from said school to avoid).
However, we need to prescribe Finding Nemo to you because P. Sherman (like ‘fisherman’ obvs) is a good man with a bad niece. He only takes Nemo from the sea because he thinks he will get eaten. He only plans to give Nemo to Darla because he is blind to the sadistic glint in the devil-girl’s eye. He is only motivated by compassion, generosity and fish rights. Not sadism, greed or an overpowering need to impose himself on the helpless.
Thank you, Pixar.
LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS (1986)
We know what you are thinking. We have lost the plot and are prescribing precisely the sort of film that has caused your dentophobia in the first place. This is an understandable, if misguided, reaction. It is true that Steve Martin’s sadistic dentist (following John Shaner’s Dr Farb in the original 1960 Roger Corman film) appears to enjoy inflicting pain on puppies, fish, cats, dental assistants and his patients. He drills, injects and abuses his nitrous oxide. He smashes doors into faces. He thinks he’s Elvis and seems obsessed with his hair (imagine that!).
However, but and nevertheless . . . After we see the full range of his ghastliness, Martin’s dentist asphyxiates, is chopped up and fed to a plant. We cheer, we applaud and punch the air, realising that this is what happens to bad dentists. They face their judgement. They cannot rule with impunity. Little Shop of Horrors is a morality tale which states that over-billing and over-filling will be punished by dismemberment. This alone should put a spring in your step and a sparkle in your smile.
SLEEP CLINIC
Sleep. One of those things that everyone seems to get too much or too little of. Thankfully, the Movie Doctors are on hand to prescribe a cure for the insomniacs amongst us, and also to let you know which directors’ films are best for catching up on much-needed zzzz’s . . .
AVOID WATCHING WHEN DROWSY
How the Movies Can Cure Your Insomnia
It’s 4 a.m. You’ve been awake since forever. Your other half is happily snoring away despite your nudging, kicking and harrumphing. You’ve tried the radio but that appears to be running endless features on misery around the world and how it is actually all your fault. You’ve switched stations but the phone-in host seems as idiotic as his listeners. You’d try your favourite podcast but that is way too stimulating. What you really need is a movie.
Not just any movie. You don’t want stimulation (if you do, you’re in the wrong clinic – see ‘Cardiology’, p.96). You daren’t risk a film that will excite you in any way. You can do without shouting, merriment or disrobing. What you need is the cinematic alternative to counting sheep. We can prescribe a few. These aren’t bad films; these are films that you can tune out from and it won’t actually matter that much. Films that give you permission to drift away, safe in the knowledge that when you wake up, nothing much will have changed.
THE PIANO (1993)
Welcome to New Zealand, where it is raining. It’s been like this since the 1850s, and by now everyone is really pretty muddy. Remember your dampest, dreariest holiday when you spent the entire time shivering, drinking soup in a beach hut and wondering how wet your towel had to be before it was heavier than lead? Well The Piano is like that, only bleaker.
As your lids grow heavy, part of your brain might remember that Anna Paquin, Holly Hunter and Harvey Keitel got awards and great reviews for their performances, but that need not concern you now. In the same way that the sound of rain on your tent or caravan roof can lull you to sleep, here the deluge that starts at the beginning of Jane Campion’s movie, and continues for two waterlogged hours, contains miraculous, soporific qualities. Go ahead, nod off, you won’t miss a thing.
PLAYTIME (1967)
The one thing that might keep you from sleeping is a good story. What happens next? Will she escape? Will the out-of-control combine harvester miss the sleeping farmer? And so on. But if we could prescribe a movie with no story at all, that could well be just the ticket.
So step forward Jacques Tati. When he made Playtime it was the most expensive film in French history. It had a huge cast, a huge set and it bankrupted him. It won a Best European Film award in 1969. It was the inspiration behind the Spielberg/Hanks film The Terminal. Terry Jones loves it. David Lynch loves it. Even Dr Kermode loves it. When you’re feeling better you need to come back and watch it properly.
But for now, all you need to know is that it has no story. Instead, Tati – as Monsieur Hulot – wanders around a maze of modern Parisian architecture, getting lost and hanging out with American tourists. It has a surreal, dream-like quality which is perfect for us – even the traffic and roundabout action becomes hypnotic.
And here’s the killer. It has an intermission. It’s most complete presentation includes a twenty-minute break. So even if you have been drawn into Tati’s world, your sleep time has been built into the structure of the film. Your dreams could well be the most avant-garde and stylishly outré you have ever had. Left Bank Insomnia may even be a more pretentious strain of your condition that others will aspire to once they have tired of their boring UK version.
EMPIRE (1964)
How long would you like to sleep for? Is six hours enough? Would you settle for seven? Well here is a movie that can run for all of that and still be going when you wake up. Clocking in at eight extraordinary hours, this is Andy Warhol’s single-shot take of the Empire State Building from early evening until 3 a.m. the following day. This clearly trumps Tati’s Playtime, as not only has it no story, it has no action and no actors either.
Just.
The.
Empire.
State.
Building.
For.
Ever.
You could fly to New York to see the Empire State Building itself in the time it takes for nothing to actually happen. In fact Warhol intentionally slowed the whole thing down – it was shot at twenty-four frames a second and projected at sixteen – just in case it was all zipping along too fast for the hardcore art crowd. And just in case you’re awake at the wrong bit (spoiler alert), there are three reels where you can see Warhol and cinematographer Jonas Mekas reflected in the window they’re shooting through. Not exactly worth hanging around for, but when you’ve been looking at one building all day, pretty much anything counts as excitement.
The New York Times maintains that because it has no script and elevates the mundane, Empire is actually a precursor to reality TV. If the choice is five minutes watching Kim Kardashian or 480 minutes watching concrete, we’ll take the concrete every time.
SLEEP INTERMISSION
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