Hairy Monster  Djurica Radmila   © Copyright 2001 by Djurica Radmila

The theatre was full, and the movie was about to begin. Director of the movie was young talented Brit., but yet not known to the audience in the theatre. Everybody was looking forward to see Bowie and Goldie on the big screen. For the audience this particular film was spectacle. These kind of movies are always welcome for consistent Bowie fans and musicians, and it was THAT WAY, advertised on the Festival, expected GREATLY like, as a cake on someone's birthday party would be expected. The critics of the Festival were sharping the pens, so I was too. I could not wait to see film especially after the Press Conference where I had the unique pleasure to meet this gorgeous young director of the film. He was certainly like a dream, so the beginning of the film tasted even more promising. I choose to sit in front, near the screen because of my short-sightedness, and because I was, as usual, little bit late.

The film was dragging massive attention because of the British drum-base music star Goldie, so half of the audience wasn't typical Festival audience, consisting more less musicians, critics and Bowie fans. I always liked this peculiar Theatre hall, enjoying every bit of it, so I was very pleased because of the decision for the film to be shown in my favourite theatre hall. At that moment, I didn't knew that film will brought me back to my past, to something of what I thought, that I've successfully forgot, or at least, to someone that I was trying to forget.

The pictures was passing by like Clear Mountain water, every detail was pleasant and easy to swallow. Film was high quality, tense and terrific.

For me, in some moments, was even more. My personal emotional evocation was literally physical. So while the actor was touching the actress in the film, it since like he was touching me. But no, that wasn't him, of course, it was someone that I've met much before in exactly the same kind of club as it was shown in the movie. That night, back than in my past, I was smashed dead by someone on exactly similar way. Even some tiny little details, that came further on in the film and accent that actors were speaking with, reminded me, on events that happened once before in my past.

We were sitting in the same kind of crummy pub with lots of hostile people around us. That day I was busy and in back on my mind I couldn't pushed the thought that I was constantly thinking of. I've forgot to shave my legs, but each time when I turn myself to a hairy monster, I would be having something urgent to do better. Oftenly these moments are honoured by meeting somebody important and special, that would on the end, came as sweet cream on the top of the cake. Normally in these special life moments, I would end up, ignoring the Mother Nature hairy culture instantly. But, when he realised that I wasn't shaped in the perfect beauty condition, yet, he tenderly took my hairy leg, stroking it, so gently filling my eyes with real wet tears, came out with no apparent reason. Was that a happiness or something else, I would never find out, but what I know is that I will never ever forget the tone of his voice when he whispered to me,

"Hey, You hairy Monster..."

I was touched, I was seduced, and later sweet sugar kisses and people that simply stop existed became a living legend for us.

I couldn't stop crying as emotions came out, but luckily the lights were out, so no one could see me crying especially because the film wasn't that sad at all, as it was tragic ended up with murder. Any way, the social message on the end usually does not bring tears in grown up person. Beside, the quests of the Festival were sitting around me.

Just in front of me, I could clearly see the shiny baldhead of gorgeous director and actor of the film that I was just watching. And just few sits on my right, away from me, the Italian selector of Canes Festival was soundly sleeping. It's not nice to be brutally awaken up with somebody's crying, in the middle of the theatre....And, Hay, if anyone would see me than, crying, I would be completely embarrassed. I would simply spoiled my hard work professional journalist look, especially as I've spend some much time building it up in my bathroom that evening. ... It would be very unprofessional of me, in deed.

As film scenes past by in front of my eyes, in my mind I could still feel my hairy leg in his arms 1996, and summer breeze, and starry night and sounds of the sea, and people cheering around us... In my mind, I was back there.... Not on the Festival.

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