"Look," I said, "just give me the DVD, okay?"
When he replied his voice was eerily calm, like someone pacifying a fractious child: "I'm sorry, Paul, I can't do that."
Something made me think of HAL, the computer from Kubrick's 2001 a Space Odyssey. I tried to grab the DVD but he was too quick for me.
"Say, Paul," he said, "why don't you try a movie that's more like the ones you've enjoyed in the past? We have the perfect film for you right here." He handed me a DVD.
The film had no title, just a long numerical code. I looked at the credits. It appeared that some kind of computer wizardry had been used to create a movie that was directed by Billy Wilder, Stanley Kubrick, Nic Roeg and Howard Hawks, and which featured all my favourite actors including Jimmy Cagney, Groucho Marx, Robert DeNiro, Phil Silvers, Michelle Pfeiffer, Daniel-Day-Lewis, and Popeye. The soundtrack featured Bach's cello suites, Tom Waits, and Radiohead. It was described as "a profoundly disturbing action-packed romantic comedy thriller containing tasteful nudity, inventive swearing, and some scenes of graphic irony." He was right. It was the perfect film for me.
When I got home two policemen were searching my flat. The world-weary, lugubrious one introduced himself as inspector Wise. His eager young colleague was called sergeant Trope. The inspector was examining some items from my fridge.
"Sardines," he said. "How do you explain sardines?"
"Well," I said, "they're a type of oily fish that are caught in--"
The inspector gave me a warning look, and the sergeant gave me a moderately disabling blow to the throat.
"Sorry," I croaked, "I suppose I just like sardines."
"Not according to the consumer profile created by the reward cards you use at the retail outlets you habitually visit," the inspector said. He narrowed his eyes. "Unless you've been shopping somewhere else?"
"No, no" I said, "it's just that I read this article that said we should all be eating cheap, healthy fish like sardines instead of farmed salmon that's bad for the ecology."
The inspector looked sceptical.
"It could be true, sir," the sergeant said, referring to a digital notebook. "He does have a history of futile and short-lived gestures in response to breast-beating articles in the liberal media. He once subscribed to Greenpeace for six months."
"Eat a sardine and save a whale, eh?" chuckled the inspector. "Well, maybe. But what do you say to this?"
He held up a book I'd bought through an online retailer with warehouses nearly as vast as the area of South American rain forest with which it shares its name.
"It's for research," I said. "I've never bought a book by Jeffrey Archer before."
"We know," the inspector said. "It's completely out of character."
"Wait," I said, "you can't just stereotype me like this! There's more to me than a mere set of cultural references and influences. You can't reduce a complex human being with a rich, nuanced life to a formula, or a slogan, or a number!" I glared up fiercely from under my brows. "I am not a number," I cried, "I am a free man!"
"Who told you that?" the inspector said.
"It's all right, sir," the sergeant said, "he's been watching old episodes of The Prisoner on UK TV Gold."
"Okay, I said, "but it doesn't change my point. You can't just stereotype people."
"Really?" the inspector said. "And what were you doing at the beginning of this article, then? That scornful stuff about people who work in video stores, and frothy chick flicks. What's that if it isn't oppressive stereotyping?"
"And what about us?" the sergeant said. "What a pair of clichés. I object to being such a one-dimensional character, quite frankly. I happen to be quite a sensitive person."
"Knock it off, Trope," the inspector said, sounding like inspector Morse. He turned to me. "And if you think this post-modern trick of writing characters who talk back to the author about their portrayal is clever," he said, "it was already old hat back in the days when Charlie Kaufmann still thought Flann O'Brien was a type of quiche."
I had, in fact, just read O'Brien's classic At Swim Two Birds about an author whose characters rebel and alter the story he's writing about them. But how did the inspector know that? I hadn't even bought the book. Someone had lent it to me years ago.
"Yes, and he wants it back," the inspector said, reading my mind. My legs began to tremble. He put a friendly arm around me. "Look, son," he said, "it's quite simple. All you've got to do is keep a clean nose and stay within your profile. Don't do anything you wouldn't do. Not too difficult, is it? Right, we'll be going now."
The inspector paused at the door, just like Colombo. When he turned back to me he even had the squint.
"Just one more thing..." he said.
I braced myself.
He dropped the act and grinned. "Enjoy the film," he said.
And I did, as it happens.
Paul Bassett Davies is a Euroscript tutor and director. Click here for his cv.
