Review of Humour – I Told You
Back at the house party, the DJ got everyone shaking it and putting ‘em up , an the way we all enjoy!
This is the new soup opera, the young, and the restless, innocent, engaged, ready to get some,.
The new swing, full of flirtatious, and hip and cool vibrations, warmed with the body heat that elevates with each bounce and sip of that stuff in that plastic red cup famous amongst many events, including this particular evening event. I’m telling you.
The digitalised xylophone is the mantra that balances the invite into the night. Our host commences to profess what is his doctrine in this time and space. That is just how it is. Take him or leave him, as Humor is. He ain’t move faking.
No, dear family, we get into that “Captain Hook”, the chorus. Its postmodern. Soulful. House steezy, catchy in its melody, inviting and head nodding in its brightness.
According to what we, as the spectator of the experience unfolding, this is the drama element of this novella. Here is a miscommunication between two possible lovers, partners having friction, there is an imbalance between the whole conductivity of an exchange of communications. We can see this, most definitely through the perspective of the main character. There is a fading….as we return we enter cuts of the opening action of a parked car’s trunk.
Now, where I’m from, and I’m certain I am not the only one up in here, a popped trunk ,this usually is not a positive connotation. There could be weapons needed to be pulled out the popped trunk.Or something(someone) needs to be delivered, put into the popped trunk. Its like that old Beatnuts diddy “Reign of The Tech“.
The scene continues. As I predicted! …a dark twist of black Humor, as our Host presents himself almost, like a modern day young Frankenstein (big up Gene Wilder!) and now with his “Igor”, his accomplice, bounce and dance to the now ironically friendly instrumental. They toss a Nubian female with apparently attractive ankles ( yes I am a freak, but a harmless one , at times) into that opened, popped trunk. Then its a cut to a quickly paced time frame loop or whatever , a burst of energy as we fly across the motorway.
We are above the city, in a quite, more private area, on the side of the road, where the business at hand can be embarked. It is a serene location. The car is parked. The lights stay on. For effect.
The business at hand involves taking the afro-puffs wearing beauty of a female (who apparently really annoyed our Host ) out of the trunk and constraining her in a sanitarium strait jacket, while Humor rocks a blood stained white medical professional lab trench with a stethoscope.The Doctor is in.
Our lady is struggling to be free . She is blinded by the car headlights.She is trapped sitting there. She is jestered, antagonised by this mad man and his assistant, who is properly attired in blue scrubs. This can be reminiscent to a version of what occurs in many black site facilities hosted by intelligence gathering agencies and other special interest groups. A very disturbing event is witnessed as our lady is helpless to the taunts and antics of these two sickos.
Funny enough, the instrumentals so infectious that even our afro puffs rocking , strait jacketed hostage and her two instigating kidnappers all dance and boogie in this demented version of the Stockholm Syndrome.
We return to earlier in the evening at the house party with our host looking like a sad pup while the chica continues to badger the poor fella (perhaps giving us, dear family, the subjective sense of wanting to shut her down, to leave him be).
The comrades singing along to the hook, his entourage, they all feel his woe, and express this and relate . It is as if we must witness the emphasising of a gap between two genders, as if there is no threshold in which there is an opportunity towards both parties standing on a common ground. Yet, another twist! The beat, the ride, the music , the boogie, this is the common ground, this is what the doctor, sick sense of Humor and all,( or perhaps sixth sense of Humor?), might be proposing through it all.
Happily, we return to the house party, where what do know, the party people are all vibing 21st century Soul Train party line status,crazy fun, stepping amongst the platinum stars (well, portrayed via balloons bouncing amongst the wooden dance floor). Getting their palates wet, getting their drizzy with the always familiar (and also common ground of a ) red plastic cup drink.
The party people all share a beautiful laugh, and a great time. Success Humor. Mahalo.
Review by SIPE Star Studio