Trump's victory speech plays on TV as I close up the bar. It's hard to hear over the giggly guys in suits, but I'm sure I've heard it all before. I tell the group, "5 more minutes," but what I really mean is "Leave now!" The nights are getting colder and longer again; my neighbour and I are exchanging recipes and discussing our seasonal depression again. We're sleeping through our alarms, through distant cries coming from distant war-torn lands again. There's an old cliche: today is a gift—that's why it's called the present, duh—but these days feel more like an impromptu re-gift to someone you don't care about very much. Although I dream of a better tomorrow, I forget all about that dream the second I wake up. The flourishing future might never arrive; so, for the 11th issue of In The Mood, we venture into the past.
Contemporary culture is bad for cinema. If the modern world were a movie, it would probably be the worst type of remake—a flat, faded, desaturated cash grab: a poor re-telling of some celebrated classic, coasting on nothin' but nostalgia. New movies are set in the recent past or within an indecipherable, abstract time frame because our cell phones aren't cinematic. I collect films on DVD; I've sworn off subscription services; I'm chillin' without Wi-Fi. I'm so broke, I'm living like it's 2008. As Cason Sharpe points out, there's a version of Winona Ryder for every possible occasion. I search for Winona, for the full spectrum of human emotion across every thrift store.
Here at In The Mood, we know the future's freaky, so we retreat into periods of power and pleasure. We pair a bright green jello salad with the manic humanity of Ken Russell's kaleidoscopic gaze. As we contemplate ongoing conflicts, we take in the satisfactory resolution of a single combat duel. We see that American Westerns are a lot like samurai films and Hollywood socialites are a lot like foreign queens. While peering into the lives of hidden lovers, the subject of a lesbian period piece, Zoe Grace Marquedant asks, "How do you build a picture of the past? How do you show what isn't there?" My answer? Look at what's already there, and make the rest up. Weirdly enough, fake news was also Trump's answer.
I don't live in the past, but I like to visit. The pathway to this place is paved by my memories. Every time I remember the neighbour girl's beautiful doll house, I remember it a little differently—sometimes, the tiny floral sheets are covered in dainty lilies until I remember they were actually tulips. When I alter these living images, I change the memory of the doll house that exists in my mind, and I effectively transform my memory of the past. I find comfort in the past—especially when the future feels catastrophic, tinged with terror and uncertainty. Be careful not to leave all those burdens behind. Forgo the dates in your history textbook and disregard the factoids about your favourite wars. Watch Daughters of the Dust, and recognize the strength of women you'll never meet. Rewatch Donnie Darko and fall into the trap of behaving like the 14-year-old you were when you first developed that crush. Mirror your post-pubescent mannerisms, embrace your childish idiosyncrasies, and, if you can't afford your rent in the present, allow yourself to buy property in the past.
Cleo Sood
Assistant Editor, In The Mood Magazine
Trump's victory speech plays on TV as I close up the bar. It's hard to hear over the giggly guys in suits, but I'm sure I've heard it all before. I tell the group, "5 more minutes," but what I really mean is "Leave now!" The nights are getting colder and longer again; my neighbour and I are exchanging recipes and discussing our seasonal depression again. We're sleeping through our alarms, through distant cries coming from distant war-torn lands again. There's an old cliche: today is a gift—that's why it's called the present, duh—but these days feel more like an impromptu re-gift to someone you don't care about very much. Although I dream of a better tomorrow, I forget all about that dream the second I wake up. The flourishing future might never arrive; so, for the 11th issue of In The Mood, we venture into the past.
Contemporary culture is bad for cinema. If the modern world were a movie, it would probably be the worst type of remake—a flat, faded, desaturated cash grab: a poor re-telling of some celebrated classic, coasting on nothin' but nostalgia. New movies are set in the recent past or within an indecipherable, abstract time frame because our cell phones aren't cinematic. I collect films on DVD; I've sworn off subscription services; I'm chillin' without Wi-Fi. I'm so broke, I'm living like it's 2008. As Cason Sharpe points out, there's a version of Winona Ryder for every possible occasion. I search for Winona, for the full spectrum of human emotion across every thrift store.
Here at In The Mood, we know the future's freaky, so we retreat into periods of power and pleasure. We pair a bright green jello salad with the manic humanity of Ken Russell's kaleidoscopic gaze. As we contemplate ongoing conflicts, we take in the satisfactory resolution of a single combat duel. We see that American Westerns are a lot like samurai films and Hollywood socialites are a lot like foreign queens. While peering into the lives of hidden lovers, the subject of a lesbian period piece, Zoe Grace Marquedant asks, "How do you build a picture of the past? How do you show what isn't there?" My answer? Look at what's already there, and make the rest up. Weirdly enough, fake news was also Trump's answer.
I don't live in the past, but I like to visit. The pathway to this place is paved by my memories. Every time I remember the neighbour girl's beautiful doll house, I remember it a little differently—sometimes, the tiny floral sheets are covered in dainty lilies until I remember they were actually tulips. When I alter these living images, I change the memory of the doll house that exists in my mind, and I effectively transform my memory of the past. I find comfort in the past—especially when the future feels catastrophic, tinged with terror and uncertainty. Be careful not to leave all those burdens behind. Forgo the dates in your history textbook and disregard the factoids about your favourite wars. Watch Daughters of the Dust, and recognize the strength of women you'll never meet. Rewatch Donnie Darko and fall into the trap of behaving like the 14-year-old you were when you first developed that crush. Mirror your post-pubescent mannerisms, embrace your childish idiosyncrasies, and, if you can't afford your rent in the present, allow yourself to buy property in the past.
Cleo Sood
Assistant Editor, In The Mood Magazine