Short Weird Tales: Brown

"Whit dae ye ken aboot yon Simulation Theory?” asked Hen, the pint glass in his hand rapidly approaching empty. The snug of The Lomond Arms hummed quietly around their table, a regular Sunday crowd.

"Whissat?" mused Joe, distractedly. Oh god, Hen was in one of his moods again. "Ye mean like in The Matrix?"
"Aye, EXACTLY...". Hen pointed at his brother in cold triumph, "...jist like in The Matrix, when thir livin inside a computer, likesay!"
"What's this aboot, Hen? Ye think yir in a computer noo?".
"Naw it's no that, bit... well somethin's no richt. Look, since ye mention it, whit year did The Matrix come oot?"

This stumped Joe, who paused with a pint half way to his mouth. "Well ah'm no sure, a guid while back. Whit dis that matter?".
"It disnae", chirped Hen. "Mair importantly, whit year is it noo, though?"

Something was out of order. Even Joe would have to admit this was a perfectly reasonable question, unusual as it seemed. And all the more unusual because he realised he couldn't answer. Had Hen spiked Joe's drink? What year was it?

"Ah... ah dinnae... look, what's goat intae you the day? Ah come oot wi ye fir a quiet drink and ye spring aw this oan us...". Hen slapped a newspaper down on the table between them.
"Ken whit that is?".
"Aye, it's the Post."
"This week's Post, aye?"
"Aye, this mornin's. Ah read it earlier."
"Thir's nae date oan it." Joe stared at the top of the folded cover, the unease growing to a clamouring din inside his head. "No oan the front, no at the tap ay every page. Nae date. Explain that."

"How shid ah explain it? It's proabably a printin error or somethin."
"An it's no occurred tae ye that thir's nivir a date oan it? Ah mean we baith ken that newspapers huv dates oan every page, and we baith ken that the Post is the only newspaper we ever huv in the hoose, yet wuv nevir noticed there's nae date oan The Post before?"

"Look Hen, yir daein ma heid in, can ye no--"
"That's jist the start ay it Joe, whit dae ye make ay this?" Hen hurried, opening the paper in a scramble to a point past the mid section.
"Make ay what?" Joe asked, his expression as blank as the sheet he now looked at.
"Why’s yon page empty?" asked Hen urgently, pointing a bony finger at this barren stretch of journalistic real estate. "Why would a whole page in a newspaper be empty? It's like this every week!"
"Well ah guess it's fir the bairns tae draw oan or somesuch. Yir richt, it's eyewis been like that, it's no really bothered us before, likes."
Hen could tell he was starting to lose Joe, now. He quickly turned back a few pages.

"Ah didnae pit it thegither until ah read this letter here, looksee... it gaws oan aboot how great the paper is an aw that, then intae this: 'One of the regular Sunday highlights in our house is of course The Broons, and Joe's recent car troubles had us all crying with laughter'."

Joe's expression was hollow, now. Each new implication battering against his shuttered mind like a storm.

"Whit's that supposed tae mean, Hen?"

"That's whit ah'm tryin tae work oot. 'The Broons', that's us. That's oor family, no? And you're Joe Broon, and did ye no have aw that bother wi the mechanic last month? Bit why would there be a letter aboot you in The Post? And whit's this aboot it bein 'a highlight'? Because there's nuthin else aboot any Broons in the paper at aw, an there isnae normally, neither. Thur's only this blank bleddy page."

Joe was animated again, although his mood had darkened. "So whit are ye sayin, Hen?"

Hen stared at the newspaper silently, not ignoring Joe but thinking of how best to form his next crucial words.

"Are we... are the Broons... oor family... are we a story in The Post every week? Ah mean ah dinnae ken whit kind ay story, bit mebbe there's somethin oan that page that everywan else can see? Mebbe it's us, likesay?"

"De ye mean like wir no real? Like characters in a book?"

"Ah'm no sure, Joe. Ah mean ah feel real tae me, an you feel real tae me, bit mebbe that's jist part ay it, no? Like when they folk are in The Matrix, they dinnae ken thur in the simulation because thir conditioned no tae notice..."

"And whit aboot everybody else? Aw this lot? De they ken? Are they no real either?"

"...Well ah'm no sure that--" Hen started, but was interrupted by his brother raising his head and hollering over to the bar.

"Hi Dudley! Did ye get The Post?". The barkeep turned his attention to the query while continuing to serve a man at the counter.
"Aye Joe, as eywis" he replied, with an air of inflated satisfaction. "Ye want a read ay it?"
"Naw, ah've goat wan here, likes, jist wonderin. Hus yir paper goat a blank page in the back half?"
"Whit, the drawin page? Aye, eywis dis."
"Is there onythin aboot the Broons in there?"
"Eh? Ye mean yirsel? Whit huv ye done now, Joe?" Dudley laughed, returning to his paying customer.

Hen and Joe looked at each other. This was normal, then. People knew, they just hadn't noticed. But why had Hen? Why now?

Five desperate pints later, Hen and Joe Broon drove an hour to the But’n'Ben, unlocked Paw’s gun cabinet and retrieved his trusty hunting rifles. With enough ammunition for their task, the pair returned to the Lomond Arms and murdered everyone in the building bar one (Dudley survived, following surgery) before turning the rifles on each other, safe in the knowledge that you can’t really kill what doesn’t exist.

And that’s how The Broons ended up on the front page of The Sunday Post.

---

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• Short stories © WorldOfBlackout.co.uk, all entries are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Y'know, mostly.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: The Matrix

The Matrix
Cert: 15 / 136 mins / Dir. Lilly Wachowski & Lana Wachowski / Trailer



And so I sat down to watch The Matrix in the cinema for the first time*¹ on a Saturday night in 2019. And it was packed. I'm not sure if this is a testament to the pulling power of Keanu Reeves or just a standard weekend attendance. Being massively anti-social and an absolute snob, I usually avoid my local on Friday and Saturday evenings. But I digress.

INDUSTRIAL

It's a strong start to The Matrix that we begin in medias res, even if this results in industrial levels of exposition further down the line. And we hit the ground running with beautifully choreographed fight scenes, hyper-kinetic editing and the famous effects-shots. The film is ambitious in its scope (although it wasn't the first to be) but also groundbreaking in its execution - even if Bullet Time isn't quite the jaw-dropper is was in the last millennium. Still not every sci-fi movie gets books of actual essays written about it. The Matrix isn't reinventing the wheel, it's just happy to be a spoke in one which already exists.

The movie's long-lasting appeal lies in it being enjoyable on two levels: throwaway dystopian actioner and/or mythological philosophy piece. Best of all, that balance isn't open to interpretation. No matter which end gives you your kicks, it's overtly a mix of both, and they can be it can be enjoyed on either or both levels simultaneously. Parts two and three went more firmly down that second path of course, hence their more 'mixed' reception*². But even this first film is loaded with symbolism, numerology and literary references, both on the surface and below it. Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard Of Oz and more biblical nods than you can shake a mitre at.

HOUSING

Unlike the majority of action flicks, The Matrix challenges its audience to think. It encourages debate long after the credits have rolled. The characters force the audience to ask some pretty terrifying questions about identity, determinism, society, reality and even farming practices. And while it's tempting to bat these aside (as indeed Neo does, initially), that's the exact point. Because when it comes down to it, both Morpheus and Smith want the same thing - freedom (although the latter is in no way to be interpreted as a sympathetic character). And when the good and the bad guys are raising the same points, it's harder to dismiss them as propaganda or idealism.

Sure, the film is a little clunky in places (the effects-work has aged better than the dialogue), but the definition of Cool™ has evolved over two decades. All of this adds to the charm, and the Wachowskis can be forgiven for the odd falter while taking such large strides.

The Matrix is, by some considerable distance, the best movie they have made.

Dark City, The Thirteenth Floor (both of which pre-date The Matrix).



If you can.



You should already have it, but yes.



For the directors, yes.



I have theories.



There is not.



Level 1: Elan Sleazebaggano is in this.





*¹ Yeah, I just didn't get round to it at the time, even though I was in the cinema for the sequels. While it's well acknowledged that the first movie was something of a sleeper hit, I was just preoccupied with a another film in 1999. ^{[ BACK ]}

*² Although I'm more than happy to go on record in saying that I love all three movies and view them as one long story. Mind you, I haven't watched any of the entries for some years now (no agenda behind that, just scheduling issues), and as a result I watched the latter half of The Matrix waiting for events to occur which don't crop up until Reloaded and Revolutions. It's probably time to break those discs out again... ^{[ BACK ]}


DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.