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Breakfast
on Pluto
• by writer/director Neil Jordan
Why make a comedy (of sorts) about a young man’s travails with
clothes, gender, absent fathers and mothers, religion, terrorism, in
Ireland and London of the 1970s? Maybe because the combination of absurdity
and appalling reality was very like the situation the broader world
finds itself in today. I was a young Irish kid in the seventies, adrift
in London and while I was nothing like Kitten, the hero of Breakfast
on Pluto, I can remember very well the nuance of those times, when
the streets around you swirled with glam-rock, mandrax and make-up,
but the place at home was being blighted by an ancient blend of mayhem
whose only fashion statement was a combat jacket. The ferocity of the
mayhem religion and politics visits on us now makes the seventies in
Dublin and London seem like a dress-rehearsal. So I decided to make
the film an object lesson in survival, about how a beautiful heart can
triumph over every disaster life throws at it, how a good attitude and
great clothes can mean more than all the rancid little ideologies that
battle for our souls. Kitten wins in the end because he has more grace,
more humour, and in the end, more charity than all the grotesques that
confront him. And he has much better clothes. He takes his happy endings
where he can find them—mostly out of the lyrics of pop-songs—and
when the world seems determined to hand him a tragedy, he creates a
comedy. So blessed be the meek for they shall inherit the earth and
blessed too be those whose makeup runs when they cry and those who wear
chicken-yellow flares.
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