Un-Hallowed eve

by RAF KATIGBAK

With every year, there are several lifelong suspicions that grow ever confirmed: the first is that the goodness of tofu is just a conspiracy concocted by the soy people and the other is that Halloween is the best holiday EVER! And not just a Holiday in the same meaningless greeting card sense as Valentine’s Day or Father’s Day, but in the most tragic sense: an actual Holy Day that over time has lost its true meaning to commercialism, like Christmas or Colonic Day.

Lest we forget the true meaning of Halloween: In Ireland, where Halloween is said to have originated, they dress up in costumes, dance around a fire and eat “barnbrack,” a type of fruitcake with a muslin-wrapped treat baked inside which is supposed to foretell the future of the one who finds it. If the prize is a ring, then that person will soon be wed, a piece of straw means a prosperous year is forthcoming and a cork means that the person baking the cake was so hammered that they accidentally dropped shit into the cake mix and you should all get your stomachs pumped.

But Halloween has come to mean different things all over the world. In the Philippines, it’s all about All Saint’s Day, when families congregate in the graveyard to eat stewed meat, blast commercial pop over hand-held radios and even do a little singing with their portable karaoke machines (I swear to God I saw this). In Japan, they’re so over dressing crazy that all they do is light candles and tidy up gravestones.

Kids in Montreal do what most North American cities do: good kids get their parents to make them elaborate costumes based on whatever movie is popular at the time (Iron Man is hot this year, btw), then they collect candy. Bad kids cut two holes in a sheet, throw it over their head and steal good kids’ candy.

But for adults, Halloween feels like Montreal’s Christmas. No other holiday seems to elicit the same undie-bunching excitement. Maybe it’s because we have paganism in our blood (how else do you explain the inordinate amount of stores that stock chainmail boustiers and Gandalf staffs?). Or maybe we’re just hedonists that enjoy the liberation of dressing up all crazy-ass and making complete idiots of ourselves.

Either way, this city seems to wild out this time of year. Personally, I think it comes down to the costume. Or at least the level of insanity that people take dressing up in this city. I’ve talked to people who’ve been planning their costume for six months and others who’ve set aside a good chunk of their paycheque for some ridiculously elaborate garb.

Personally, I’ve yet to think of a Halloween costume as I’ve been busy running around town shooting a Halloween movie (showing at a loft party this Friday—e-mail me at the address below for more deets) and have been spending my time getting kicked out of the Notre-Dame-des-Neiges graveyard. Why did I get kicked out? Well let’s just say having someone in a devil costume using two tombstones as a pommel horse does not constitute “respectful behaviour.” Fair enough.

At least I feel my time spent amongst the dead constitutes what I think should be a return to the true meaning of Halloween: getting creepy. Goriness is the true spirit of the holiday. Somewhere along the way, we lost that creep factor and Halloween became an excuse to dress slutty. Go into any costume shop and it’s obvious—heck, check the insert they had in this paper a while back that featured dozens of busty girls stuffed into costumes, all of them low-cut and sexy. According to the catalogue, for around $30, you too could be a sexy nurse, or a sexy cat, or a sexy oncologist, or a sexy chocolate bar, or a sexy colostomy bag, or a sexy whatever.

Where did we go wrong? It’s not like Halloween has been blinded by a mythical gift giving figurehead like at Christmas when Santa Claus comes down your chimney, or when Jack Fibre leaves pieces of whole grain wheat toast under your pillow on Colonic Day’s Eve. Somewhere along the way, we lost sight of the polytheistic wholesomeness of Halloween and turned it into a slut parade. Don’t get me wrong, nothing floats my boat more than seeing a colostomy bag with a huge rack, but I think we need to return to the pagan roots of Halloween. Who’s up for a naked bonfire? I’ll bring the goat heads!

RIFF-RAFF@SYMPATICO.CA