Partially refreshed by yesterday's escape, cheered by brilliant sunshine, and
energized by a cool breeze, the day began auspiciously enough with luncheon
aboard an elegant motor yacht owned by the family of an extremely pleasant
young man, who may represent a new Festival species (a filmmaker who is *not*
riddled with either narcissistic psychopathology or grandiose delusions).
Resonating to the well oiled teak and polished mahogany, Myer's on the rocks,
with lime to prevent scurvy, seemed an appropriate eye-opener. After a few
hairs of that dog, I was prepared to be launched back on the mission, and
glided gently out of the slip, tacking gracefully down the Croisette once
more.
Making a note that rum appears to be more effective than single malt whisky
in the control of paranoia, I was suddenly flooded with a memory about
amnesia - not that which Mickey Mouse experienced in "Runaway Brain", which
animated amusement opened this cinefest as I earlier detailed, but "Amnesia",
the feature film, by Dream Entertainment, Inc. I had stashed their public
relations flier into my bag during an earlier assault on the Corridors of
Power (looking for the Pass to the Major Party du Jour, an event which by now
was blissfully forgotten), and found myself deftly retracing some earlier
steps to the Dream Entertainment suite in the Majestic...or was that the
Carlton? Oh, well. . .
Having previously published some scientific papers on this topic, I thought
it would be worthwhile to visit with colleagues who obviously shared similar
interests in memory disorders. I was primed to appreciate the clinical
sensitivity of the producers, since the press release includes the bold
subtext "What you don't know CAN hurt you." Indeed, this seemed an
appropriate public health message, akin to the Surgeon General's warning on
cigarette packs, now advising the populace that amnesia is not a good thing,
which I believe might come as startling news to many of the Festival
attendees, given their drinking habits.
I was disappointed when I sat down for a collegial conference with one of the
Producers, and the V.P. for Sales & Acquisition, to discover that they were
not very familiar with the details of the clinical history, even their
command of the scientific literature on memory disorders seemed limited.
While it was clear that the protagonist suffering traumatic brain injury did
so by hitting his head while falling from a boat, they could not provide
critical details about the locus of impact, the duration of lost
consciousness, and the relative degrees of impairment or preservation of
different cognitive faculties. From the scant information at hand, this poor
patient, who was completely disoriented to both time and place, suffered loss
of all sense of his own identity, and could remember nothing of his own
personal history. Nevertheless he had completely intact abilities to acquire
new information, and no loss of language, spatial skills, or any other
functions. Such a case is, literally, unprecedented in the annals of
medicine, and while it is possible that this unique syndrome can be partially
explained by the fact that the patient was engaged in a post-traumatic
rehabilitation program that centered on sexually arousing stimuli, I
nevertheless believe this may be worthy of a case report in Nature, or at
least the Archives of Neurology. The V.P. offered to send me a copy of the
completed work for more detailed analysis.
Having found my scientific sea legs here on the Cote d'Azur, I was gratified
when MLR offered a trip to the countryside (at this point any excuse to leave
the cacophony of Cannes was welcome) to visit Dr. H, world wide web expert
sans pareil, at his research facility in Sofia-Antipolis. Comforting as it
was to leave the crowds on the Croisette, it was still more reassuring to
enter the research park: At every turn, modern laboratory buildings sprung
forth from the landscape, nestled in the rolling hills like Easter eggs of
scientific ferment, and labeled with arcane acronyms of 5 or 6 letters that
promised high-level integration of particle physics, chemistry, computer
science, and engineering. We found Dr. H., and happily launched into a chat
about presentation of visual stimuli over the internet, stabilization of
moving images for consumption by the human retina, even magnocellular and
parvocellular systems in the human brain! MLR noted that I seemed to be
having a good time. "Yes, it's very refreshing to meet someone who's
interested in talking about something other than . . .", I groped for the
correct word. "Themselves," MLR instantly completed my sentence. We enjoyed
a Provencal dinner in historic Biot, and further indulged in conversation
about allocentric phenomena.
Following this interlude, a return to Cannes Centre offered little in the way
of novel sightings, the same nocturnal species already documented were
predominant once more. The same patterns of feeding and drinking, the same
mating rituals, even the faces of the specimens appeared all vaguely
familiar, merging now into a single concept, one unified ego.
I chatted with (excuse me, listened to) a
Producer/Director/Writer/Actor/Distributor (it would appear that there are
few specialists in this industry), whom I had met at an earlier party, and
was regaled again with auto-testimonials to the importance, the magnitude,
and especially the cost of his work. I admired his linen suit, a beautiful
sea-green that draped well, while his eyes darted through the crowds,
scanning for a more receptive, and valuable, target. He asked, again: "Why
are you here?"
I explained, again: "To document the insanity. . . "
Quizzically, he furrowed his brow and said, "I don't know what you mean".
I hadn't thought so.
Your tireless,
Dr. Reichard Flickheimer
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