Of Cutting Wrists

I am watching this film called Wristcutters: A Love Story. It's been just about 20 minutes into the film, and I am sure this is going to be one of my most favorite movies.

The basic premise is one of the most brilliant I have known this side of H2G2. People who commit suicide end up at this limbo kind of place. The male lead cuts his wrists, and ends up working at this pizza joint called Kamikaze Pizza in his afterlife, filled with daily trips to the bar, getting drunk and not doing much.

Another Russian chap, who used to live in the US, and killed himself by pouring liquor into his electric guitar during an under-appreciated rock performance, is living with his mother who took out her intravenous tube because she missed Russia, his father who hanged himself because he missed the mother, and his gay brother who did something because he probably just missed having a good shag.

I would love to stay in this place if it existed really.

We have just discovered that the girl-friend of the male lead also committed suicide. Interesting prospects arise.

While watching the film, these thoughts just came to me:

a) Would all those army men who jump into the battlefield knowing pretty much that their odds of dying are really high end up in such a place?

b) Would all those office people who lead sad, boring lives doing pointless work and dying of a heart-attack for lack of proper exercise end up there too?

c) Would all those idiots who spend their hard-earned money drinking all too much, and screwing up their liver, end up there as well?

If a film has made me think so much in just 20 minutes of its full running time of 1 hour 28 minutes 5 seconds, it must be quite something. Or maybe not, depending on how you look at it. I should be watching the film rather than thinking so much!

Also, hadn't realized that the sight of cut wrists, if they are not yours, is not quite endearing.