31 January 2011
Kinda scared this might be movie about wood nymphs and pan flutes 'cause the title makes me think of the box art for that Calista Flockhart Midsummer Night's Dream, but the Woodman came through with a picture that was goddamn charming and poignant as all hell.
18 January 2011
17 January 2011
07 January 2011
If you were part of the Human Centipede, which segment would you be?
I think most of us would want to be the guy in front. But honestly, isn't that the guiltiest of segments? Think about it: you can use both arms, turn your head, and hold a conversation. You can even eat a tasty meal! As far as a Centipede existence could go, life is pretty darn great. But here's where the horror comes in, and it's the most evil type of horror, a psychological pain that you will never escape since all the while you know, you know, that some poor fucker has his mouth sewn into your butthole, and behind him? Another poor fucker whose mouth is sewn into that guy's butthole. So while you have a wealth of creature comforts and get to enjoy the freedom of pretend mobility, you will never ever ever forget that each and every one of your natural instincts contributes to the suffering of at least two other kind-hearted souls. Do you honestly think you could live with that burden? With that guilt on your conscience?
The middle segment, now that's the one conventional wisdom abhors.We wouldn't even have a movie if it wasn't for this segment. But to all of you, I posit this: maybe, just maybe, you're the type of person who likes the status quo. Maybe you routinely accept your position in life. If that sounds like you, then maybe this middle segment ain't so bad. Sure, you may subsist on a diet of raw feces and shit in the mouth of a stranger, but you have the luxury of knowing full well that there is nothing you can do about it! You are bereft of any and all decision-making capabilities. Harboring illusions that you can get yourself out of this and improve your life? Impossible. That's actually kind of comforting, right? It's not like you can waste your time devising an escape plan because you can't even talk! And hell, talk? You can't even make eye contact. Everything in your life from crawling across the front lawn to swallowing a quart of diarrhea is going to happen whether you want it to or not. A life without choice, without all free will. How liberating.
But if it's nobility and honor that you crave, then you have one and only one choice. The final segment. Absorbing twice-filtered poo is, of course, a nauseating way to live out your final days, but doing so will only build you into the ultimate martyr. While you may be on the receiving end of the most miserable of miseries, you absolutely cannot make anyone's life worse. Your sphincter releases now-thrice-filtered poop onto...what? The floor? Big deal. You are like Jesus, you are, dying a slow death so that others may live. Choose the caboose, and you will be live for eternity.