Thursday, March 30, 2006

The 1970's Diasporic Film Festival

BECAUSE we weren’t feeling diasporic, apocalyptic and megalomaniacal enough, I rented Straw Dogs for our viewing enjoyment. I Namaste Sam Peckinpah. My brother dismisses him dismissively as a proponent of “gratuitous violence.” Phooey, I say.

Straw Dogs is the f%$# creepiest, most sinister, weird, fantastic movie in the world. It’s everything that’s “right” about the post-sixties, righteous, American, pseudo-liberal, ideal of bonded nations and genders, fractured right in two by deeply ingrained tendencies toward sexual manipulation, dominance and an instinctual caveman need to subjugate polite intellectual protocol in the name of the savage brutal desire to draw a circle of inviolate, proprietary boundaries around all that is sacred and holy. Namely, home, hearth and woman.

I love Dustin Hoffman, let it be known and say it proud. He is the EMBODIMENT of the whole ‘60’s ethic—the nerd side of the ‘60’s, with his perfect fitting beige cords and Irish cable knit sweater and look of intellectual and moral certitude. It also has Susan George, a toothy braless semi-tart (who also embodies everything I would mostly like to forget about the ‘70’s—bralessness, vapid babydoll stares—but some good things too—zee hair and those damn perfect fitting boot cut jeans! Quel insouciance).

After it was over, MZA, who is pretty laid back and able to absorb almost everything (he’s married to me after all!), said, “Um, that was a pretty disturbing movie.”

MZA has been a willing and able student of my bizarre, all-encompassing taste in movies. Because he is from Uzbekistan, a land colonized by the famously censoring Soviets, he brought with him a delightful cinematic tabula rasa that I have exploited and pilloried at will.

He is a slave to Hitchcock, but I have not been able to convert him to Woody Allen in any way shape or form.

My favorite “old” movie (classic, whatever you want to call it) is My Man Godfrey. Like, I love that movie with every fiber of my being—a topic for in-depth discussion on another day, you’ll be glad to know—and MZA loves it too. He watched it recently, tho, on his own, and said that I reminded him of the mother in the movie. Who is this daft, shallow, senseless cipher who flits around all day fretting, spending money and speaking in a superficial trill.


Oh cruel wronged comparisons!

And finally, just because it’s my website, I would also like to take a moment to talk about Two Mules for Sister Sara. This is another of my favorite movies and it would actually make a really good early 70’s sort of festival (along with Straw Dogs) of gritty “journey” movies that chronicle improbable and outrageous scenarios that test the outer limits of sexual suppression and dominance.

Seriously, I don’t know what's going on with me either, but it was fun! And I’ve only had ONE Diet Coke so far today!!!!!!!!!!!


Cynicism is another word for reality

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