“The problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser men so full of doubts.” – Bertrand Russell
I have just finished watching my first Michael Haneke film, “The Seventh Continent”. Take an average family, any one will do, and la-di-da life for them is working out fine (at least it looks so from the outside) and then one day they snap. A (bizarre?) fascination of mine is to wonder how far one can drive the brain before it finally does something really radical and gruesome for no matter how sweet the morning there’s always an evil wind blowing sawdust. Maybe it’s the boss/colleague who’s a jerk or maybe it’s the wife/husband/.. or it’s something as innocuous as losing at love. Then one day one begins to detest the pantomime called “Life” and to rage at the farce: the endless kissing of butts, bows to Popes and to black stones in the East, the politics of sex and making friends and all the games that people like to play. You can have values and integrity and never be counted for anything but make a billion whichever way and you’re a friend of the good, great and criminally good-looking. My fascination is this: when the brain begins to go off the rails is such a one a fool for being so certain of the banality of living or is one wise for doubting life’s purpose?