“When I came back to Dublin, I was courtmartialed in my absence and sentenced to death in my absence, so I said they could shoot me in my absence.” —Brendan Behan
This last time I was courtmartialed, I was found guilty of fostering poor morale and shot. I didn’t take any of it very seriously or personally, as I had been courtmartialed many times.
But the first time was the worst.
I felt that I had been a fine soldier, and was shocked and frightened upon being told I was doing a poor job.
(You see, it’s the fight in you that they want, but it’s also what they fear.)
I did the sensible thing and fled to America.
I was very excited. In America, I had been told, you could be yourself, and as if that wasn’t enough, all of the beautiful women there after hearing your accent would throw off their clothes like so much confetti.
The legends were true.
But as is my custom, I ruined it for myself when I went to the cinema alone one night to watch “Home Alone.”
“Home Alone” is a film about a little Irish boy whose family fuck right off and leave him by himself so that they can go on holiday, something that happened to a great many of us during the Celtic Tiger economy.
At first, he is delighted to be well rid of them.
Then, some buffoonish villans with strange accents invade his home and attempt to murder him approximately ten thousand times.
You would think he was a goner, but he is a resourceful little bastard. He invents all sorts of booby traps to keep the invaders at bay.
At long last, he wins his valiant fight.
Or so the filmmakers would have you believe.
The bad men keep coming back and what was originally meant to be a stand alone film was turned into a franchise.
It’s all about the money.
Everyone else was enjoying the film very much, as they didn’t know what it was really about.
I myself was gutted, wept inconsolably, and had to be escorted from the theatre.
I returned home.
There is no use in hiding.