The monster's shadow casts a long spell, beguiling the minds of the vulnerable. The child's innocence lost, she grows to know the depth and exploitation of evil.
“O'er centuries, a loathsome beast I lay within the darkest pit. Till you did wake me, enchantress, and stirred me from my grave. You are my affliction.”
Through destruction, creation. A man unmade himself. Do the ramblings of a psychopath mean anything? Are they coherent? Perhaps not, but perhaps that chaos of the mind imbues within even the disciplined artist some disposition to chase the beautiful.
Fucking awesome. The fear, the gore, the horror, all beautiful.
This is the pit inside oneself, hauntingly portrayed. Every frame is meaningful. It grips something real, builds a bizzare stage upon which to display it, and yet acts out a fate in conflict. Nothing is excess, nothing is spared.
Dripping with psychedelia, Barbarella's accidental sensory adventure has the cooly-costumed heroine drifting between states of bliss and easy resolve. A feast for the eyes, and so is the film.
It's Alien, and there's nothing wrong with that. A badass and sexy heroine is all-too human, risking her life for her companions, including an android she calls brother. In a desperate fight for survival against the perfect creature, death abounds, and destiny chooses the last survivor. Drenched in sweat, blood spurting, skin shredded, gaping, contextualized by spectacularly detailed celestial vistas, all are deeply immersive sensory touchpoints. Incredible. gchcUgcUOcOqOUnuUhplhUbpoocncUgcdglqcOUpcOOuUhnnUpccbucUOcohpU ccucUUcnUcdcUoubodOUgghlouUhnUunhoUcOUOcOUOcOqOUdOldbc
In liberation, seduction. Addiction. You are powerful. You are nothing.
Blood is life, and death. Love destroys the lover. She didn't choose herself.
“Can you contract an STD by having sex with a Dead person?”
Otherworldly eerie.
Still hints at something of fairytale, with a little more wordly tension amid a largely conservative retelling.
“Your infant knows what to do. I'd say you're fresh. Let her suckle.”
People are sin. The witch has all pretense stripped away and nothing left but to admit her own power.
“He hath taken us into a very low condition to humble us and to show us more of His grace.”
Maybe you should do what you believe and sow no regret.
“When you see something like that it's like God is looking right at you, just for a second. And if you're careful, you can look right back.”
Striking collages evoke an overwhelming tale, harkening the monster's shadow, a duel companion. Everything is eerie and disorienting. Blood abounds. A lost love feels real, finally.
Almost mythological, a capture of the naive.
It's minimalist and raw, very discomforting. Her casual persistence and strategic sexual weaponization are unexpected, but the revenge is straight cool. She mounts the throne of power and orchestrates an ultimate, sickening humiliation.
A montage of sexual fixation, the intimate beauty of the burgeoning young women exploited with voyeuristic indulgance. It works fine in that regard.
The most capable machine is the most deceptive, but the men interacting with this one are especially dim-witted.
The good camp, but what the hell is with those flashing lights and strobing images?