(no subject)
You are the Marquis Da Sade. Even stripped of
exaggerations, Your real life was as dramatic
and as tragic as a cautionary tale. Born to an
ancient and noble house, you were married
(against your wishes) to a middle-class heiress
for money, caused scandals with prostitutes and
with your sister-in-law, thus enraging your
mother-in-law, who had you imprisoned under a
lettre de cachet for 14 years until the
Revolution freed you. Amphibian, protean,
charming, you became a Revolutionary,
miraculously escaping the guillotine during the
Terror, only to be arrested later for
publishing your erotic novels. You spent your
final 12 years in the insane asylum at
Charenton, where you caused another scandal by
directing plays using inmates and professional
actors. You died there in 1814, virtually in
the arms of your teenage mistress.
You are a revolutionary deviant. I applaud you.
Which Imfamous criminal are you?
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Hmmm.... says it all, I think.
I have picked a shocking time to get sinusitis, what with all my music auditions next week. Godsdammit! How annoying.
I have decided upon the topic of the thesis for the PhD that I naturally plan to do some day- it will be on the use of the horror film as a medium for political and philosophical messages, focusing on the wonderful horror films of the 60's and 70's that have not been matched since. I love them! They are wonderful! A fabulous combination of all the things I love in movies- genuine shocks, wit and understated humour, subtle depth and, most importantly, lots and lots of unabashed, allout, no holds barred gore. Great stuff. My mother has no understanding, I swear, of the brilliance of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (the original, of course. Crappy remakes. I hate them. HATE THEM). Oh, the cleverness of using true nightmare figures like Massacre's redneck cannibals to put a new spin on people's view of slaughterhouses and meat-eating.
But, lets be honest, I mostly watch them for the thrills and the gore. Especially the zombie movies. Zombies scare the crap out of me. I love it. I was watching Dawn of the Dead last night, and apart from my delight at the fabulous send up of our consumerist culture (oh, the great shots of the zombies milling and walking in mindless circles around the shopping centre) I had an even better moment when, at just about the most disgusting part of the movie, my 81 year old grandmother walked in. No one MADE her stay, but of course she had to stand at the kitchen door behind me watching as on the screen incapacitated bad guys were slowly clawed and gnawed to death, zombies shovelling handfuls of their guts into their mouths while they were still alive, exclaiming "Oh!" and "I'll have nightmares!". She then proceeded to retreat to her room to ring my aunty Vivienne and tell her about "this violent young generation". It was hilarious. I briefly considered going in and pointing out that this wasn't in fact the product of my generation (hell, my generation doesn't have anywhere near the enthusiasm it would take to write a script that includes "the zombies tear off the skin on the raider's stomach before feasting on tightly clutched handfuls of intestine, tendons and bloody flesh...") but was made by the film makers of our parents' generation, before deciding that would spoil both our fun.
To think of all the years wasted when my mother wouldn't let me hire these sorts of movies! I spent half my childhood standing dejectedly in the horror section of the video store, staring at the forbidden contriband. Nooooo, I had to watch more Disney, no schlocky 80's horror movies for me (had to get through a fair few of those before I realised that the ones before them were the best, but I shall still keep a special place in my heart for the Child's Play movies)
I shall shut up now.