a vague disclaimer is nobody's friend
Friday, 3 June 2005 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freckles_and_doubtIn a strange sort of parallax, my mission as a purveyor of obscure topics in cultural studies to the ususpecting undergraduatry has caused me to watch more, weirder and worse vampire movies than a dispassionate observer might, in fact, believe possible for one of my so-called academic pretensions. Most recently, the byways of this odd quest have led me, finally, to view From Dusk Till Dawn - or, more accurately, to flog my reluctant self into sitting through it over two evenings, with a break in the middle to forestall the involuntary onset of the foetal position. Various illuminations have been vouchsafed to me during the course of this experience.
1. That was a god-awful movie. Whatever anyone might say, and notwithstanding its bizarre cult status and celebration by goths, violence fiends and a sizeable chunk of my friends, it was a load of bollocks.
2. Part of its incredible suckage is the direct result of Quentin Tarantino, a jumped-up little self-important git who, in addition to his reliance on violence, hysteria, grime, warped sex and the word "fuck" in place of actual intelligence and scripting ability, is in possession of absolutely no personal charm whatsoever, and should be bludgeoned to death before he's allowed to act.
3. That being said, the casting of said QT as an adenoidal and adolescent sex nut had a certain sort of horrible logic that may, once I have succeeded in uncurling myself from said foetal position, vaguely appeal to me.
4. In addition to the casting of QT, the only vaguely and possibly acceptable elements in the movie as a whole were the basic premise (the combination of serial killers and a strip joint is an obvious but interesting play on the sex/violence premise of the vampire myth) and the final shot of the weird zigguratty structure underlying the strip joint. (I may allow a small side bet on Juliette Lewis, and on George Clooney's interesting arm tattoo).
5. Making violence explicit, gungy and deliberately excessive is neither funny nor cool. (No, I didn't like Pulp Fiction, either).
6. I would rather be forced to re-sit through a medley of selected lowlights from all the horrible vampire movies I have recently watched than watch this one again. While bad, at least none of them were shot through with the huge, mind-numbingly egotistical conviction of their own cleverness.
Right. Having got that off my chest, I feel better now. I'm sure a good slug of rum will unwrap my stomach, which is in knots from sheer irritation, enough to actually let me sleep. That, and all the painkillers for the pounding headache.
I think I shall have to foreswear pop culture and all its works for a while. As another indicator, the effect of re-reading my entire Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser collection in strict chronological order has been to send me screaming into the arms of Henry James, who in happier times I don't actually like at all. To be strictly fair, though, this may simply be the effect of seeing Jane Campion's film of Portrait of a Lady, which I utterly adored. It's had the same effect as the LotR films, in defining for ever my mental sense of certain of the roles in the novel - I will always see Isabel Archer as Nicole Kidman, and Caspar Goodwood (who has always been my favourite character in the book) as Viggo Mortensen. Beautifully made movie, and stunning adaptation. Bugger pop culture, anyway.
1. That was a god-awful movie. Whatever anyone might say, and notwithstanding its bizarre cult status and celebration by goths, violence fiends and a sizeable chunk of my friends, it was a load of bollocks.
2. Part of its incredible suckage is the direct result of Quentin Tarantino, a jumped-up little self-important git who, in addition to his reliance on violence, hysteria, grime, warped sex and the word "fuck" in place of actual intelligence and scripting ability, is in possession of absolutely no personal charm whatsoever, and should be bludgeoned to death before he's allowed to act.
3. That being said, the casting of said QT as an adenoidal and adolescent sex nut had a certain sort of horrible logic that may, once I have succeeded in uncurling myself from said foetal position, vaguely appeal to me.
4. In addition to the casting of QT, the only vaguely and possibly acceptable elements in the movie as a whole were the basic premise (the combination of serial killers and a strip joint is an obvious but interesting play on the sex/violence premise of the vampire myth) and the final shot of the weird zigguratty structure underlying the strip joint. (I may allow a small side bet on Juliette Lewis, and on George Clooney's interesting arm tattoo).
5. Making violence explicit, gungy and deliberately excessive is neither funny nor cool. (No, I didn't like Pulp Fiction, either).
6. I would rather be forced to re-sit through a medley of selected lowlights from all the horrible vampire movies I have recently watched than watch this one again. While bad, at least none of them were shot through with the huge, mind-numbingly egotistical conviction of their own cleverness.
Right. Having got that off my chest, I feel better now. I'm sure a good slug of rum will unwrap my stomach, which is in knots from sheer irritation, enough to actually let me sleep. That, and all the painkillers for the pounding headache.
I think I shall have to foreswear pop culture and all its works for a while. As another indicator, the effect of re-reading my entire Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser collection in strict chronological order has been to send me screaming into the arms of Henry James, who in happier times I don't actually like at all. To be strictly fair, though, this may simply be the effect of seeing Jane Campion's film of Portrait of a Lady, which I utterly adored. It's had the same effect as the LotR films, in defining for ever my mental sense of certain of the roles in the novel - I will always see Isabel Archer as Nicole Kidman, and Caspar Goodwood (who has always been my favourite character in the book) as Viggo Mortensen. Beautifully made movie, and stunning adaptation. Bugger pop culture, anyway.
