I may be a bastard, Kate, but I'm not a fucking bastard
Having just re-watched most of From Dusk Till Dawn again, I am entirely convinced that my previous theory about the movie -- that Quentin Tarantino wrote it specifically so he could get a leather-bikini-clad Salma Hayek to pour "rye" down her leg so he, in his cameo appearance, could suck it off her toes -- is completely correct.
Mind you, if I was the writer/director, I might have done the same thing if I had Salma Hayek close to hand. Perks, you understand.
That's right. That's my advanced piece of analysis from my film-degree-holding mind. Deep, hey?
What, you expected some sort of semiological analysis of Barthes' theory of myth as it applies to the movie? Stakes, teeth, penetration, sucking... I don't actually need to draw you a picture here, do I? Even Freud wouldn't have to glance twice at the symbols. I mean, it's a vampire movie, f'r Chrissakes.
Obviously it's late and I have been packing for far too long. I think it might be bedtime.
Mind you, if I was the writer/director, I might have done the same thing if I had Salma Hayek close to hand. Perks, you understand.
That's right. That's my advanced piece of analysis from my film-degree-holding mind. Deep, hey?
What, you expected some sort of semiological analysis of Barthes' theory of myth as it applies to the movie? Stakes, teeth, penetration, sucking... I don't actually need to draw you a picture here, do I? Even Freud wouldn't have to glance twice at the symbols. I mean, it's a vampire movie, f'r Chrissakes.
Obviously it's late and I have been packing for far too long. I think it might be bedtime.