Back before she was properly famous, Nicole Kidman was in a pot-boiler TV mini-series called the Bangkok Hilton. She played an innocent young woman whose baggage contained enough drugs (heroin?) to get her a death sentence, after a stay at the ironically-named titular prison.
I didn’t see all of it, and it’s twenty-plus years ago, so the memory may be a bit wonky. But there are two other people there, further along the treadmill of justice. They are, in contrast – guilty. There’s a young woman who gambled on getting through, and her educationally sub-normal brother. They are led out to be executed. There is the obligatory bright sun and stone courtyard. There is a big white sheet, behind which stands two machine guns on tripods, a lever connecting their triggers and an inscrutable oriental behind mirrored shades. Smocks are put over the doomed siblings, with black crosses over their hearts so the machine guns can be precisely aimed. They are manacled to posts.
The brother starts – quite understandably – to kick off, screaming and shaking the manacles. The sister, racked with guilt, is unable to keep her cool. She had clearly (did she tell Nicole Kidman this? I don’t remember) wanted to keep her dignity intact as far as possible. She cries, begs him to keep calm, and looks down to see that she has wet herself in fear. She looks up at the sheet and the lever is pulled…
Ah, it’s on the interwebz-
My point being? I don’t know. It’s clearly a memory that means something to me. Something about hoping to try (and probably failing) to meet The Inevitable End with a modicum of equanimity. But in the end, I suspect, we mostly all feel the warmth of bladder contents before the inevitable.
See also John Hurt in “The Hit”