Words. I put a lots of stock in words, I often say. I do. To the ridiculous degree. People don’t care about the words now-days, people care about stuff. Things. It amazes me sometimes how careless people are with words. Not careless with, example, cursing you, I don’t mean that; hey most of the time, I even welcome that. The curse is completely cool with me. Me and curse, we go way back. Cursing is just about the only thing people let go out of their mouths that is – true. I support a good curse.

People are careless with using words; either by not using the good ones, or by using really good ones for no reason at all. Don’t you sometimes wish you lived in, I don’t know, 18th century England, where you’d send and receive letters and hand written notes, and every single word really meant something? When one word could make or brake your whole world. Or you, someone else’s. Word. Word is power.

Too bad lots of today’s fucktards don’t get it all.

Instead, they live their lives dipping into the pool of their platitudes every single fucking day, thinking they’re letting out some proverbs of an utter importance. The convo’s of today’s society, god! Unbearable. No wonder I watch so many films & shows, at least I can listen to some smart made up dialogues.

The Words. Sometimes some movies go under the radar for me, I somehow skip some in my mind or don’t hear about them for some specific reason. Or, as I like to say & firmly believe – something should be watched in the exact time you should. When you’re ready to take something out of it. Still, how can I skip the movie called The Words?

It got under my fingers the other day. I work really hard during the day, on several parts of my business that acquires enormous amounts of concentration because it should basically be done by at least 4 people. So when I’m done, my brain is so tired and overplayed, over-processed to such degree, I can not think about winding down and going to sleep. I need to watch something, every single night, someone else’s story, to get out of mine. Only then I can fall asleep. As I said, The Words got under my fingers, I read the summary, bam! That’s it.

A writer who thinks he is, and wants to be much better than he really is; he’s good, but in today’s literally world, good is not enough. It has to be great. Monumental. Or at least scandalous. He’s neither. He has nothing. Even though he’s highly sympathetic (Bradley Cooper), the movie so greatly touches the phenomenon of today; something that got scarily highlighted with the existence of social networks where everyone pretends they’re the star of their own fucking epic; every single mediocre pedestrian walking the earth wants to be great, known, accomplished, sought after. Famous. Everybody want to be famous, and the scariest part of all, everyone thinks they deserve it. There’s an army of mediocrity marching the streets every single day, and they all fucking think they can substitute great talent with an obnoxious attitude & the altitude of ambition that is really just pure sickness in the head. Being unrealistic – the greatest plaque of today’s world. Hand in hand with delusion. Fuck depression, they need to invent the pills for that shit.

In the movie, our mediocre Bradley the writer finds a manuscript of a memoir written and accidentally lost by an amazingly talented man that wrote a story about his post-war life in Paris. Bradley finds it in some Parisian antique store, also by accident, reads it, and realizes then and there what greatness is, and what he’s never going to be. In the distress that followed, he then decides to rewrite the whole manuscript on his computer, word by word – “…just to see how it feels to type the words so great, just to slide it through my fingers….” And later on steals the manuscript pretending it’s a novel he wrote. Naturally; publishing, fame, accolades followed. Praise. Praise of the parents, wife, loved one’s. That’s always important to those who strive greatness they don’t posses; praise. And then the old man followed, the one who actually wrote the book, crushing his whole world back where it should be. But crushing it not but reporting him or outing him, but just making him snap out of the made out bubble and reminding him who he really is. A mediocre-ness.

How ever we might fake it, it always shows. And even if we fake it real good, pretend even better, we always know. And can we live with that?

Watch The Words. Very sententious little piece. And Jeremy Irons as the old man, now that’s greatness if there ever was one.