Hunter S. Thompson "The Rum diary"
Bloomsbury 2004

1998. aastal tegi Terry Gilliam filmi "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas", milles mängis peaosa Johnny Depp. "Fear and Loathing" on täis hallutsinatsioone, happe-põhiliselt-halbu-trippe, baari-sisalikke, kõiksuguseid narkootikume, eelkõige Gilliami joonisfilmilikku ülekeeratud fantaasiat ja Deppi närvitsevat-aga-lahedat veidrust. Nüüd on kohevarsti valmis saamas järgmine HST ekraniseering Deppiga peaosas, "The Rum Diary", seekord lavastajaks Bruce Robinson. Nii raamat ise kui lavastaja valik lasevad oodata mitte niivõrd hullumeelset fantaasialendu kui realistlikku (vahel küll lõbusat) luupainajat väljapääsuotsinguist igavusest, madalusest ja tähtsusetusest. HST kirjutas "Rummipäeviku" juba 1959. aastal, mil ta oli alles 22aastane ja kõik kuulsamad teosed ootasid alles ees. Aga see väike romaan annab suurepäraselt edasi joomise-, palavuse-, igavuse-, seksuaal-, õudustundmused Puerto Ricost, kus näiline mitte-midagi-tegemine aina kasvab ja kasvab, sisemus keeb palavusest ja ihast kuni plahvatus on vältimatu. Ei saa olla kompromissi mina ja maailma vahel, rahulikku eksistentsi ja leppimist sellega, mis pakutakse - kas kõik või mitte midagi. Aga need poolused muutuvad omavahel liiga sarnasteks, kuni igavene mäluauk kujunebki unistuseks. Ja koorib riidest lahti, lammutab inimese, söövitab liha ja jätab kondid kõrvetava päikese kätte kuivama.

They had made a big circle, and in the middle of it Chenault and the small, spade-bearded man were doing the dance. Chenault had dropped her skirt and was dancing in her panties and her white sleeveless blouse. Her partner had taken off his shirt exposing his glistening black chest. He wore nothing but a pair of tight, red toreador pants. Both of them were barefoot.

I looked at Yeamon. His face was tense as he stood on tiptoe to watch. Suddenly he called her name. 'Chenault!' But the crowd was making so much noise that I could barely hear him three feet away. She seemed oblivious to everything but the music and the freak who led her around the floor.

Now, as if in some kind of trance, Chenault began to unbutton her blouse. She popped the buttons slowly, like a practiced stripper, then flung the blouse aside and pranced there in nothing but her bra and panties. I thought the crowd would go crazy. They howled and pounded on furniture, shoving and climbing on each other to get a better view. The whole house shook and I thought the floor might cave in. Somewhere across the room I heard glass breaking.

I looked again at Yeamon. He was waving his hands in the air now, trying to get Chenault's attention. But he looked like just another witness, carried away with the spectacle.

Now they were closer together and I saw the brute reach around Chenault and unhook the strap of her bra. He undid it quickly, expertly, and she seemed unaware that now she wore nothing but her thin silk panties. The bra slid down her arms and fell to the floor. Her breasts bounced violently with the jerk and thrust of the dance. Full, pink-nippled balls of flesh, suddenly cut loose from the cotton modesty of a New York bra.

I watched, fascinated and terrified, and then I heard Yeamon beside me as he lunged toward the dancefloor. There was a commotion and then I saw the big bartender move up behind him and grab his arms. Several others pushed him back, treating him like a harmless drunk as they made room for the dance to go on.

They were coming together again, weaving slowly toward the middle of the circle. The noise was an overpowering roar from two hundred wild throats. Chenault still wore that dazed, ecstatic expression as the man reached out and eased her panties over her hips and down to her knees. She let them drop silently to the floor, then stepped away, breaking into the dance again, moving against him, freezing there for a moment - even the music paused - then dancing away, opening her eyes and flinging her hair from side to side.

Suddenly Yeamon broke loose. He leaped into the circle and they were on him immediately, but this time he was harder to pin. I saw him smack the bartender in the face, using his arms and elbows to keep them off, screaming with such fury that the sound of it sent chills up my spine, and finally going down under a wave of bodies.

Ekstaas, iha, vabadus, hirm, meeleheide, joovastus, abitus, metsikus, rõõm, raev - kõik mahuvad ära kahele leheküljele ja paisutavad need lõhkemise ääre peale. Kirjutamiskunst, mida on väga raske filmile jäädvustada, aga seda huvitavam jälgida, kuidas seda tehakse. Jään ootama, Bruce ja Johnny!