naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Panic Noodles!)
No people were injured, still no word on the dog. It was definitely arson. As I have heard it, some kids were seen buying gasoline at a nearby convenience store. Assuming that is true, I imagine they will be found very quickly, as it's on film and we know what their truck looked like. They apparently broke in and doused the lower story with gas.

The woman is a counselor who works with troubled young folks, apparently. Doing good work, trying to help people, all that jazz. Some reward. Little bastards.

I did get pictures (there was nothing else to do but stand there and stare in horror; by the time I got outside, it was obvious there could not have been anyone alive inside), though they are pretty inadequate to illustrating the scale. In the first, you can see part of the rear of the house sagging and starting to shear away.

Here. )

I am waylaid with the flu, or I would be out buying fire extinguishers and smoke alarms -- not that either would have helped these people, but it does make one paranoid.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Panic Noodles!)
No people were injured, still no word on the dog. It was definitely arson. As I have heard it, some kids were seen buying gasoline at a nearby convenience store. Assuming that is true, I imagine they will be found very quickly, as it's on film and we know what their truck looked like. They apparently broke in and doused the lower story with gas.

The woman is a counselor who works with troubled young folks, apparently. Doing good work, trying to help people, all that jazz. Some reward. Little bastards.

I did get pictures (there was nothing else to do but stand there and stare in horror; by the time I got outside, it was obvious there could not have been anyone alive inside), though they are pretty inadequate to illustrating the scale. In the first, you can see part of the rear of the house sagging and starting to shear away.

Here. )

I am waylaid with the flu, or I would be out buying fire extinguishers and smoke alarms -- not that either would have helped these people, but it does make one paranoid.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (WTF)
The house behind ours burned to the supporting timbers last night at about 1:30. The flames took hold in minutes -- so fast, so incredibly fast.

Only the far side was on fire when I went into the backyard to see. In the time it took for me to run back to the house, secure the back door, and run out again, it had spread to the rear of the house. When the flames spread onto the roof barely a minute later, I could feel the heat on my face. After about five minutes the back of the house collapsed. No crashing, no groaning of timbers, only the roar of the flames, and that high-pitched keening sound burning wood makes sometimes. It just sagged, then sheared away and fell down in slow motion.

I did not think something so large could burn so quickly and so completely. I have seen tiny campfires that took far, far longer to burn down. There was no wind, so the flame and smoke just billowed up, and the heat shot a fountain of golden, swirling sparks fifty feet in the air or more. Beautiful and horrifying. Once the firemen got to work, the pounding water of the fire hoses and the roaring steam sounded like hooves.

The woman and her son who live there were not home, apparently, so the word so far is that nobody was hurt. Don't know what happened to their dog. I don't want to speculate too much, but a truck was seen hauling ass away from the site. It would not surprise me to learn that it was set, though that would disturb me a great deal. The thought of losing my home to fire has always terrified me.

I will go see what's left tomorrow and see if anyone has heard from the residents. Good thoughts to them. And if someone set it, I hope they catch him fast and lock him away forever.

There's a lot of crimes I can forgive because I understand them, or understand the need that drives a person to commit them. This would not be one of those. Fire is really awesome, but . . . nuh-uh. Fuck a bunch of that.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (WTF)
The house behind ours burned to the supporting timbers last night at about 1:30. The flames took hold in minutes -- so fast, so incredibly fast.

Only the far side was on fire when I went into the backyard to see. In the time it took for me to run back to the house, secure the back door, and run out again, it had spread to the rear of the house. When the flames spread onto the roof barely a minute later, I could feel the heat on my face. After about five minutes the back of the house collapsed. No crashing, no groaning of timbers, only the roar of the flames, and that high-pitched keening sound burning wood makes sometimes. It just sagged, then sheared away and fell down in slow motion.

I did not think something so large could burn so quickly and so completely. I have seen tiny campfires that took far, far longer to burn down. There was no wind, so the flame and smoke just billowed up, and the heat shot a fountain of golden, swirling sparks fifty feet in the air or more. Beautiful and horrifying. Once the firemen got to work, the pounding water of the fire hoses and the roaring steam sounded like hooves.

The woman and her son who live there were not home, apparently, so the word so far is that nobody was hurt. Don't know what happened to their dog. I don't want to speculate too much, but a truck was seen hauling ass away from the site. It would not surprise me to learn that it was set, though that would disturb me a great deal. The thought of losing my home to fire has always terrified me.

I will go see what's left tomorrow and see if anyone has heard from the residents. Good thoughts to them. And if someone set it, I hope they catch him fast and lock him away forever.

There's a lot of crimes I can forgive because I understand them, or understand the need that drives a person to commit them. This would not be one of those. Fire is really awesome, but . . . nuh-uh. Fuck a bunch of that.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Warning: Death Ray)
I have finally gotten over my pissoff long enough to watch the new Casino Royale.

You are forgiven for nobody liking Timothy Dalton as Bond, and for Pierce Brosnan getting a little too old, and for not picking Ioan Gruffudd for the new Bond even though he was practically born to play the part (if you're going with sexy and dashing).

Daniel Craig is just fine. I don't think he's hot, per se -- I mean, he was hotter in The Golden Compass, what with the "Professor Daddy" thing he had going on -- but he is really charismatic, and this Bond is very scary, so . . . keep doing what it is you're doing.

Also? Eva Green is very beautiful, and she can actually act. Keep putting her in stuff.

You are not so much forgiven for the disturbing ending, which guarantees that I will never watch the last half-hour of the movie again.

Also, I have to admit . . . I'm sorta glad I don't have balls, or I'd still be coaxing them back out of my abdominal cavity. I see the new Bond franchise is not playing with the idea of sexy torture any longer. So on second thought, I'm just as glad that wasn't Ioan, thanks.

Still, net gain there, so I give you the thumbs up. That was a damn good spy movie.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Warning: Death Ray)
I have finally gotten over my pissoff long enough to watch the new Casino Royale.

You are forgiven for nobody liking Timothy Dalton as Bond, and for Pierce Brosnan getting a little too old, and for not picking Ioan Gruffudd for the new Bond even though he was practically born to play the part (if you're going with sexy and dashing).

Daniel Craig is just fine. I don't think he's hot, per se -- I mean, he was hotter in The Golden Compass, what with the "Professor Daddy" thing he had going on -- but he is really charismatic, and this Bond is very scary, so . . . keep doing what it is you're doing.

Also? Eva Green is very beautiful, and she can actually act. Keep putting her in stuff.

You are not so much forgiven for the disturbing ending, which guarantees that I will never watch the last half-hour of the movie again.

Also, I have to admit . . . I'm sorta glad I don't have balls, or I'd still be coaxing them back out of my abdominal cavity. I see the new Bond franchise is not playing with the idea of sexy torture any longer. So on second thought, I'm just as glad that wasn't Ioan, thanks.

Still, net gain there, so I give you the thumbs up. That was a damn good spy movie.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Vitriolic)
Well, [livejournal.com profile] alainbriongloid asked me for a list of movies I never want to see again, and I couldn't resist the opportunity. So, I compiled a partial catalog of stuff I could go the rest of my life without seeing ever again.

Just like there are some movies that are bad, but enjoyable anyway, there are some movies that are good, but that I don't want to see again. Many are, in fact, perfectly entertaining movies, but something about them roused my ire. Sometimes it was sheer unpleasantness, sometimes it was a single actor, and sometimes it was merely my personal taste making me loathe something all out of proportion.

The list does contain bad movies, but I vetted my choices for movies that were not just crappy MST3K fodder, but were more than ordinarily bad. The movie must have either sucked in a truly epic way, or ruined a sequel or franchise. Preference was given to high-budget, much-hyped movies, and movies that are popular. I tried not to include movies that are widely regarded as terrible, like the Star Wars prequels, unless something else about them was particularly heinous.

At any rate, and in no particular order, they are:

Drumroll, please . . . )

Aaah. I feel better.

I know that this list is nowhere near complete, but 14 is all I could come up with at a single sitting. There may well be further installments.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Vitriolic)
Well, [livejournal.com profile] alainbriongloid asked me for a list of movies I never want to see again, and I couldn't resist the opportunity. So, I compiled a partial catalog of stuff I could go the rest of my life without seeing ever again.

Just like there are some movies that are bad, but enjoyable anyway, there are some movies that are good, but that I don't want to see again. Many are, in fact, perfectly entertaining movies, but something about them roused my ire. Sometimes it was sheer unpleasantness, sometimes it was a single actor, and sometimes it was merely my personal taste making me loathe something all out of proportion.

The list does contain bad movies, but I vetted my choices for movies that were not just crappy MST3K fodder, but were more than ordinarily bad. The movie must have either sucked in a truly epic way, or ruined a sequel or franchise. Preference was given to high-budget, much-hyped movies, and movies that are popular. I tried not to include movies that are widely regarded as terrible, like the Star Wars prequels, unless something else about them was particularly heinous.

At any rate, and in no particular order, they are:

Drumroll, please . . . )

Aaah. I feel better.

I know that this list is nowhere near complete, but 14 is all I could come up with at a single sitting. There may well be further installments.

Ugh.

Aug. 9th, 2005 04:27 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (KILL! KILL! KILL!)
There is no winning in this business.

I can either write porn-for-pay, and get paid what amounts to $10-$20 an hour for stories that are a guaranteed sell but do not generally excite me or test my creativity; or I can write "real" erotica, entertain myself a little more, and make maybe half that, and maybe gain some respect, if my stories sell; or I can write swashbuckling adventure porn, get paid nothing, get no recognition, and enjoy myself immensely.

Hmmm. Which bug do I want to eat today? (No, there are no easy solutions to this problem. It's one'a them there "rat oracle" questions.)

Life stuff has been better, but my mental state is deteriorating like old oatmeal at the bottom of the last bowl in the sink. Yuck. Lack of sleep, Sargon's fuck-you work schedule, no transportation, and my inability to do anything other than sit here and wave my arms around because of my goddamn leg have all combined into a hellish, steaming gumbo of helplessness and resentment, seasoned with stifled rage.

As a stress-reliever, we went to see Fantastic Four on Saturday. Don't ask me to give a thoughtful review, I have no interest in arguing about whether it's good or not – I was entertained, and that was enough. Don't regret paying full price for it, anyway.

And can I just say that Jessica Alba is incredibly hot, even blonde? Michael Weatherly, if you are reading this, you are out of your mind. And I don't mean for reading this. I mean for letting her get away. Don't they have restraints on your planet? Jesus. Though I suppose I can't fault you for not wanting her back. She has slept with Marky Mark since she was with you, and Lord knows you wouldn't want to catch whatever HE had that made him so sucktacular back when he was trying to make music, and is still making him sucktacular now that he has a movie "career." If you can call a headlong plummet a career.

Anyway. Digression.

Jessica Alba = hot. Ioan Gruffudd as a geek = very cute. And with the little grey streaks they put in his hair, he was spanking Daddy/Teacher buttons I would rather the theater had not known I had. ("What are you doing with that yardstick? Oh no! I promise to do my math homework!") I'm still going to pass on the whole "stretchy" thing. That's just . . . oogy.

Anyway, what I wanted to talk about:

I'm sitting there watching the movie, and suddenly, out of nowhere, I have a panic attack. I mean that. Out of fucking nowhere. I was like "Oh, look, Jessica Alba has such beautiful lips! And the kid who plays Johnny Storm is pretty cute, too, even if he looks like a porn actor. Mmmmm . . . Ioan . . . OMGHOLYSHITWE'REALLGONNADIE! RUN AWAY!!! RUN NOW! RUN!!! RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!!!!"

Stupidest Shit Ever, I tell you. So I sat on it, hard, and repeated this simple mantra: "I will not have a panic attack while I am looking at Jessica Alba."

And it worked.

It works the same way Mandy Moore music works. You just can't have a panic attack when you're thinking about something so fucking cute. For example. Look at that picture.

When I look at that, it knocks at least three points off my inner ennui scale. I go from Sisters of Mercy to Evanescence, and if I look at it again, I can hit Sarah Brightman from there, so it's not too bad.

Mandy Moore shoving a vanilla soft-serve ice cream cone at me. That has got to be one of my ultimate fantasies. Right next to the one with the . . . oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand.

I likewise feel stupid having a panic attack fraught with fear and drama during stupid movies like Knight's Tale or Sinbad. My pride won't allow it. For those of you who may wonder why Heath Ledger movies spent about two years cemented into my DVD player, that's why. That was when I was having these fucking things regularly. Like, sometimes twice a day for a couple of hours at a time. But while that movie was on, I was safe. Heath Ledger is like a big, dumb guardian angel for the part of me that likes to flip out like a rat in a cottonmouth cage for no damn good reason.

Thankfully, I only get that occasionally anymore. Once a month or once a week or so.

Hmm. Didn't mean to meander. I should probably prepare a post about what it's actually like to have to live with something like this, since a lot of people just don't seem to Get It.

Ugh.

Aug. 9th, 2005 04:27 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (KILL! KILL! KILL!)
There is no winning in this business.

I can either write porn-for-pay, and get paid what amounts to $10-$20 an hour for stories that are a guaranteed sell but do not generally excite me or test my creativity; or I can write "real" erotica, entertain myself a little more, and make maybe half that, and maybe gain some respect, if my stories sell; or I can write swashbuckling adventure porn, get paid nothing, get no recognition, and enjoy myself immensely.

Hmmm. Which bug do I want to eat today? (No, there are no easy solutions to this problem. It's one'a them there "rat oracle" questions.)

Life stuff has been better, but my mental state is deteriorating like old oatmeal at the bottom of the last bowl in the sink. Yuck. Lack of sleep, Sargon's fuck-you work schedule, no transportation, and my inability to do anything other than sit here and wave my arms around because of my goddamn leg have all combined into a hellish, steaming gumbo of helplessness and resentment, seasoned with stifled rage.

As a stress-reliever, we went to see Fantastic Four on Saturday. Don't ask me to give a thoughtful review, I have no interest in arguing about whether it's good or not – I was entertained, and that was enough. Don't regret paying full price for it, anyway.

And can I just say that Jessica Alba is incredibly hot, even blonde? Michael Weatherly, if you are reading this, you are out of your mind. And I don't mean for reading this. I mean for letting her get away. Don't they have restraints on your planet? Jesus. Though I suppose I can't fault you for not wanting her back. She has slept with Marky Mark since she was with you, and Lord knows you wouldn't want to catch whatever HE had that made him so sucktacular back when he was trying to make music, and is still making him sucktacular now that he has a movie "career." If you can call a headlong plummet a career.

Anyway. Digression.

Jessica Alba = hot. Ioan Gruffudd as a geek = very cute. And with the little grey streaks they put in his hair, he was spanking Daddy/Teacher buttons I would rather the theater had not known I had. ("What are you doing with that yardstick? Oh no! I promise to do my math homework!") I'm still going to pass on the whole "stretchy" thing. That's just . . . oogy.

Anyway, what I wanted to talk about:

I'm sitting there watching the movie, and suddenly, out of nowhere, I have a panic attack. I mean that. Out of fucking nowhere. I was like "Oh, look, Jessica Alba has such beautiful lips! And the kid who plays Johnny Storm is pretty cute, too, even if he looks like a porn actor. Mmmmm . . . Ioan . . . OMGHOLYSHITWE'REALLGONNADIE! RUN AWAY!!! RUN NOW! RUN!!! RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!!!!"

Stupidest Shit Ever, I tell you. So I sat on it, hard, and repeated this simple mantra: "I will not have a panic attack while I am looking at Jessica Alba."

And it worked.

It works the same way Mandy Moore music works. You just can't have a panic attack when you're thinking about something so fucking cute. For example. Look at that picture.

When I look at that, it knocks at least three points off my inner ennui scale. I go from Sisters of Mercy to Evanescence, and if I look at it again, I can hit Sarah Brightman from there, so it's not too bad.

Mandy Moore shoving a vanilla soft-serve ice cream cone at me. That has got to be one of my ultimate fantasies. Right next to the one with the . . . oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand.

I likewise feel stupid having a panic attack fraught with fear and drama during stupid movies like Knight's Tale or Sinbad. My pride won't allow it. For those of you who may wonder why Heath Ledger movies spent about two years cemented into my DVD player, that's why. That was when I was having these fucking things regularly. Like, sometimes twice a day for a couple of hours at a time. But while that movie was on, I was safe. Heath Ledger is like a big, dumb guardian angel for the part of me that likes to flip out like a rat in a cottonmouth cage for no damn good reason.

Thankfully, I only get that occasionally anymore. Once a month or once a week or so.

Hmm. Didn't mean to meander. I should probably prepare a post about what it's actually like to have to live with something like this, since a lot of people just don't seem to Get It.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Okay. Where is it written that in order for something to be good for you, it has to be unpleasant?

Because of The Passion, I have been smacked by yet another branch of a debate that has been raging around me for years. I trace it all back to Saving Private Ryan.

I keep being told that I should see such-and-so a movie, usually because it’s “a really good movie”. The assumption, here, is that it is somehow good for me. This is inevitably coupled with one of several rationalizations: “It was really realistic.” “It told it like it is.” “It really brought home the horrors of WWII/slavery/the Civil War/Auschwitz/urban warfare/the crucifixion.” Often adjectives are included: “Unflinching.” “Gritty.” “Wrenching.” “Realistic.”

This is all code for “Unpleasant Fucking Movie.”

I’m going to use my old whipping-boy, Saving Private Ryan, to illustrate, because that was the last movie I allowed myself to be tricked into seeing that was supposed to be “good for me.”

Well, almost seeing.

I feel guilty about this, still. I’m not a pussy, but I just couldn’t stand it. The opening scene made me physically ill. I was awake for two nights. I really, really had a bad reaction to it.

Now, I wanted to watch the rest of the movie. I still want to. But I’m afraid to. Because a director who would shit on you that much in the first fifteen minutes simply cannot be trusted not to try to screw you when you aren’t looking. I mean, one minute you could be watching a scene of windmills or something, and then it could cut to exploded entrails. Yeah. I’m in good hands there.

I am just not feeling the love.

I understand that was the point. To put audiences, as much as possible (which it isn’t, so I sort of fail to see the point at all) in the state of mind of the soldiers who took that beach. To brutalize the audience to the point of numbness.

I beg to point out that some of us live like that all the time. I suffer from panic attacks. Not because I am a scaredy-cat or nervous or flighty or weak-willed person, but because there is something fundamentally wrong with my wiring. I pretty much live in a state of fight-or-flight about three days out of seven.

I accept that this is not normal, but I think that Saving Private Ryan went too far, and it isn’t the only movie to do so. It seemed to usher in a spate of other unpleasant movies that I have had to avoid. Really, is it necessary to see people blown in half with their guts hanging out to make us understand that nobody wants to be in a warzone, including us? I’d expect it in a B-grade horror flick, but in something touted as great cinema, it rankles. Not to mention that it’s gross. (I’m not slamming crappy horror movies, by the way, I think they have a place as cheap entertainment, same as porn, but neither are – usually -- art.)

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am all for good movies, movies that make you question, movies that are hard to watch. I just don’t want people to act like I’m obligated to watch such depressing crap just to somehow gain karmic brownie points. “Look, Buddha, I watched all these Good Movies and ate only tofu! Can I have my enlightenment cookie now?”

I watch such movies when I am interested in the material (there goes The Passion), when I feel like I might learn something (I got my fill of WWII related torment in high school, believe me, I am very aware that it was A Very Bad Thing.), or when I just can’t resist because I am in love with an actor (which is why I saw Black Hawk Down, a movie that, despite its lack of a plot or message beyond “war is horrible, hooray America” and the several disgusting scenes involving entrails and gushing arteries, still only rated a 7 on my Can’t Stand It meter).

Directors make their movies in accordance with their vision. I can’t fault them for that. I won’t criticize them for staying true to what they believe. It’s the audiences that piss me off. And the media that promotes such movies as "good" movies when what they mean is "good for you in the sense that suffering (even other peoples’ on a movie screen) builds character." I resent the assumption that I want to be brutalized, or that somehow, by subjecting myself to that sort of thing, I will be "improved."

Come again?

I don’t need to be traumatized to feel like I "understand" what those people "went through." I can’t ever know, and I don’t ever want to. And, frankly, watching movies like that for entertainment is kind of . . . yucky. On a par with Faces of Death, only without real bodies, thank Juno. I don’t feel the need to suffer through seriously unpleasant imagery just to relieve some sort of white man’s burden over me not having fought in WWII, been in a death camp, suffered a painful abortion, or been crucified.

So with all that in mind, would everyone please stop bugging me about The Motherfucking Passion already? If you don’t believe in Jesus, the whole thing loses its spiritual angle, and becomes nothing more than snuff porn. So lay off. Because, strangely hot as James looks as the Anointed One, and as into lashing as I may be, this is not the stuff that dreams are made of. This is Christploitation.

Tomorrow, I’m going to see Peter Fucking Pan. And I’ll come out of it a better person in that I’ll be happy about life for maybe half an hour. Which is more than I can say for Schindler’s List, Saving Private Ryan, Black Hawk Down, or the Passion.

You want to elevate my consciousness and make me ache for change? Show me a vision of something beautiful. Because I live in an ugly world, and I know it. And I don’t need Hollywood to rub my nose in it.

That said, I’m going to watch Brotherhood of the Wolf. You can have your cake and eat it too. Violence and beauty. Imagine that.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Okay. Where is it written that in order for something to be good for you, it has to be unpleasant?

Because of The Passion, I have been smacked by yet another branch of a debate that has been raging around me for years. I trace it all back to Saving Private Ryan.

I keep being told that I should see such-and-so a movie, usually because it’s “a really good movie”. The assumption, here, is that it is somehow good for me. This is inevitably coupled with one of several rationalizations: “It was really realistic.” “It told it like it is.” “It really brought home the horrors of WWII/slavery/the Civil War/Auschwitz/urban warfare/the crucifixion.” Often adjectives are included: “Unflinching.” “Gritty.” “Wrenching.” “Realistic.”

This is all code for “Unpleasant Fucking Movie.”

I’m going to use my old whipping-boy, Saving Private Ryan, to illustrate, because that was the last movie I allowed myself to be tricked into seeing that was supposed to be “good for me.”

Well, almost seeing.

I feel guilty about this, still. I’m not a pussy, but I just couldn’t stand it. The opening scene made me physically ill. I was awake for two nights. I really, really had a bad reaction to it.

Now, I wanted to watch the rest of the movie. I still want to. But I’m afraid to. Because a director who would shit on you that much in the first fifteen minutes simply cannot be trusted not to try to screw you when you aren’t looking. I mean, one minute you could be watching a scene of windmills or something, and then it could cut to exploded entrails. Yeah. I’m in good hands there.

I am just not feeling the love.

I understand that was the point. To put audiences, as much as possible (which it isn’t, so I sort of fail to see the point at all) in the state of mind of the soldiers who took that beach. To brutalize the audience to the point of numbness.

I beg to point out that some of us live like that all the time. I suffer from panic attacks. Not because I am a scaredy-cat or nervous or flighty or weak-willed person, but because there is something fundamentally wrong with my wiring. I pretty much live in a state of fight-or-flight about three days out of seven.

I accept that this is not normal, but I think that Saving Private Ryan went too far, and it isn’t the only movie to do so. It seemed to usher in a spate of other unpleasant movies that I have had to avoid. Really, is it necessary to see people blown in half with their guts hanging out to make us understand that nobody wants to be in a warzone, including us? I’d expect it in a B-grade horror flick, but in something touted as great cinema, it rankles. Not to mention that it’s gross. (I’m not slamming crappy horror movies, by the way, I think they have a place as cheap entertainment, same as porn, but neither are – usually -- art.)

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am all for good movies, movies that make you question, movies that are hard to watch. I just don’t want people to act like I’m obligated to watch such depressing crap just to somehow gain karmic brownie points. “Look, Buddha, I watched all these Good Movies and ate only tofu! Can I have my enlightenment cookie now?”

I watch such movies when I am interested in the material (there goes The Passion), when I feel like I might learn something (I got my fill of WWII related torment in high school, believe me, I am very aware that it was A Very Bad Thing.), or when I just can’t resist because I am in love with an actor (which is why I saw Black Hawk Down, a movie that, despite its lack of a plot or message beyond “war is horrible, hooray America” and the several disgusting scenes involving entrails and gushing arteries, still only rated a 7 on my Can’t Stand It meter).

Directors make their movies in accordance with their vision. I can’t fault them for that. I won’t criticize them for staying true to what they believe. It’s the audiences that piss me off. And the media that promotes such movies as "good" movies when what they mean is "good for you in the sense that suffering (even other peoples’ on a movie screen) builds character." I resent the assumption that I want to be brutalized, or that somehow, by subjecting myself to that sort of thing, I will be "improved."

Come again?

I don’t need to be traumatized to feel like I "understand" what those people "went through." I can’t ever know, and I don’t ever want to. And, frankly, watching movies like that for entertainment is kind of . . . yucky. On a par with Faces of Death, only without real bodies, thank Juno. I don’t feel the need to suffer through seriously unpleasant imagery just to relieve some sort of white man’s burden over me not having fought in WWII, been in a death camp, suffered a painful abortion, or been crucified.

So with all that in mind, would everyone please stop bugging me about The Motherfucking Passion already? If you don’t believe in Jesus, the whole thing loses its spiritual angle, and becomes nothing more than snuff porn. So lay off. Because, strangely hot as James looks as the Anointed One, and as into lashing as I may be, this is not the stuff that dreams are made of. This is Christploitation.

Tomorrow, I’m going to see Peter Fucking Pan. And I’ll come out of it a better person in that I’ll be happy about life for maybe half an hour. Which is more than I can say for Schindler’s List, Saving Private Ryan, Black Hawk Down, or the Passion.

You want to elevate my consciousness and make me ache for change? Show me a vision of something beautiful. Because I live in an ugly world, and I know it. And I don’t need Hollywood to rub my nose in it.

That said, I’m going to watch Brotherhood of the Wolf. You can have your cake and eat it too. Violence and beauty. Imagine that.

link

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naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
naamah_darling

May 2017

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