Blood for Dracula (Paul Morrissey, 1974)
Do you have time for a quick thought experiment? You do? Fantastic.
So, let's talk about the last days of Rome. I know, I know, this is all up in the air; no one agrees on when it was. That's all fine. Let's just imagine that you're watching the last days of Rome, and, quite importantly, let's also imagine that in your lifetime you've seen Rome rise from nothing. You've seen its glory days, you've seen the building of the splendour, and now you're walking its streets, waiting for its imminent demise.
Is that a little tricky? Well just imagine something similar to that. Consider watching a celebrity become famous, and then move into old age, or a house go from a warm, cosy environment, filled with people and laughter, to a dusty, draughty shell with nothing but sad, echoing memories. You know, it's all the same thing.
So Rome is ending, and for the sake of argument let's say that it *is* coming about thanks to the Goths, or Visigoths. That's the scene. In they come, with all their highfalutin ideas and different attitudes to class and whatnot, and they tear Rome down: set fire to its buildings, and slaughter its few remaining citizens. For a while you marvel at the contrast of outfits and accents and the stark differences between the Romans' and the Goths' politics and attitudes to life, but you barely get time to take it all in before the flash of colours has come to an end. And we're done. It's over. In your own lifetime you've seen Rome turn from nothing, into a wonderland, and now it's nothing but a history lesson. And the Goths or Visigoths are pleased, and they leave, their work complete.
But now let's take this thought experiment up to another level, and let's imagine that Rome both has and hasn't fallen at the same time. Something like the double slit experiment: there are two outcomes coexisting concurrently. Yes, it's over, and those responsible leave triumphant, but at the same time it isn't over. In fact, no sooner is it left to the dust than, silently, the faded wallpaper from those rooms peels away in the wind, only to reveal patterns and structures of greater opulence than we could have ever dreamed were possible. Rome has fallen, long live Rome.
So, let's talk about the last days of Rome. I know, I know, this is all up in the air; no one agrees on when it was. That's all fine. Let's just imagine that you're watching the last days of Rome, and, quite importantly, let's also imagine that in your lifetime you've seen Rome rise from nothing. You've seen its glory days, you've seen the building of the splendour, and now you're walking its streets, waiting for its imminent demise.
Is that a little tricky? Well just imagine something similar to that. Consider watching a celebrity become famous, and then move into old age, or a house go from a warm, cosy environment, filled with people and laughter, to a dusty, draughty shell with nothing but sad, echoing memories. You know, it's all the same thing.
So Rome is ending, and for the sake of argument let's say that it *is* coming about thanks to the Goths, or Visigoths. That's the scene. In they come, with all their highfalutin ideas and different attitudes to class and whatnot, and they tear Rome down: set fire to its buildings, and slaughter its few remaining citizens. For a while you marvel at the contrast of outfits and accents and the stark differences between the Romans' and the Goths' politics and attitudes to life, but you barely get time to take it all in before the flash of colours has come to an end. And we're done. It's over. In your own lifetime you've seen Rome turn from nothing, into a wonderland, and now it's nothing but a history lesson. And the Goths or Visigoths are pleased, and they leave, their work complete.
But now let's take this thought experiment up to another level, and let's imagine that Rome both has and hasn't fallen at the same time. Something like the double slit experiment: there are two outcomes coexisting concurrently. Yes, it's over, and those responsible leave triumphant, but at the same time it isn't over. In fact, no sooner is it left to the dust than, silently, the faded wallpaper from those rooms peels away in the wind, only to reveal patterns and structures of greater opulence than we could have ever dreamed were possible. Rome has fallen, long live Rome.