by John Mulligan
I am a critic, and as I am a critic I criticise this and criticise that, professional at these things, a true, dedicated critic. Now, I am not a literary critic like that Hazlitt, Bradly, Belinsky, Schlegel; but a critic of the movies and not writing for one of those newspapers read by the refined and the sophisticated, no, not a bit of it; I am one of those critics that writes for one of those newspaper rags read by idiots and blockheads, read by bigots, read by people with little or no education, read by the factory workers, who have nothing better to but to read this piffle, read this in their spare time while they are gorging in a greasy burger with all that mustard, with those greasy kebabs with this and that on it, but a literary critic I am. No, I am not a critic of literature or any books for that matter, no, not of music either, I do not know the first thing about music, neither do I want to, music is a refined taste, by refined people I am not that, no, I critique movies. When I write up my critique on the movies it takes me fifteen minutes, rarely longer, in any case I am only writing for idiots and blockheads, so who cares, they know nothing; they do not read the movie reviews anyway, they just spit out their bile at politics and other things but nobody reads these movie reviews. They are rubbish anyway, a pig could write better than me, they are the movies, not the films of Tarkovsky, Renoir or Ray, no, it is the abominable movies idiots and block heads like, it is the sort of movies they watch, these movies have these people shooting and bombing and, not being able to talk properly as they are not trained actors but trained idiots and blockheads, just like the people watching this piffle, and just like people reading the piffle I write, that is my job.
I am a journalist and as I am a journalist I do not denigrate my reader like this person denigrates his readers, I do not like the man, they should sack the man, he goes on and on. He writes in the same newspaper as myself, what a disgraceful person he is to say these things about the people who buy this newspaper, they are refined, they are educated, they are intelligent, it is the biggest selling newspaper in the whole of Fleet street, no, in the whole of the country and has been for many, many years. I am a political journalist for the publication, I write about many things for they are enlightened, educated and intelligent people. My last article, which is longer than the articles for the publication I casually write, this article was five-hundred words long. In the article I was talking about my favourite television programmes on the television–all cartoons–it was well-received by the intelligent readership, next week I will write an article on why I have stopped buying tomato ketchup.
I am a scholar and as a scholar I am an expert and I tell the country about the things, providing the nation with all this information, as I am an expert in these affairs. There is not any truth in the things I write of course and the things I say, well, no, that is not true, there is some truth, but scholars cannot be truthful in these matters of the state or in any matters, then they would not be scholars but something else, so the scholar can have their time in telling the truth for twenty minutes, a day perhaps, no longer, so as I am a scholar I will do my best to tell less lies than other critics, and these scholars tell so many lies it is difficult to keep up with the numbskulls, but what do we do, we lie, ah well, this is the thing, it is not difficult to answer either, no, on the contrary, but before I answer that question I should say I lie less than them all which makes me a moral and righteous person, that cannot be disputed. None of it can be disputed, now, why do we lie, well, we there are several reasons, the first reason is the training and education we receive at university and beyond, we are not told to lie, but it is made clear what our role must be if it was all truth-telling us scholars would never gain employment anywhere! The second reason why we scholars must lie for most of the time is because it is our natural habitat, we live in country where lying is a national disease, it is the fad of the day, the popular thing to do, so we fit in with the culture and surroundings of the places, the employed scholar must lie, otherwise they would not be employed.
I am a pianist and as a pianist I play Liszt, as a pianist I play Beethoven, as a pianist I play Chopin, as a pianist I play Mozart, as a pianist I play Schumann, as a pianist I play Schubert, as a pianist I play Grieg, as a pianist I play Tchaikovsky. I read no movie reviews in the newspaper the critic works for, I read no articles in the newspaper the journalist works for, I read no books the scholar writes, instead, it is the piano paying, it is the investment in the arts, in the humanity in the world, in poetry, in truth, in music, in the humanity, into the soul, into the individual. The artist, the musician, whoever, must remove themselves from all this, from the putridity in all this, from the lies, from the foul grotesque things, it is something to be away from, a grotesque business, enough of all this talk, instead of all this talk I will play the piano, yes, I will play Bramhms’ piano quintet in F minor.
I am a journalist and as a journalist writing for the paper I write for, I say no, the people do not vote for piano-playing nonsense, out if it I say, I will be off to get my axe from my suitcase and smash his piano up in many bits, besides, my readership do not like these foreigners so much, did I say that out loud to everybody? No matter, none of it matters, now, where is that axe, I will go and get that axe and smash his piano up and smash his foreign accent up, where is he from? I do not know, but not from here, now, where is that axe?
The journalist gets his axe. He comes running in with it. Before the Polish pianist can react to this, the journalist smashes the piano with his weapon. He then proceeds to hack into the pianist with the weapon as the scholar and the critic are having a private discussion between themselves.
I am a journalist and as a journalist I have done the job of shutting this man and his piano up. He thinks this is the brave new world! All these people playing pianos and infesting the nation with a bygone age, well, he is gone now, oh look at my brow, how my brow sweats, all this hacking at the skull, and look at all that blood, look at all that sweat, he shouted and screamed like a girl; he could not take death like a man but like a big girl instead.
I am a scholar and as a scholar I am not like you two dumb scoundrels. For I am an academic. Now you have flattened that man in two, well, he was a pianist after all, that is fair and well, but people such as myself, well, I am out of your league, boys, you are base to vast degrees, you belong in the pit of hell, but I have an education, not like you two idiots, who could not write a thing without mistakes.
As a journalist and as a journalist I am, I should say to that man, this scholar, this idiot and a half, this person who nobody likes, this nation does not like these clever types, just like they do not like these pianists who play their foreign rubbish, infecting this nationalist nation with all his bile. Piano playing is no place for the Americans, to be away with them, now you dirty scholar, you arrogant knave, take it back or I will whack your head off with this axe.
I am a scholar and as scholar I am and as a scholar I say this much: I will not take it back you stupid oaf, I will not take it back you malevolent fellow, I will not take it back you paunch-bellied imbecile, I will not take it back you rabble-rousing truncky, I will not take it back you big-eyed Gorgon, I will not take it back you sandwich-muncher, you base, uneducated, ill-informed madman.
I am a journalist and as a journalist I say this talk from you is the talk these men of the wordy mouths’ speak. I have had enough of this talk, the people do not like your type, I do not like your type, you are a base fellow yourself as you do not follow the will of the working people. You will bear the brunt of my axe, oh look at him, he runs away with his clever mind, his intellectual thinking. Look at his cowardice now!
As the scholar runs away, the journalist swings his axe as hard and as ferocious as he can, as he does, he takes a clean swipe at his neck, his head comes rolling off, outpours blood, which can be seen everywhere. When the deed is done, the journalist throws the axe down, he is exhausted, his arm aches, he believes he has done damage to his right arm, he sits down on a four-seated sofa, the critic is at the other end of the sofa, nearest to where the dead body is, the other body is some metres away near the grand piano which of course has been smashed into tiny little pieces. The critic sits there, looking at the blood on the floor.
I am a critic and as a critic I do say this. That this head-chopping business is not necessary, you work for the same paper as I do, I would expect that from these idiots and these blockheads that write for this paper, that is what I would expect. This reminds me of the last movie I reviewed, the movie was pretty awful all right, the most awful I have seen, and the people watching the movie were just idiots and blockheads, the lot of them, the people reading your article are idiots and blockheads, no, you cannot use that axe on me as you have hurt your right arm you idiot and blockhead. Listen here, little journalist, you are wiping out the scholars and people in the humane arts like a mass murderer when I thought all this business was conducted through the means of propaganda; it is true you learn something new every day. I will leave you to dispose of the bodies, this has nothing to do with me, but I would never have known such a business as this, you are an idiot and blockhead for doing it because now you have blood on your hands. Do not worry yourself too much. There will be another Polish pianist to replace this fellow, there will be another scholar to replace this fellow. It appears this country is back in the barbarian age, when the rag I write for is read by millions, far outreaching many other newspapers, I knew then we were living in a barbarian age; anything is possible with these idiots and blockheads that roam this island.
Category: Featured, Short Story