I have reached the early years of an old young man.
As I go about the world I tread on a ground warm with familiarity yet strewn with bracken and foliage the latin names for which I have not yet mastered. A ducampopinus here, a monilophyta there. As I traverse this metaphorical forest of temporal reflection I meet the eyes of newly-minted young men. They are scampering impishly and playfully testing their mettle against the edges of our leafy reality. We walk on together for a while; my tread is light and careful so as to not spook them. We pause at a clearing and in the fading beams of the summer sun they look up at me with a mixture of awe and respect. They see in my skin the slight loss of elasticity and notice about my eyes the shallow trenches of dermal wisdom. I breathe out and scratch the back of my neck. I feel my voice erupt quietly from my throat: “What? What do you want?”
Their leader - he has this alpha-male vibe going on - steps forward. He glances over his shoulder; his friends urge him on. Turning back to me, he says “You do realise that the Oculus Rift and Samsung Gear VR are going to revolutionise cinema?”
“Yes, I think you’re right.” They are startled by my sudden reply.
The leader takes a moment to compose himself : “You know, it’s going to be like being there right in the action?”
I nod, “Yes, it’s going to be really good, isn’t it?”
A couple of the young men start grinning and walk to their leader’s side. The one to his immediate left, the one with the too-manly face, says, “so, you think you’re ready for three-sixty degree storytelling?”
I take a step towards them, they hold fast.
I speak: “We’re not just talking film, we’re talking about the irreversible marriage of gaming and cinema."
Manly pauses and purses his lips, “So, you’re saying that this unity of film and cinema will preclude the artistic need for non-interactive narratives?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I say with strutting confidence as I replay his statement in my head, scanning it for sense.
The leader turns to manly-face “and so we’re not put in an external position from which we can empathise with the character’s plight?”
“Because we’d be too busy, engaged in our own narrative?” suggests manly.
The leader splutters, “Well, isn’t that just the same as life? How am I not empathetic towards you?” he asks.
The young men have now formed a circle and are trading observations on cultural heuristics. I edge away, happy as I am to let them reach their own conclusions. I hope they tell me when they have the answer.
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