I read about women loving women and of course HE shows up
On revisiting Anaïs's brief obsession with June Miller, I found this book (Anaïs Nin, Fictionality and Femininity: Playing a Thousand Roles) and now I desperately want to read it entire. But this bit about the image of the femme fatale made me think of Connie again:
Because if the femme fatale takes this role, so does Connie, especially in Weimar cinema. Because he is horror transposed onto the human body (as explored in this essay), the embodiment of the fear of losing the ego and the I. And he, too, is overrepresenting the body and the unconscious (Hands of Orlac, anyone?). But of course, once he becomes the homme fatal par excellence in A Woman's Face, it reaches perfection. He is the beautiful object of desire who kicks things into motion, just as the typical femme fatale does for the embittered gangster or private dick, getting him mixed up in things he should not be getting mixed up in. *sigh*
Maybe one day, I will cease to sigh over him. But today is not the day. In him, my mind travels, is transported, flies far away into centuries long past and millennia yet to come.
Because if the femme fatale takes this role, so does Connie, especially in Weimar cinema. Because he is horror transposed onto the human body (as explored in this essay), the embodiment of the fear of losing the ego and the I. And he, too, is overrepresenting the body and the unconscious (Hands of Orlac, anyone?). But of course, once he becomes the homme fatal par excellence in A Woman's Face, it reaches perfection. He is the beautiful object of desire who kicks things into motion, just as the typical femme fatale does for the embittered gangster or private dick, getting him mixed up in things he should not be getting mixed up in. *sigh*
Maybe one day, I will cease to sigh over him. But today is not the day. In him, my mind travels, is transported, flies far away into centuries long past and millennia yet to come.