25. Full Capacity - Infinity Ink
It is fitting that a year of such drama and tragedy be seen out first by a song that is uplifting in its dramatic tragedy.
Full Capacity is subtly subtitled: The Raver Whose Brain Escaped. We watch as the eponymous Raver strikes up a fluid but ultimately fruitless relationship with the Bouncers, who stymie, willingly or incidentally, his quest until, having reached the end of his allotted time, his erstwhile enemies, sometime accomplices make his final moments more comfortable before seeing him off to the raver afterlife, which is probably somewhere in northern Germany, in winter, and the Prodigy still play there sometimes, except the good one, like before they got all commercial and shit.
In narratives like this it would be a typical presentation for the Raver to be the everyman, either aspirationally, as an idealised form of our own experiences of, in this case, the club scene, or in a more understated and nuanced roll, as an empathetic figure, one who witnesses the mise en scène for us and who allows us to suffer by proxy through his engagement with the arrangement.
That would be typical, but I feel in Full Capacity, Infinity Ink, working in close collaboration with celebrated documentarian Ben Reed, are taking the bold step of distancing the audience from the protagonist of the piece and reserving that complex capacity for the Bouncers, four men who function more like a Grecian chorus than the antagonists they ostensibly are. The Raver rapidly transitions between "selves" - a caveman, a housewife, a bride, a water cooler - dynamically enacting a block on audience identification with him, while the Bouncers remain a relatively stable point of familiarity and safety.
Of course the question must be asked: to what end this unorthodox display? Are we, as consumers of this club culture, being mocked for the transience and inconsistency of our nature? Is this an attempt to slap a working class aesthetic on what is often perceived as being a cliquey and even elitist subculture? Is there the implication of a grittier premise, one in which a raver flashes chaotically through his deeper self as his body struggles to process an overdose of Special K?
In this critic's humble opinion the answer is: maybe.