What is it about retarded home videos that we always get the impulse to share them, knowing that nobody would find them funny or interesting except for the people in it? And simply acknowledging this stupidity doesn't make it less stupid if you still do it, you know? It might actually make you seem more stupid. I mean you really gotta be stupid to be unable to resist being stupid...
EXT. EMPTY CAFE - DAY
Jules (31) sits patiently at a table on the patio. He is reading a paper and drinking tea. Nico (24), his cousin, staggers in and sits at the table.
NICO
Sorry.
JULES
Don't worry about it.
NICO
I was just at the bookstore. It was so crowded, I couldn't take it.
JULES
(still looking at his paper)
What'd you get?
NICO
Nothing. You should have seen it--bookstores are like the new bars now. I can't stand the fake ass conversations people have in there, it's disgusting.
Jules closes his paper with a sigh.
NICO
(cont.)
People are so in love with what they know...
(beat)
What, am I boring you?
JULES
You're not boring me. You're just very negative sometimes, that's all.
NICO
I'm not being negative, I'm just telling you what I saw.
JULES
All right, go on.
NICO
No. Nevermind.
(beat)
How's Marcy?
Jules chuckles.
JULES
She's good. We're good. Her stomach's finally starting to show, everything's heatlhy--look, finish your story, I didn't mean to cut you off.
NICO
It's alright.
JULES
Listen--I'd rather you talk it out instead of keeping it in the way you do. You know, you repress everything, it's not good for you. I want this to be a nice meal.
Nico takes out a cigarette and lights it. Jules sits patiently as he watches this process. Nico takes a drag before he begins. Jules frowns.
NICO
I was just looking around you know? And I was going through the Hemingways when I saw a copy of Siddhartha out of place in the H-E-M's. So I took it out and kind of skimmed through it, reminiscing about the book when this girl--I don't know where the hell she came from--but this girl comes up right next to me with those stupid ass black plastic glasses that everyone's got, wearing her grandmother's clothes or some vintage stink, and says 'hey that's a great book'.
Nico takes a deep drag, anticipating a reaction from Jules. Jules does not say anything.
NICO
(cont.)
I just can't stand that kind of look, and that kind of talk. I can't stand any look. Why can't someone just look nice, and not have to look like something, you know?
Nico takes another deep drag. Deep drags are the only ones he takes. Jules' patient composure is slowly fading on his face.
JULES
So, what'd you say?
NICO
To her? Nothing. I kind of nodded and went back to skimming the book.
JULES
Jesus.
NICO
What?
Jules shakes his head.
NICO
(cont.)
Hey, what was I supposed to say? How am I supposed to respond to that? 'I like it too?' Who gives a shit.
JULES
Yes, that's exactly what you say! If no one gives a shit, why make a big deal about it?
NICO
It is a big deal. When I hear these people talk, I just don't believe them. I don't think they're lying to me exactly. I just think they're lying to themselves.
JULES
What? Who are 'these people'? How can you know that? How can you possibly know that? That's the most arrogant, childish thing I've ever heard.
Jules quickly regains his patient composure. Nico flicks his finished cigarette. Jules follows it with his eyes as it lands not in a trash can.
NICO
I don't know, I just know. It's how people are. They just want to say things that sound positive about themselves in front of other people. They'll take any opportunity they can get to do it too. I swear, somewhere along the road, somebody in everybody's lives came by and convinced them that they weren't good enough the way they were, or that they wouldn't be happy in their lives if they didn't become something else. Everybody's a runaway.
JULES
A runaway?
NICO
From themselves, and who they really are when they're alone at home or when they're with like...their cat or something. Everyone's always putting on some beauty pageant in public, I'm sick of it--and I'm not being negative. I honestly like most people when they're being themselves. It's just almost impossible to meet people who're like that. The worst part is, I think most people have like, rationalized their entire lives, you know? Everything they do or like, to fit some ideal that isn't them, but they genuinely believe they're being honest. They'll find any rationale to like anything, it's CRAZY.
Jules is attentive but his eyes move as if he is thinking of something to say.
NICO
(cont.)
All I'm saying is, I just didn't get the feeling this girl really likes books, or that she really is a nerd even though she dresses like one. I would love for her to be a real nerd--I love real nerds, but I fucking hate fake ones.
JULES
How do you know she wasn't a 'real nerd'?
NICO
Because real nerds are kind of embarrassed about that kind of stuff. Real nerds runaway from that kind of stuff. They'd rather wear nice clothes and get drunk and shit because most people think that's more attractive than reading a book. They're doing whatever they can to not seem like a nerd.
JULES
That doesn't make any sense. Then why would this girl that talked to you try and be a 'fake nerd' if real ones try and get away from it?
NICO
I don't know, probably because someone made her feel stupid or inferior at some point in her life, and she's runing away from herself by trying to read books like Siddhartha and feel smarter about herself. That's why she had to tell me it was a great book--she needed people to know she was smart or whatever the fuck kind of people read that book. It's all bullshit. I bet you there are real nerds at the bar getting fucked up every night, sleeping around, and then secretly reading Siddhartha at home with their cats or dogs and not saying anything about it to anyone.
JULES
And that's who you want to meet?
NICO
(frustrated)
NO, because they want to be something else too. Everyone wants to be something other than who they are.
JULES
Why can't a 'real nerd' genuinely want to go out and have a good time at a bar?
NICO
Whatever--that's fine. I just don't wanna be there for that. I just don't believe they really have a good time; I think they'd have a more comfortable, better time at home. It's so obvious, and that's fine. I just wish they knew that it was fine. Jules, this isn't even about nerds anyway--what the hell are we talking about? I'm just saying, I want to meet someone who isn't proud of who they are or who they aren't. Someone who just...is.
Jules chuckles a bit.
NICO
(cont.)
What--is that funny to you?
JULES
No no. It's just...do you hear yourself? You act like you just figured out some sort of hidden truth in life or something. What, you want to meet people who act like themselves? Who are honest? WHO DOESN'T? Everyone feels that way, get over it.
NICO
I'm not saying I'm the only one that feels this way. I'm just saying it's more important to me than it is for most people. I wanna meet someone who'd be kind of embarrassed to admit they like Siddhartha to a complete stranger, you know? I want to meet someone who isn't so proud of what they like, or act like they like, that they have to tell me that before they tell me their name.
JULES
What the hell do you care about some stranger's name? Look I really don't think that's what it is all. Not everyone thinks the way you do. Some people just want to have a simple conversation about something they're interested in.
Nico sighs and turns his head away. He reaches for his cigarettes.
JULES
(cont.)
You can't just expect everyone to be like you, kid. I know it's hard, but when you start to think everyone acts a certain way, you gotta start thinking that maybe it's not them--it's you.
Nico lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag.
NICO
Well, what does that prove? What're you telling me--that I should start running away too? That I need to become more like them because some girl at a bookstore made me realize I'm fucking CRAZY because I didn't want to hear about her thoughts on Siddhartha? You know what? FUCK SIDDHARTHA. I don't even like that book--does that make me crazy too?
JULES
You don't like Siddhartha?
Nico gets up.
JULES
Alright, sit down. Look, no one's calling you crazy.
NICO
No but that's how you're making me feel.
JULES
I'm not making you feel anything--don't put this on me. I'm just trying to be a good cousin, just trying to be honest. What would you rather me say? 'What a cunt. Who does she think she is, giving her opinions to strangers--especially in this country?'.
NICO
Fuck you Jules. Are you enjoying this?
JULES
(calmly)
Relax, relax. I'm just trying to get it through to you that these aren't original thoughts you're having, and it's dangerous to think so. A lot of people feel the way you do. You're not crazy, and you can't be so narcissistic as to think that you are crazy, as if you aren't just like everyone else. Get that out of your system, because the whole world is crazy. Every one is crazy--you just have to learn to accept it, because it's all you've got.
NICO
Gee, that's great advice. Boy, I've never thought of that.
JULES
(ignoring the last statement)
Look--do what you want. I'm just saying, you just can't take it so seriously Nico. Even if what you're saying is true--about the girl at the bookstore--how do you know that who ever you think she's running away from isn't somebody you'd really like? You can't just expect everyone to immediately be willing to show you who they are. You have to earn it. And come on, you're a bright kid, you seriously think all these people are tricking you? That they're that good at putting on a show? People are only conscious of certain things about themselves--not everything. So they are always acting like themselves to a certain extent. Forget the clothes and the image and all that. Those things have never been important to you anyway. People do what they can to feel okay about themselves, there's nothing wrong with that. It's not like that girl was insulting you or anything, right?
Nico agrees in silence.
JULES
(cont.)
You're just going to have to start taking some chances once in a while. With people. It doesn't mean you're running away from yourself or anything. It just means you're willing to accept certain things as they are. It's your only hope to find some happiness in life, kid. I'm sorry but that's the truth.
Nico stares out of the cafe, onto the street of people walking by.
NICO
Yeah...
JULES
(smiling)
What is it?
NICO
It's just hard. I get so discouraged with people so quickly.
JULES
Yeah...we all do. You just have to concentrate on the better things. I'm not sure the kind of person you think you're looking for even exists.
(beat)
And you have to be okay with that.
(beat)
I mean, you're not even that person.
Nico chuckles.
NICO
No?
Nico continues to watch the people passing by.
NICO
(cont.)
I don't know. I mean, I don't know if you're right...
(beat)
but I want you to be. And I want be able to believe what you're saying one day, the way you do.
Jules chuckles. Nico looks at Jules, and smiles for second.
JULES
All right, come on, let's do something more enjoyable with our mouths--let's eat. Where the hell's our waittress?
END.
Excerpt from SIDDHARTHA:
"I learned through my body and soul that it was necessary for me to sin, that I needed lust, that I had to strive for property and experience nausea and the depths of despair in order to learn not to resist them, in order to learn to love the world, and no longer compare it with some kind of desired imaginary world, some imaginary vision of perfection, but to leave it as it is, to love it and be glad to belong to it."
I recently re-read CATCHER IN THE RYE, and was halfway through FRANNY AND ZOOEY when I closed the book and decided I couldn’t finish it. I was disappointed once and for all with J.D.S and went straight to expressing my frustrations:
“December 8, 2008--First and foremost, I want to state— specifically for this author— that I think the only healthy way to read most novels is to engage the text with expectations or, more assertively, intentions of having an internal conversation with the author about what’s being said. I think it’s dangerous to dive into the sink of an author’s mind, or soul, especially Salinger’s, as a dry sponge, seeking— and ultimately— sinking for guidance or identity. I’ve never believed you can learn anything of real value in life by having read it. I think we sometimes mistaken articulation for creation when it comes to literary revelations. I believe every person can find the same truths found in novels, films— or any art form— in their own lives and experiences, no matter how mundane or insignificant they seem. Bring your own story when you enter someone else’s, or else you might allow theirs to completely render your own, in which case, fairy-tale neuroticism or romantic nihilism becomes your reality. Just ask Mark David Chapman. Or try. (Twenty-eight years ago today, Marky sat on a sidewalk reading CATCHER IN THE RYE as Lennon bled to death at his feet.)
I believe Salinger, in the sense that I think the guy’s honest as hell. Not just as an author, but as a person. There is desperation in his writing that implies it isn’t a choice, but a necessity in his life to make something of what he sees, even if it’s verbatim to the thoughts in his head when he peers out of the window of his aching skull. I’m never convinced any of his characters— third or first person— are real, but rather hand puppets for his social and spiritual commentary. More so than any other fiction writer. Because of this, I trust that everything in his writing is there because he believes it, not because it’d make for a better story.
With that being said however, I must confess— I don’t believe IN Salinger. Witless as that statement might sound and I, insecurely hoping you are aware of the subjectivity of what I’m about to say, would like to try and expand— more so for myself— on why I generally feel inexplicably unsatisfied upon closing a Salinger book.
I think the problem lies in the unfortunate (yes, unfortunate) fact that I relate too much to Salinger, as a person. I relate to what he writes about, but not his actual writing. It feels too verbatim to himself as a person. Salinger, the recluse from New York City, writes about alienation in New York City, i.e. the world. There’s nothing wrong with writing about what you know, but as an author you have unlimited freedom to explore the different possibilities that might be illuminated from what you know, if that makes any sense. It seems like Salinger has nothing daring to say, other than how he feels. So, when you already feel just like him, his books say nothing— I’ve already said them to myself. As much as that sounds like an affectation, it’s how I feel.
The worst part for me is that he tells these stories through younger adults, where it’s justified to feel helplessly uncomfortable in life. It feels like a cop-out. Yes, it makes his books easily accessible, and relatable, which is why he has such a following. But what more can I say about Salinger other than “he gets how I feel”? Aren’t we looking for something more profound than just a confirmation of the lonely things that eat away at our minds?
Salinger was 32 when he wrote about 16 year old Holden Caulfield. He was 42 when he wrote about 20 year old Franny and 25 year old Zooey. Salinger was an adult, and still is. So what happens to all this angst and alienation when you grow older? Does it ever go away? And if it doesn’t, how does one continue to exist? I just wish he took on a full novel through older characters, and took on the responsibilities and challenges of a perspective that comes from age and experience. I mean, what happens to Holden ten years later? What happens to Franny and Zooey when they get to their thirties? How come no one ever finds any light in his dark and decaying worlds that supposedly represent this one? I think it’s easy, or easier, to illustrate internal and external conflicts. I think it’s brilliant to be able to suggest a solution. Unless, that is what he is suggesting— that there are none, in which case, I ask— what is there worth living for? Because that is what we’re all searching for in our lives. It’s a big reason why most of us read.
I understand not all books are meant to have a solution to anything. I believe if I asked Salinger today, he would tell me if it appears as though there is no clear optimism in his writing, it was a choice— not an inability. I would believe him whole heartedly. Please understand I am merely exploring my own preferences, and not conducting literary criticism. I definitely by no means would ever call Salinger a bad writer. The cautious reveal of Franny’s background relationship with Zooey and the rest of the Glass family, and their history in the “Zooey” part of the book was sensitive, justifiably creative, and most importantly, effective. I do not question his talent as a masterful story teller and would have loved to see him write more plays, which is what FRANNY AND ZOOEY is in my opinion.
Ultimately though, his characters and ideas exist in a vacuum and for me. They cease to exist when the pages are turned.
“If you’re a poet, you do something beautiful. I mean you’re supposed to leave something beautiful after you get off the page and everything.” – Franny
Ironically, I believe that, even though I personally can’t see Salinger as a ‘poet’. But that means nothing, except for what it means to me.”
And then I decided to actually finish FRANNY AND ZOOEY after being urged to do so by a friend I trust.
And I read:
“But I’ll tell you a terrible secret— Are you listening to me? There isn’t anyone out there who isn’t Seymour’s Fat Lady. That includes your Professor Tupper, buddy. And all his goddamn cousins by the dozens. There isn’t anyone anywhere that isn’t Seymour’s Fat Lady. Don’t you know that? Don’t you know that goddamn secret yet? And don’t you know— listen to me, now— don’t you know what that Fat Lady really is? . . . Ah, buddy. Ah buddy. It’s Christ Himself. Christ Himself, buddy.”
and went straight to my computer and had the impulse to delete everything I wrote the night before, because he did exactly what I wanted him to do: ‘leave something beautiful after you get off the page and everything.’ He gave a daring glimpse of hope. I felt foolish for being so impatient, and realized how ridiculous it is to even try to articulate opinions on something as ineffably complex as a novel. But what’s the harm— it’s all innocently stimulating. I wanted to explore some ideas as to why most of the people I've spoken to that regard this book as one of their favorites are female, but realized it was something academic and uninteresting, and decided to let the book rest peacefully away in my mind, and felt very content. I wish I could find Salinger hiding in the woods today, and have a conversation with him before he dies. I’m sure that’s the last thing he would want.
Well . . . but oh well.
p.s.
I find it terribly ironic that any of his books are taught in any sort of academic institution. I’ve always had a suspicious idea that CATCHER IN THE RYE is being taught in high schools so kids can be forced-fed their views on the “dangerous” novel by— for the most part— idiotic teachers, knowing hell and well that most of us at that age aren’t developed enough to think for ourselves. How can we possibly learn about rebellion and alienation in a classroom . . . at SCHOOL? If you research the history of the censorship of that book, it makes no sense for it to be now taught in almost every public, government funded school in the country unless the motive behind it was to control the ‘meaning’ of that book. Ironic, also, is the fact that Salinger himself shouts urgently in his writing to stay as far away as possible from the academic institutions that exist in this country.
