Mitch is running down a dream that's chasing the dragon. Demons are chasing Mitch. The show must go on because we're all in it. It's true fiction. First you feel for the characters and then you realize you have become one, or always were.
I watched this film from the the comfort of Hunter S. Thompson's cabin with Bulgakov's cat tugging at my Montecristo between snorts of whatever Lazlo had poured into his bowl. Whatever it was, Behemoth was one drunk (and mouthy) delusion. "T-Rick-ster", the cat kept hollering. I thought he was making a metaphoric observation but it he was only mocking Kilgore Trout who was peering into the cabin through the kitchen "leak" to catch a glimpse of the beauty and truth within. Watching Mitch flailing, lost, I began to identify. Behemoth meowed; "you're not Mitch, you're not Mitch". "Of course not!" I scolded the drunken cat. I was there though, I think, maybe? I still am? Great film that I keep thinking about. Bravo Mitch Wolfe!
