I saw Trainspotting the other day. It was good, still damn good. It's only the second time I see it, after its first release in '96, when I took an exceptional parental permission to go to the cinema with my friends, due to my teacher's praise (the only cool thing that teacher ever did, as far as I remember).
After unprecedented acclaim, Danny Boyle continued making movies, nothing like Trainspotting, though. Slumdog Millionaire was a swell movie, sure, but, still, nothing like this grime tale of youth going to the dogs. I have to admit, though, that Boyle, apart from being a good director he also has a nose for new talent, he established Ewan McGregor first, Freida Pinto lately --these two would make a nice cinematic couple.
Trainspotting is youth that loves not, aspires not, even looks forward to nothing. Or, yes, they are looking forward to the day they become normal people. Living on the edge and diving in deep shit or in synthetic dreams, Renton, the best i.e. cool junkie depiction ever, wants to leave it all behind, not for a certain good cause, neither for a one-way ticket to the Bahamas island. He wants to choose life (as opposed to death that goes hand in hand with hard drugs), a standard, bourgeois life.
How boring and mundane, a bourgeois life, that's what Renton was trying to get away from in the beginning, but that's the only good idea he comes up with in the end. I somehow get him, though; he has been through a lot. Despite the fact that whenever I read the John Hodge and/or Irvine Welsh citation*, I am totally convinced that I wouldn't wanna do a thing like that.
* "Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? "