madame’ have her fun once in a while! Life gets boring once you cross the 60s. But you would know all about that wouldn’t you?” I ask the 70 year old balding man, with one of the most wrinkly faces I’ve ever seen.
He simply grunts before taking his seat.
“Ah! Goddamn it!”
“What’s the matter? Is the seat too plushy?”
“Vanessa… you do Pilates right?”
I nod lightly, “Yes. I’ve been doing it for a decade now.”
“Never stop. I’ll tell you one thing from experience… Arthritis will suck the life out of you. You’ll be like me, grunting and moaning, while simply bending your damn knee joints to take a seat. It’s the reason I retired… Until now.”
“Oh yeah! This must be a trip down the memory lane for you huh?! 2 Silver Lions, and a lifetime achievement award, you’ve certainly made a name for yourself out here! How long has it been since the last one? What, 10-20 years?”
“8. I was in the running for the Golden Lion. For the first time in 23 years. I’m half convinced it was out of pity, if nothing else. And Takahashi’s 'Shirohe-San', was voted on unanimously. The 3rd ever unanimous vote in here. I probably didn't even make the goddamn shortlist and now here I am, judging these little mon chou, while I sit in the mezzanine, listening to your annoyingly deep voice.”
“Hey! It’s not that deep! And hush, will you? The movie’s starting!”
He nods serenely, before asking, “What’s the name?”
“Just look at the screen, they’ll show the name. Plus, how the hell would I know?”
“You’re the Jury President! Why would you not know?!”
“Well you’re a member of the Jury too! Didn’t you get the memo?”
And while we bickered back and forth, a new voice pierced our little spat, “Oh would you two stop talking for the next 2 hours?! It started for god’s sake!” My fellow Jury member, Martin Hagel, shushed, before exchanging a glance with the other 5 Jury Members, as they settled into their seats.
The title flashed onto the screen… ‘Good Will Hunting’.
Huh.
Interesting.
An American entry of all things. They usually prefer Sundance and Toronto, last I heard. Could be on account of an American not winning the Golden Lion, or the Grand Prix Award since 1986.
11 whole years. Oh sure, there were a number of entries over the years that were good, even half-way decent. Why, one of them went on to win big at the Golden Globes… ‘Jitter Jelly’ was the name last I remember of it.
And with that, I forgo any and all intrusive thoughts, as I, along with my fellow Jury members, become the embodiment of professionalism, immersing ourselves in the cinematic experience of the film titled, ‘Good Will Hunting’.
The starting credits rolled in, as a sweet melody played out in the background…
...
Hold on… what?!
I directed an incredulous expression towards my fellow jurors, solely to see whether they shared my disbelief.
They did.
One of them, Danny Trehaan, finally broke the silence, “What the fuck? Who th- who the fuck is this guy? He directed the movie, scripted it, edited it, produced it, supervised the casting, and composed the goddamn score? Hold on, I thought this was a commercial movie? It was released worldwide 2 days ago but this… is this art-house by any chance?”
“Ricky Stirling… wait. It said this was an Ambrose Stirling production… who the fuck is Ricky-”
“Hold on, his name appeared after Pacino… did he act in this as well?”
“This shit can’t get more art-house, if it tried to-”
“Everyone, shut up!” I hushed, as silence befell the mezzanine.
“The guy made an effort, so let’s honor it like we always do! This ‘Ricky’ is probably sitting in the VIP box right now, and you’ll get your answers at the end. So hush and watch!”
Finally… some peace and quiet.
…
…
“Son of a bitch. He stole my line.” ‘Sean’ smirked, as he closed the door behind him.
The screen cut to a car driving away into the sunset, as a song started playing out.
~Two tickets torn in half~
~And a lot, of nothing to do~
The closing credits started rolling in, as lights flooded the hall.
But a white spotlight made itself distinct, as it fell on the center seats, the VIP Box, shining light on… ‘Will’.
‘Will Hunting’... No.
“Ricky Stirling.” Dijon whispered out, as he wiped away the tear marks on his cheeks from about 15 minutes ago.
Not that I’m in any position to poke fun at others… It was a powerful scene. The hug… the acceptance of the undeniable… half the audience was in tears.
I myself almost shed a few, before wiping away at my eyes with my napkin, my left one, turning a little red in the aftermath.
Everyone’s eyes followed the spotlight… as all was quiet for a few seconds… before the tension popped like a balloon, and a frenzied cacophony of hoots, whistles, and applause filled the air.
And rightfully so.
Dijon started it… I followed him a split second later, prompting the rest of the Jury to do the same.
And in a matter of seconds, a standing ovation followed.
Led by Dijon, the man with arthritis, but following our example, it spread to the darkest corners of the hall, as everyone applauded the surrealism of it all.
The movie, with its tight script, emotionally driven narrative, engaging score, and absolutely masterful performances by the cast… dug deep into the hearts of everyone here today it seems.
And in the center of it all… ‘Ricky Stirling’, a man clearly in his early 20s by the look of it… waving away at the audience, taking deep bows in all the general directions, as he basked in the impact of his outlandish achievement. And to think, someone so talented had escaped the Jury’s notice till today.
The standing ovation lasted a good few minutes, before everyone finally settled down, most of them not leaving their respective seats, for the sole reason of sticking around for the Q&A session.
And frankly I had a few questions of my own to ask… So did my fellow members of the Jury.
“To think someone so young… could accomplish something so… uncanny.” Danny remarked.
We all shared his thoughts really, he was simply the one to break the silence.
“Fellow Jury Members,” I raised my voice slightly, drawing their attention, “This is the final film in the competing category. The awards ceremony is in 2 days. We’ll reconvene for deliberation on the winners, and then the voting will commence tomorrow evening. You’ll be notified of the timings later today. But first… I believe you all had questions for young Ricky… it seems you’ll have your opportunity to quench your respective curiosities in a few minutes.”
Comments
Archonstine
Obviously
Josh Snider
Obviously, this is the Venice Film Festival.
