I wonder what the people in the audience they filmed are doing now. I imagine it would be both cool and embarrassing to have been one of the ones the camera focused on - cool because it'd be keen to point to the box in the video store and say "Hey, I was in that;" embarrassing because I don't know if I'd want my rabid fangirl adoration played over and over again on the big screen for years to come. "Yeah? Which one were you?" "The one crying orgasmically during My Death." "What, the one chanting something unintelligible that clearly wasn't the lyrics?" "Uh, yes - that one, yes." "Ah." "Well, it was thirty years ago... What can I say?"
The other thing we all remarked on was Bowie's really delightful smile. He's one of those people who often looks remote and somber, even when his delivery is quite energetic - perfect for the quasi-alien personae he's played over the years, but a trifle foreboding in a human being. Very much the icy elite - until he smiles, and it's instantly clear he's having the time of his life. It's not the sort of smile well-captured in photographs, either - making it even less surprising that he's usually doesn't appear to be smiling in portraits.
I say 'appear to be smiling' because he may be someone like myself or Ulysses, whose regular smile often doesn't register as smiling with the external viewer. People don't often notice I'm smiling unless I'm outright grinning. This is grand for walking through life being secretly amused at the world around you, but somewhat less functional when you find out people have mistaken your shyness for snobbery. Or when complete strangers on the street tell you to "Smile! it's not that bad, is it?" when you already were smiling. Of course, given how much I love accepting advice and comments from random people I encounter on the street, it's likely that what little smiling I evince will have fled about the time they've gotten the "sm-" noise out of their mouth.
This would normally be the point where I rant about the astonishing egotism of anyone who thinks I should give a damn about their opinion of me simply because we happen to share a small region of the space-time continuum, but I've already digressed enough.
The movie was fun, nausea-inducing 70s clothing and Mick Ronson's astonishing case of "stupid guitar mouth" aside. Most memorable moment: the dressing-room scene where it takes four people to install Bowie in a particularly tight set of costume pants. Kids today should be damn grateful for the invention of lycra-spandex.