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Показ дописів із міткою Satanic Panic. Показати всі дописи
Показ дописів із міткою Satanic Panic. Показати всі дописи

середа, 9 жовтня 2013 р.

Make up Your Mind Control: 33.3 Ways to Read EYES WIDE SHUT

Posted on 12:14 by jackichain
 
"In regards to the title of this film, Eyes Wide Shut is said to be a code phrase used by members of high society that translates roughly into --- you have not seen any of my misdeeds, because your eyes are wide shut. This allows such people to run amok above and beyond all laws, and without the threat of ever being caught. We see this happen time and time again in our lives, where if one of us broke the law, we would be dealt with in a prompt manner. However, we see on the news and read in the newspapers and news magazines, where globalist figures are constantly walking away from serious crimes without so much as a slap on the wrist. - The Kentroversy Papers 
"At the opening party at Victor Ziegler’s house, Alice Harford meets up with and dances with a Hungarian man. The name of this character is Sandor Szavost. This character shares his name with the creator of the Church of Satan, Anton Sandor LaVey. This would be an accurate analogy, as members of the global elite are all dedicated to either Lucifer or Satan. Their religion has them believe that both Lucifer and Satan are good, and the God of the Christians has forsaken these so-called fallen angels, and is therefore, an enemy God. This type of thinking is extremely twisted, and represents what some have called a Satanic Reversal --- evil is good, lies are truth, death is life, and darkness is light." --The Kentroversy Papers
"It may also be significant that the film's director Stanley Kubrick died suddenly. Mozart, a mason, died soon after revealing masonic mysteries in his opera, The Magic Flute. Author Stephen Knight, whose book,Jack the Ripper: The Final Solution (1975) revealed Victorian London's Whitechapel Murders as the work of ritual masonic killers, also died mysteriously. And William Morgan, author of Freemasonry Exposed(1836) was kidnapped and allegedly murdered by masons. -- Uri Dowbenko (Steamshovel Press) 
"During his dark night of the soul, Dr. Bill travels through the seamy underworld of his disturbed psyche, searching for sexual release, haunted by some insatiable hunger driving him toward unknown ends, along the way encountering a woman he hardly knows, who swears she's madly in love with him. Add to this collection an HIV positive prostitute, as well as the daughter of the aforementioned costume shop owner--who's apparently being pimped out by papa--and what we have is a trinity of lost souls, caught up in the grinding wheels of a powerful machine that eats people up, then spits them out in tiny, fragmented pieces. All of these woman could easily be Monarch victims, and even if they aren't, each is a prisoner of a system of control prevalent in our society; a system which exists on many levels, and in all strata of society, both seen and unseen."--The Konformist

"According to "Treee," a young Las Vegas woman who claims to have contacts inside the secretive club [The Bohemian Grove], a ritual sacrifice of Mary Magdalene takes place Tuesday July 21; and the ritual sacrifice of Jesus Christ takes place Wednesday, July 22. A human body or effigy is burned in front of an large owl symbolizing Moloch, the pagan Canaanite God...
If having our world leaders belong to a satanic cult weren't bad enough, the Las Vegas woman says the Illuminati are actually an alien reptilian species that occupies human bodies and feeds off our energy....
She says: This reptilian species is called "Sangerians;" they are a "fourth dimension race" and make up 3% of the world's population. She claims to have met "more than one, more than once." They have three-hearts, shift shapes, are cold blooded, but are developing human feelings from devouring human flesh and blood. -- Henry Makow
"The reptilian-illuminati hybrids are obsessed with sexual aggression and domination, which is evidenced by their sex magic rituals. Humans are routinely taken and programmed to serve them as familiars and sex slaves; more evidence of their desire to control and "own" others. 
Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut is probably an accurate representation of what takes place in one of these rituals. He was certainly involved with some of their circles and must have been exposed to things like this on more than a few occasions.

As a side note, he was apparently killed because he refused to cut a scene which contained subliminal triggers that were intended to break the mind-control programs of the people in the audience. Following his death, the scene was cut and never made it to the final film." ( -Carleee (Prison Planet Forum)

And so it goes, ever deeper and more perverse... I was going to just keep quoting for this whole post, let the paranoia mine its own irony, but the sinking feeling in my poor stomach was too much. Because, you see, I am easily traumatized, and this shit gets disturbing... Trauma-based conditioning? Torturing children to create multiple personalities?

I believe the above craziness is true without necessarily being real. Keeping my sanity and peace of mind requires me to dismiss most of it as collective subconscious complexes--automatically generated recovered memories of sleep paralysis-- but the way my lower chakras spin like frightened tops when reading it means there's more going on than just schizophrenic hallucinating.

So how can it be one and not the other, you ask, real but not true, or was it vice versa? Pay attention to my ambiguous wording. There will be a quiz. In fact this is it:

HYPOTHESIS: You drop a jam jar on the linoleum floor of your kitchen. It breaks. Jam flies all over the floor. You sweep up the glass, scrub the floor but the jam is still there; you wind up cleaning the whole house, scrubbing top to bottom, and still see the jam, though hazy now is still there -  floating like a ghost imprint over the sparkling floor.

QUESTION: Is the jam 'really' there? (show your work)

The ghost jam is a dried Macbeth-bedamned spot etching its Rorschach butterfly way across the linoleum lining of your subconscious' ceiling. The ceiling of the subconscious (the basement) is the same as the conscious (kitchen) floor, therefore the jam never left. It was spilled on the floor but also in the mind that saw the spill. As there is no true accident, the jam was spilled on the subconscious ceiling first. The conscious floor spill is only a reflection. Is the tell-tale heart really still beating just because Poe's narrator hears it? It is his own heart reflecting a guilty conscience, but isn't his heart also his victim's? We are all connected, therefore the only sane answer is.

ANSWER: The only jam that 'is' is the jam seen, 'there' in the 'real' of the kitchen is an illusion. The truth is the spill. It has always been the spill.
 ----
We can apply this same answer to our tendency to believe in Satanic conspiracies. The 'recovered memories', are like the ghost jam, or the tell-tale heart. They point to a zone that horror authors have been parking in for centuries, but which Freud and Jung never compared enough notes to find on the map --the collective subconscious. Freud had his personal subconscious (the repository of forbidden libidinal desires and traumatic memories) and Jung had his collective unconscious (ruled by its own ego of opposite gender to our consciousness, the anima/animus) but Freud didn't buy the collective much, and Jung didn't go in for the sordid limits of the subconscious. Neither thought there could be a collective subconscious. Why would there be? How could there be a mass repository for all the dark repressed Oedipal fantasies of the individual, all coalesced into a collective real place - where one might see people they know - dressed in robes and doing very dirty things? And then those same people would remember them on the street the next day, or pretend not to, because to admit you were there breaks the code.


I believe all paranormal recollections under hypnosis tend to be true but not real at least not in the limited way we currently define reality. I believe in a collective subconscious, which is located in the fourth hypothetical dimension referred to in the quote above.

I am learning how to be a good adept in navigating this fourth dimension, or does that just mean I sleep a lot? To me it's like the collective multiverse is a phone book of infinite thickness and our world at this moment in time is one chapter, but sometimes other worlds find their way in, laying atop or below us like layers of a Photoshop file. Most of the time it's all pretty copacetic -- the personal subconscious is a vile basement of repressed and banned emotions and thoughts, but it's your own basement, no one else sees it. The collective is more about symbols, sages, shadows and initiations, the shared myths and codes, rather than a private basement it's a shared tunnel network, and the entirety of the ocean and the sky, connected. Compared to it we're just a fleeting cloud or mild earthquake tremor.

BUT the collective subconscious is completely different, as you might imagine - a consensual basement - meaning ogres from other people's repressed personal dark desires can tunnel into yours and come lumbering up the stairs to abduct you. The recovered memories of Satanic rituals in hypnotized children or victims of ritual abuse are 'seen' through the third eye, the same eye we dream with, but the mind cannot distinguish between the real and the vividly imagined. Maybe we don't remember our dreams for the same reason we repress painful memories, and we need to externalize this mechanism, hence the idea of pervasive CIA mind control experiments being responsible for our amnesia. It's not that I don't believe such experiments happened, it's just that I believe they were like a lot of things in the 60s, i.e. the results were too uneven to count as a success so they gave it up in the 80s - I could be wrong, but what's the point of being right? I can't do anything about it. And it makes my skin crawl. In fact it makes me so upset I have to question its validity just to not succumb to heartbreak and panic attack.

The conspiracy theory of MK Ultra-Illuminati started long before Kubrick, the CIA, the Masons, or the Annunaki. And it reached a 20th century full flower in the Satanic panic of the early 1980s, where, like we did back in Salem, we ignored lack of physical evidence and let a bunch of disoriented children accuse their parents, nannies, teachers, daycare workers, and neighbors of witchy ritual. Until it became obvious that there was no logical way some of this stuff could have actually happened, the fear and mob mentality and (my guess) deep-seated sexual repression all cauldroned up to activate the collective subconscious. After all, these kids (in both Salem and the 80's) had no visible marks or scars and according to their hypnotic regression testimony they'd had limbs removed, given birth to tiny winged serpents, and spent a longer time in the coven then they'd been alive, and so forth:
Recovered memories of early sexual trauma, satanic ritual reconstructions, and the development of multiple personalities satisfy the wish of both patient and therapist to understand a bewildering array of symptoms that plead cautious study. Until the 1970s, multiple personalities were considered extremely rare. Although almost entirely absent from the European and Japanese literature, more cases of multiple personality have been described in the past five years than collectively in the past hundreds of years. The Federal Bureau of Investigation has not found one single case of satanic cult ritual burial remains, although tens of thousands of individuals every year are purported to have been victims. - JAMA (1995 abstract, Making Monsters: False Memory, Psychotherapy and Sexual Hysteria)
The hypnotists were getting at a truth, so were the Salem judges maybe, but it was a truth unrelated to any physical reality. It was a truth related to the subconscious of a developing child's mind, where everything dirty and only half-understood from adult coded conversations and stray X-rated imagery is translated into ornate fantasies of dominance and subjugation built up larger and more terrifyingly bizarre with every session. Some of the less grisly of these reports of abuses resembled my own prepubescent fantasies involving girls from my class in elementary school and some of the cast of CHARLIE'S ANGELS, but scrambled, like all America's most twisted suppressed dark desires from childhood were still floating around in the ether, ready to be received like radio stations direct through the unconscious mouth into the headline-grabbing hypnotist's tape recorder.


I didn't really understand it until I read Patrick Harpur's Daimonic Reality: A Field Guide to the Otherworld which points out the science vs. religion vs. occult arguments are all failing to encompass the way our perceptions change the perceived:
As with all anomalous entities, the very act of observing the particles disturbs them. Observer and observed, subject and object, cannot finally be distinguished. Particles whose existence is predicted obligingly turn up. If we didn't know better, we might almost say that they had been imagined into existence. The so-called New Physicists smelled a rat long ago. They began to compare the whole enterprise to oriental religion or to suspect that its reality is primarily metaphorical, not literal and factual. This is not to say that daimons cannot manifest concretely, as we have seen. In fact, the smaller they are, the more powerful they can be, viz. the atom bomb. (more)

Harpur also points out the similarity of Satanic child abduction to the indigenous tribal initiation practices through the centuries, practices we would consider barbaric and illegal today. But these ancient tribes understood the importance of trauma in enabling the symbolic death of the child and his rebirth as an adult. Note the astonishing similarities that in the tribal ceremonies Harpur describes below with the recovered memories of children that led to the Satanic panic (as well as the Salem trials):
 They are snatched from the safety of their homes in the dead of night by tall entities with extraordinary faces --slit mouths and noses, large eyes, for example -- and carried off to a dark place, sometimes narrow and subterranean like a grave, where they are left for days at a time. Deprived of food, exhausted, they are periodically visited by the entities, who torture them, slashing their penises and scarring their faces. At the same time they are given amazing knowledge --secrets they must not reveal -- before being returned to their villages in a blaze of lights where their families no longer recognize them. (231)
Harpur writes that the children kind of know what's going on -- that this is all an initiation -- but are still terrified beyond all measure, not only of death but of the now confirmed suspicion that their parents and relatives have been transformed into demons:  "The children themselves are painted to look like ghosts... for their former childish selves have to die through the initiation before they can be reborn into new adult selves." (231)


It would explain a lot if we took this into account alongside the sole non-PG remnant of the tribal initiation rite in our modern age--the losing of one's virginity -- to explain the sordid sexual nature of the Satanic panic and mind control sex slave EYES WIDE SHUT mythos.

It might seem like I'm saying this stuff doesn't exist.  The tribal initiation, the paranoid schizophrenic fantasy, the Salem Sabbath, and the the Illuminati mind control conspiracy are of course all part of the same phenomena --the collective subconscious --but I don't think it's 'bunk' or 'made up' entirely. There is a vast wilderness beyond what our ego allows as 'reality' (a term the ego doesn't even like to examine, as like HAL 9000, it refuses to see itself as it truly is --a fantasy).

Seeing ROOM 237 last week (review here) is what set me off on this tangent. If you see that film you naturally have to see THE SHINING right afterwards, and then keep going, applying the paranoid deconstructions from 237 to his other films. But I warn you, keep out of EYES WIDE SHUT with your ray of paranoid layer uncovering! Just stay out! A few luridly detailed mind control theories and recovered memories in and you might be wishing you could put the genie back into the bottle.

I don't know why I was so shocked by all that SRA (Satanic Ritual Abduction) business. Reproduction is a nasty brutish business, even without the Illuminati stealing all the hot women, and the idea that mind control frequencies in TV broadcasts turn girls super slutty if you give the right code word ("Tiffany's! Cartier!"). Such stuff I'm sure has happened here or there and it might be a comfort to the broke, lazy slob in his easy chair seething with resentment that his wife isn't Victoria's Secret level hot to know some day he'll be rich enough to buy a hot hypnotized girl's programmed love. Me, I poison myself with straight white male liberal hatred against my darker sexual self until I feel literally sick because no matter how cleanly feminist I think I am, there's another layer of self-awareness  under that wherein I realize it's all an act, dating back to my virgin middle school days, wherein I deludedly believed my sensitive new age guy routine would enable me to get girls into bed rather than just as friends.

If the sensitive shoulder to cry on gambit ever worked it didn't work long, and my soul began to itch for freedom to let Mr. Hyde free. By the time I unearth that layer and lay foundation for a deeper level of sensitive self awareness and wise up to my six foot deep playa tricks ("the best agent is the one who doesn't even know he's an agent," said Bill's insectoid typewriter), the girl I'm trying to win or impress is off having children with a stable husband. Naturally I think she did all that just to spite me. And that kind of solipsistic paranoia seems to me at the heart of some of this Satanic recall. Just read a ton of stuff on the Monarch MK-Ultra conspiracies out there and then watch TV, any TV show or movie, and you can feel the truth of it.

For example, as I'm writing this, CHITTY CHITTY BANG BANG is on TCM, with an automaton girl standing before a series of mirrors (which I've learned they use in mind programming), singing that she's under a spell--an almost exact description of sexually subjugating mind control techniques (including occurring before an assembled audience of mysterious attendees, which mirrors our standard dreams of being exposed naked in a class we forgot to study for, etc.). In reproducing the iconography of normal subconscious dreaming, the programmers tap into the control state, programming their automaton women, the "standard pleasure model" ala BLADE RUNNER, DR. GOLDFOOT, etc. (see CinemArchetype #16 - the Automaton) to fall in love with whatever billionaire diplomat is breezing through town for a weekend. I don't believe this was what CHITTY was trying to achieve (then again, Walt Disney was a 33-degree Mason) but it shows you that once you let this paranoid stuff into your mind, it mutates and transforms even dull children's movies into rabbit holes of horrifyingly vast circumference.

Staged (with audience) Programming (note raised hands), from top: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, 
Clockwork Orange, Manchurian Candidate

And it's a rabbit hole we're hardwired as children to be attracted to... scared to go in, yet unable to look away. Part of this is our secret masochistic projection, Freud's "a child is being beaten" rubric or modern thriller cinema's obsession with abducted children-- the proxy agony of the hypothetical abductee, the way Cruise's cocky doctor uses the image of the wife being ravished by the naval officer--an image to something which she admits up front is only a fantasy--as a tool for paroxysms of masochistic acting out that would make even Josef Von Sternberg go "whoa, bro."

The naval officer theme is no accident, appearing as it does in the dream 'cover memory' in ROSEMARY'S BABY and equating the ocean with the military industrial complex - the dream captain, the "master" of the ocean surface as the subconscious to the unconscious' deep waters. Cruise's doctor might explore the feminine depth, but always with a glum matron present, always with sterile gloves. The navy man goes in deep because he is master of the ocean! He needs no matron present (except naked, in the shadows, chanting)

Row Row Row! (from top: Eyes Wide Shut, Rosemary's Baby - dream sequences)

In the end, if for no other reason, imagining all the hotties in the world are mind controlled sex zombies for the rich and powerful is an ingeniously masochistic tool to explain why you can't have one. And for that and other reasons it makes no difference if it is real or just the subject's subconscious id's favorite childhood bondage scenario remembered as real through hypnosis. In other words, even if true it is still a paranoid fantasy!

As per Lacan (as analyzed by Zizek):
"Even if what a jealous husband claims about his wife (that she sleeps around with other men) is all true, his jealousy is still pathological. Along the same lines, one could say that, even if most of the Nazi claims about the Jews were true (they exploit Germans, they seduce German girls), their anti-Semitism would still be (and was) pathological - because it represses the true reason the Nazis needed anti-Semitism in order to sustain their ideological position. So, in the case of anti-Semitism, knowledge about what the Jews "really are" is a fake, irrelevant, while the only knowledge at the place of truth is the knowledge about why a Nazi needs a figure of the Jew to sustain his ideological edifice." (Looking Awry, p. 71)
Translated to the Illuminati codexing of EYES WIDE SHUT, the only truth is that we need to project our latent masochistic perversity onto hypothetical figures who freely practice what we won't even allow ourselves to fantasize about. If these projections are real it is only because these dark fantasies, which we are not even conscious of, structure the fantasmatic dimension of our social order.

If we could prove these evil secret networks did exist, with names named and figures arrested and tortured confession, it would merely be a hum-drum scandal once the public interest moved on, and the worlds of paranoid schizophrenia, narcissism, etc. would be without their dark support structures. If you know any people with these conditions, maybe you have heard them talk about ex-boyfriends breaking into their apartments while they're at work, moving objects around, planting microphones in their teeth, sending strange numeric codes at the bottom of seemingly random SPAM emails. They can sound very very sane and convincing, and you may even believe them when they're in your room having coffee, but as soon as they leave, you snap out of their spell and roll your eyes. As per the above Zizek quote, even if these things are really happening, that eye roll has just kept you from being dragged down into their pathology. The idea is to not believe it but at the same time to not deny its possible truth, for the more we try to scoff at or downgrade these experiences the more we drift into the role of witch hunting moral crusaders, in other words -the more we believe it the more true it becomes, the more our reality needs it to be true to flourish.

Missing the Orgy

Part of the paranoia of all this which I really resonate with is the feeling of being left out of something. Somewhere, somehow I'm missing the orgy. I remember circa 1989 up in Syracuse, being super sick with a fever and trying to sleep in my girlfriend's apartment while she was painting in the other room (she had no roommates). As I lay there in my deliria I became sure that she was cheating on me and in fact had another man over at the exact moment I was in her bed, and that she was cheating on me with him; I could hear them laughing. I would stagger into the other room to confront her, but she'd be alone, not even on the phone, not even the stereo on. Then I would go back to bed and begin to 'know' deep in my gut that the guy was hiding under the bed. I checked and the closet was empty so I became sure he was in the closet. I checked. I checked under the bed again. It didn't matter I found no man (the apartment was very small and easily searched) because I knew he was there. I was ready to start a massive fight over it because I was sure he, or they, were hiding, mocking me, from every shadow. The moment I closed the door I heard my girlfriend begin to laugh quietly and him whispering. I whipped open the door, nothing. Even knowing I was just having feverish delusions didn't help.

At any rate, it proved a valuable experience for me in later life. When I later saw RAGING BULL I knew why he was so psychotically jealous of his wife: head trauma.


We can see the end result of this delusional fantasy in the case of Richard McCaslin, Who "planned a heavily armed assault on the exclusive (and alleged site of sadistic Illuminati-reptilian Satanic abuses and human sacrifices) Bohemian Grove men's club for more than a year," believing "it would take something dramatic" to draw attention to human sacrifices he feared were being held there":
"In a jailhouse interview Monday night, the well-spoken, lucid and clean-shaven man said he "wanted to make a point" and was prepared to kill people at the Monte Rio resort if necessary. 
McCaslin said he thinks he is sane. 
"They might beg to differ," he said with a laugh, pointing his thumb behind him into the mental health ward." --- The Press Democrat (1-22-02)
Was Kubrick the filmmaker version of McCaslin, confused by the mix of suppressed subconscious fantasizing, exclusion anxiety, and "somewhere a child is being sacrificed" or "Somewhere my love lies sleeping (with a male chorus)" neurosis?

OR was he initiated into the weird world of mind control and sex ritual due to his being hired to fake the moon landings? Did this dark secret prove such a burden to him, not being able to tell anyone, that he finally snapped and told his wife, who was pretty freaked out, mirroring Bill's late inning confession to Alice? And that's why they killed him? Is everything in EYES WIDE aspects of Kubrick's attempts to come to terms with realizing his own wife was also a victim of mind control?

OR did Kubrick just read a lot about it in those 'recalled repressed childhood Satanic abuse trauma' and MK-ULTRA books and eventually it warped his mind?

OR is this all just an isolated neurotic's stilted conception of how rich oversexed people behave at parties?

The case of McCaslin and my own fever jealousy should illustrate by now that there is no real difference, the answer to all these questions is yes.

Part 33.3: Antahkarana Kadabra!

The weird irrational behavior of the two models in the opening party, for example, along with everything else that goes on, can be explained through the maze of the mind control theory, as they want to take him "over the rainbow," presumably a well-known code for the world that is shown to subjects of the practice, leaving them a way to explain all the bizarre things that seem to happening to them, THE WIZARD OF OZ being one of the source texts for this kind of conditioning:
"The Rainbow--with its seven colors has long had an occult significance of being a great spiritual hypnotic device. Constance Cumbey, in her book The Hidden Dangers of the Rainbow, which exposes the New Age Occult Movement, correctly writes, "The Rainbow (also called the Antahkarana [left] or Rainbow Bridge) (...) is used as a hypnotic device (p.261). 
"The Supreme Council of the 33rd" of Freemasonry has used the rainbow on the cover of their magazine. In a book teaching Druidism (as in Illuminati Druidism), The 21 Lessons of Meryln, the Rainbow is described as "A true sign of Magic...it exists in both worlds at once!" Elvira Gulch is a woman who owns 1/2 of the county where Dorothy lives in Kansas. She is shown later in the Land of Oz transformed as a witch.
Many of the Illuminati elite are rich and lead double lives. People who meet them at a ritual will see the dark side of these rich people. At the rituals, people are tranced from drugs, chanting, and mind control; they are "over the rainbow." - Fort Refuge
On the other hand, the two girls may be there to just set up the future problem between Bill and Alice, whose mutual attractiveness has surely caught them the attention of interested parties before, but like the single night of misadventure that opens A CLOCKWORK ORANGE, their marriage seems to begin at this party. (No one from Alex's violent misdeeds prior to the home invasion night gets revenge, for example.)

The figure who separates Bill and Alice originally, Nick Nightingale, has a name that symbolizes sleep (we always fall asleep alone no matter who is in our bed), and immediately after Bill is called away, Alice is hit on by her animus-representation, the Anton La Vey, and soon thereafter Bill gets drawn into a menage a trois any man would melt in his bones for. Now, in my book any good looking young couple is going to want to mingle and flirt and bask in the adoration of others at a party, and then they go home together and no harm done. What, are they supposed to just canoodle all night? Why even go to the party if not to strut? So why are they so cowed and confused by this attention they're receiving? Why does Alice seem to change into a different person, very coy, tranced out, and strange, the minute Anton approaches? Why are these girls so bizarre? Is that illuminated star by the door some psychic trigger to release their inhibitions, or is this just what really really good expensive champagne does?


In the end there's a weird symbiosis between the masked orgy Bill crashes and Alice's dream and the idea that Alice is actually the girl who dies (or 'has her brains fucked out' to use Sidney Pollack's vile terminology), begging the question: what is worse, a sex-saturated dream where you lose control and are violated every which way but which you are enjoying (she's the center of attention -- she 'belongs' there) or a sexual reality in which you are out of your depth?

As someone whose had a panic attack after being hit on by two spooky models at a 2006 Halloween party, I no longer envy and hate Dr. Bill the way I did when I first saw the film in 1999. I hadn't read Lacan then, and couldn't stand the fact that Bill's uncertain fog lets these two hotties slip away, and all the subsequent ones he loses, or even got them in the first place, or was so easily picked up the West Village streetwalker. I mean this isn't Atlantic City! But now I'm beaten down, broken on the wheel of time, like a scarecrow. If I had another encounter with those two spooky models I would still run away but wouldn't hate myself so much later. Why? Because now I've read up on EYES WIDE conspiracy mind control theorems.

Here's a detail I remember about those two girls who tried to pick me up but gave me a whopping panic attack instead (and this after I 'tested' my psychic powers by requesting in my deep meditation to pick up not one but two girls for a menage a trois that night)-- one was dressed as a dominatrix, the other wore a black bikini, had a perfect body, AND REPTILE EYES, though they were presumably contacts for her 'costume.' OR we were meant to assume so, just as we are meant to assume that all of the masks at the orgy in EYES hide human faces. Are reptile contact lenses on Halloween the perfect cover, allowing reptilian-human hybrids to show their real selves?

Now that we're talking about it, I'm remembering a run in or two with another pair of spooky girls, hippie chicks (and one guy) up in Syracuse in 1987. They were gorgeous and way too sexually open for my prudish tastes, to the point I found myself backing up away from them and was not sure why, as I was hardly a virgin, or sober. I can barely remember what any of these two sets of girls looks like now, except that they were very sexy, and seemed possessed with eerie calm. If I did hook up with either set, would I even be alive today? And are all my subsequent peccadilloes just my long night of the soul trying to get revenge on womankind for making me feel all itchy and strange for my chickening out of these encounters? Were these girls even human? Was their whole mission just to seduce men and steal their DNA, and/or leave us with a lifetime of sexual anxiety that they could siphon off with their orgone harvesting matrixes?

My roommate Eric did sleep with one of those hippie chicks and was super weirded out afterwards. He told me that something about her vagina didn't look right, though he couldn't explain exactly what was so wrong about it....then again he's not a writer. One of them came onto me at an outdoor concert while I was tweaking out on way too much LSD and my dog acted all afraid of her and her beauty carved into me like talons; I could feel the emanating waves of open sexuality calling to me but I could see my mortal death as well. I heard myself muttering an incoherent apology and felt my legs carrying me away even as a part of me tried to take up her offer.

Plus, Bill getting called away before he can go 'over the rainbow' to deal with the OD seems to be implying those two girls meant shooting him up as well as whatever sexual stuff... and he may have wound up as comatose as she is. Even metaphorically it means he is spared the problems that plague a man beset upon by two hot women, a kind of all-encompassing panic-inducing mix of dread and desire that confound his ability to walk or think clearly (the awkward nervous banalities of their conversation reflects this kind of flushed disorientation). It is like a drug in and of itself, draining normal humdrum reality, the way, for example the music dies down and changes and the rest of the world becomes a blur when Maria and Tony's first spot one another in WEST SIDE STORY.

What's in that champagne?

Hey, so naturally fitting in with my life experience I read EYES as a metaphor for addiction and recovery. The name Dr. Bill is even a hybrid of Dr. Bob and Bill Wilson, the founders of AA. And that 'program' as they call it can get very cult-like, despite the founders' best attempts. The drug downstairs at the party is champagne but they all act like they're on heavy duty opiates, or maybe expensive champagne is just so expensively good it acts as a moral inhibition quasher.

Even so, I've never seen anyone act as bizarrely as they do at that EYES opening party, except at gatherings of sexy friends where everyone was drunk and super high on ecstasy and/or roofies. Did someone tell Kubrick that people at parties talk super close (because of loud music) and act weird on ecstasy, so this is what he was going for? Maybe he should have actually gone to a few parties. That's the problem with all these cultish mind control readings: maybe they're true but their behavior is also very close to the ideas of what a person who has already missed all the orgies would imagine orgies are like, someone like a doctor, who always has to keep his mind relatively clear in case there's an emergency call.

To get back to Lacan, there doesn't even need to be an orgy going on to feel you're missing the orgy. But miss it too much and you might come crashing in armed to the teeth like our poor friend McCaslin, shocked to fine an empty grove instead of the full-swing Sodom that was causing you so much unbearable Freudian anxiety!

Awake, sleeper, from the dream of Cruiselessness

But if that's what he desires to depict then Kubrick messes up again, because upstairs the comatose hooker Mandy looks nowhere near pale or blue enough to be believably OD-ed. Her skin glows. Bill does a good job of 'reaching' her through her head in a way that might mirror deprogramming, though: "Mandy, Mandy, are you in there. Can you hear me? Move your head if you can hear me..." shining a light in her eye, you can feel almost what it's like to be lying down hearing him far above you as you die, and maybe that is a parallel with Scientology's work with addicts, but when he says, "you can't keep doing this... you're gonna need some rehab" it's a joke. How does he know? She could easily be just dozing off from too much of that roofie champagne. Probably she won't need rehab for the very reason that her tolerance is way way down otherwise she wouldn't have passed out so early in the evening. Maybe she got the good stuff at this party and it's usually cut with B-12 so she overdid it and passed out for a hot second. She should just tone it down and keep her tolerance way low by under rather than overdosing. And she needs to stay the hell away from Ziegler and has super-potent supply. He's like that producer whose underage girlfriends keep OD-ing in BOOGIE NIGHTS. Ding!


The next scene, their post-party clinch to "Baby did a bad bad thing" by Chris Isaak, seems a little shady, too.. The joint rolling is cool but then Alice goes back to talking in that close druggy whisper and you're like damn girl, you ever talk normal, like a normal person? Did Stanley make you take roofies all during the shoot? Was Rohypnol your cough drop? Did he stress you guys out so much that roofies were your only escapes? I've done my share of Rohypnol and let me tell you, on the right dose you don't pass out (if only you take a half like you're supposed to), rather you float around on winged angel Roombas and talk real close to people, in a whirl of abandonment and inhibition-free jouissance.

But to take the paranoid conspiracy theories quoted at the top to their inevitable conclusion, all sexual openness and ecstasy is a product of hypnotic mind control, or Rohypnol-spiked champagne. And that's sad. I believe there is mind control behind desire, but it's not Satanists or the CIA or the Illuminati at work. Power is enough of an aphrodesiac, they don't need to get all drastic to have chicks swoon for them, No, the culprit behind all this is far more evil than any inner circle of hooded power brokers, and more serpentine and twisted than any 4th dimensional reptoid.


Of course I'm referring to DNA.

Call it alien programming, if you like.... why not? Our DNA after all wouldn't have survived this long had it not liked to inspire us to throw condoms to the wind. The genes that survive through millennia are ruthless in their goals. They can make you think not using condoms just this once is going to make it sexier, and keeping the baby is nobler, and that your lover is "the one" you should raise a family with forever, and ever, and ever. But that's before you climax and plant the seed. Once you've dropped off the goods, that drive now tells you to split. Hahaha that voice wants you to be a tomcat whore when ten minutes ago it was preaching at you like the mufhuggin' Bishop of Canterbury. Sucker! The genetic con job is the oldest trick in the book. We're like the tip of the iceberg thinking it's moving of its own free will when all the while the bulk of it is below the surface being drawn hither and yon on murky currents. Thinking you can really ever know how deep below the waves you go is, in the end, the very definition, in the end, of "fucking" madness...



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Posted in abuse, archetype, brainwashing, cia, daimonic reality, Disney, horror, initiation, MK Ultra, Monarch, Myth, Nicole Kidman, Patrick Harpur, Reptilians, ritual, Satanic Panic, sex, slavery, Stanley Kubrick, Tom Cruise | No comments

вівторок, 24 вересня 2013 р.

Zombie Apes, West is True: LORDS OF SALEM (2012), HOUSE OF THE DEVIL (2008) + My own Salem Witch Connections

Posted on 21:06 by jackichain

"Only bad witches are ugly." - Glenda

Much as I love WIZARD OF OZ there's something messed up about Glenda's shallowness. Look at these bangin' old broads (above) bringing tea and cookies, and hell yeah the tea's probably spiked with tannis root but when these sexy evil bitches show up at your door you should be fucking honored. They're not there to get all petty on you with who's good and who's bad in the witch department. Glenda's the ugly one for perpetuating a stereotype started by the church to keep a sister down. In Salem, for example, a horde of hot witches were hung for presumed evil, including some of my ancestors.

If they weren't evil before you hung them, they are now, o paranoid projector of your own subconscious devils!

Now they're coming back, in my DNA, arm in arm with every kid whose life was ruined for getting caught expanding his mind in the Reagan-era 80s. Fear us, then, o descendants of the evil and corrupt Salem and Texas judges, all smug in your hypocrite robes and stetsons. We are watching you as you sleep, through Meg Foster's crystal blue orbs. And your time shall be soon.


In other words, sons of sinuses blocked and lungs a-resinated, hail the new flesh and toad of newt, hail MacBeth, Vane of Cawdor! All hail Val Lewton, the Cramps, Bob Dobbs, Nic Cage, Sammy Davis Jr., Lamont Cranston, D.H. Lawrence, and Mike Watt.

LORDS OF SALEM (2012), Rob Zombie's nearly abstract, post-vaguely-modern 70s devil film, tosses cauldron-ward the old 'conspiracy to impregnate unwitting chick with the devil's child' thing already tossed a few years earlier by Ti West (HOUSE OF THE DEVIL - 2009), adds the actual Salem and spoon of film references, heats to overflowing, goes in the other room to change the record, and never comes back (1). Does it work? Well, what is it trying to do? If it was trying to do for devil movies what SCREAM did for slashers, then it failed. If it wasn't trying to do that, if it was trying to be a SHINING for New England instead, then why the tattoo parlor ambiance, the vintage punk thrift store symbolism, the EXORCIST-cycled dialogue, (they're bringing "cunting" back here), why the carny ride haunted house tableaux that go nowhere, as if we're meant to see them and walk on through to the next ghastly static scene? Aside from the goofball cranberry juice elevator flood, and the climactic gold room of dusty corpses, Kubrick would never be so obvious. So what is this film trying to do? It's being Rob Zombie, the Kubrick of the Daytona trailer park, the neo-pagan who goes on a killing spree at Burning Man, and everyone mistakes it for performance art. Dude, they were so high. But is that even a real movie?

Left to its own devices, without all the post-modernist jazz, the film does generate some great hypnotic power. The opening witch ceremony builds brilliantly to a palpable abandon, the psychic force of the gathered actresses, heavily and picturesquely filth-encrusted, creates a combined psychic release. Compare this with most lame attempts to create a Satanic ceremony, where snarky directors and half asleep actors gather in black robes, read Latin, light candles and splay a virgin on the dais, all because they haven't done research on altered states of consciousness. Or like Ken Russell they just show flashes of weird sick images and Jesus mixed with a dosed pupil...

Only bad witches are ugly...

Zombie does well in portraying this ugly, but for ugliness to have any shock value we need a stark contrast of beauty. In THE SHINING, the movie Zombie apes, the beauty comes from the devouring omniscient ambivalence of the Colorado Rockies, they loom around like the Overlook is in the mouth of a giant arctic Venus flytrap, and from the awesome geometric splendor and unfathomable coldness of the cavernous hotel interiors. A gold-flecked theater shows up at the end or SALEM, referencing Overlook's 'Gold Room' and MULHOLLAND DR.'s Club Silencio. And though it's quite a show it conforms always to images of evil that are speckled with the cruel dust of the demonization process begun a thousand years ago by the Catholics. As Moncure Daniel Conway's Devil Lore book notes:

The great representations of evil, whether imagined by the speculative or the religious sense, have never been, originally, ugly. The gods might be described as falling swiftly like lightning out of heaven, but in the popular imagination they retained for a long time much of their splendour. The very ingenuity with which they were afterwards invested with ugliness in religious art, attests that there were certain popular sentiments about them which had to be distinctly reversed. It was because they were thought beautiful that they must be painted ugly; it was because they were—even among converts to the new religion—still secretly believed to be kind and helpful, that there was employed such elaboration of hideous designs to deform them. (c. 1879)
Of course that damnation is applied equally to the hideous Puritan torturers, re-imagined with big pointy caps and excessive facial hair, but the judge's descendent Sherri Moon bears no ethical resemblance, we have to believe these torturers of witches were genuinely under psychic attack. There's no clear 'side' you necessarily want to be on in LORDS, so you're just admiring all the artsy detail of the tableaux. It might keep our interest if the lead actress is stunningly beautiful, like Jocelin Donahue in HOUSE OF THE DEVIL, or Mia Farrow in ROSEMARY'S BABY, but the leading actress in Zombie's film is of course his wife, Sherri Moon Zombie. And she's gettin' too old for this shit, as the Glenda might say.


Decked out like a Williamsburg hipster, Moon's character, Heidi Hawthorne is an enigma, and way too old to either believe in the supernatural or stop dressing like an extra in ALMOST FAMOUS. She considers herself a badass, clearly, and has a good job as a Salem DJ, but still snickers like a dirt bag middle schooler at any hint of genuine insanity, balls, magic and/or evil--such as when the metalhead from the band Lords of Salem is a guest on her show.

And of course we know why we're supposed to be so intrigued by Heidi: the director still loves her, and presumes us as bewitched as he is. Well we were, Rob, ten years ago she was freakin' sexy as all hell, but we're fickle. And that's part of the problem when you cast your wife in everything you do: sooner or later she's going to be too long in the tooth to play the babe and you're going to be the one to have to tell her, and then you'll have to start auditioning younger leading ladies, and dodging hurled frying pans.


The films Zombie likes--the devil movies and Kubrick's work-- are present in the style, tone, and look of SALEM, but he doesn't seem to know how to read deeply into them, to figure out why he likes them, so he imitates the surface and adds his tattoo parlor aesthetic and crosses his fingers. He goes for an Antonioni/Miike vibe in longly held static long shots of Heidi walking her dog on a lonely street or in a park in late afternoon or playing records with her bearded buddy, but fails to inject genuine observation and complexity into these long looks, or even killer POV unease, rendering them little more than attempts to make Salem the goth Austin with just a hint of Detroit decay. He misses the chance for some great 70s-80s Italian synths in the score, and instead goes for an annoyingly minor key two-note piano. He misses the chance to make Heidi interesting, to make her recovering drug addict persona resonate. She even drinks at one point, super dangerous from any kind of addict. And her apartment is way too clean for someone in recovery, and why isn't she smoking or chugging coffee? I got a headache just watching her get up and walk her dog without a coffee first. If Heidi's an addict I'm John Paul Jones (the Zeppelin bassist, not the seaman, you got a dirty mind).

 Moon Ages: From top: 1000 Corpses, Rejects, Salem
I mean no disrespect to Sherri Moon. I love her in DEVIL'S REJECTS, like a sister. Her line after bluffing a room of hostages with an empty gun ("it's all mental!") is my personal mantra. There she displayed a great relish in evil and had great stringy-sexy hair and a flash of eye and nice curves and an ease with using them to drive a man so crazy he forgets to defend himself. You could see why Zombie married her. Her thin lips weren't even an issue then, but looking at them now, they're even thinner, and she seems tired, and way too old to be riding on a goat in neon flames, or going down on strange priests in the midday pew. She seems to be a middle-aged woman trapped in a tricked-up spiral of horror iconography, like her next stop is working a booth at a Philadelphia monster convention. Man, I know how that feels. I've made out with lipless women before, and it was like kissing a skull. You think I'm fucking lippist now, but if not me, whom? I'm no fan of collagen or botox, but just cuz some girls overdo it out of insecurity doesn't mean it should be shunned by those who need it, even if only to get back to their former level of lip fullness. Her later skull make-up helps, making her look like some death metal kid who got caught in the rain on his way home from the Stockholm punk club.

Problem 3: Pastiche Without Purpose

Maybe SCREAM auteur Wes Craven had it easier since he focused on 80s slasher films, so ignored horror history prior to HALLOWEEN and after SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. Zombie goes back to the silent era's HAXAN through to the occult crazy 70s, Kenneth Anger's LUCIFER RISING, ALUCARDA, every Spanish and Italian Exorcist rip-off ever made, then buzzes THE HOWLING, and various old films Heidi watches while asleep in her apartment like KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL and CAPTAIN KIDD.

Burnin' down the Streets of Everyone
There are a million ways these textual links could have been made to resonate, such as having Heidi actually evince some knowledge of classic film trivia, to be able to quote them or talk about them, to fold quotes into her lexicon. Instead they seem like they were all left behind by an ex-boyfriend.

That's what made SCREAM so unnerving; these characters knew what was coming, like we all did who were kept awake at night after scary movies all through the 80s, vowing in our anxiety that we would never drop the knife by the killer's prone body. SCREAM used the dread inspired by earlier movies, which had by now settled in our collective dream unconscious, and re-activated it.

Zombie can only admire that unconscious from a safe distance. He's a fan not a player, the R-rated Tim Burton, i.e. for a director he makes a good set designer. They both gravitate towards familiar narratives-remakes because they have no gift for story structure or pacing -- they just want to create their fantasy bedroom. Luckily Zombie is free of the awful whimsy-packed orchestral pomp of those Danny Elfman scores Burton uses. Now you think I'm whimsist!? Fuck yeah, because it pollutes the real madness. Whimsy is the way an insecure artist of the macabre chews your food for you.

Oddities / seems such a lonely world
Sadly, what the mise-en-scene of Heidi going through her day most resembles is the Science Channel's ODDITIES. I've got nothing against the Oddities store but the customers and employees all seem too desperate to be genuinely abnormal. They cover themselves with tattoos and piercings and wear red white and blue dreadlocks and tall stovepipe hats and fang implants but when push comes to shove perhaps some of them might be overcompensating for an inner lack of... what? balls? crazy madmen nastiness? True insanity? Nic Cage only needed one symbol of his individuality in WILD AT HEART, but he's 'really' a badass. Some people choke themselves with symbols of badassedness and yet run when they encounter the real thing. They would have freaked out going to CBGBs when they saw the filth and smelled the smells and viddied the icky crustpunks, and been too scared to use the bathroom, but then they'd be wearing the T-shirt proudly for the next 20 years, nodd knowingly when the bathroom shows up at the Met, and recall the good old days when music mattered... man. Now you think I'm a faddist. It's just that I'm really crazy. And I don't trust carnies, even though I love their haunted house rides.

CBGB's: What... a dump.

Rob Zombie's clearly a real wild man, but he covers every inch of the territory with his signature hillbilly blood chic until you wonder what lack of true insanity he's hiding.  None of it looks like a real place, with age and use proper to an old city like Salem, the way the sticky thickness of 30 years of rock band promo stickers and graffiti are layered like redwood rings at CBGB's. And that much detail all 'of a piece' as they say, isn't scary. Carpenter created the first HALLOWEEN with a blank white mask, a trash bag full of painted leaves, "a couple of knives" and a few suburban houses.  Zombie had carny parents. He lived on the road. Carnies are excused from needing to vouchsafe their authenticity, and their oddities pay the bills, a carny's oddities are excused for that reason, like sheepdogs for a sheepherder. And who cares if the more obnoxious gawkers get sewed screaming into the next exhibit? They are the artists Zombie understands, ala the Firefly films. But Heidi is a tourist.


There some indications here that Zombie can make the post-modern jump, and that's what's frustrating. He jumps but doesn't stay on the other side long enough. He just decorates the jump-off point in a real punk rock black and gestures off into the fog. But in one great scene, Heidi is chilling at her friend's house and suddenly she's coughing up blood, and faceless doctors appear in the room and Charles Laughton's voice on the TV jibes with the demons almost as effectively as in MYRA BRECKINRIDGE or the films of Nicolas Roeg or Alex Cox. "This just may be to your benefit," Laughton says, as the merciless CAPTAIN KIDD (above).  Later her bonding with the weird fat devil baby whose lopsy-topsy mutatedness is a perfect dark evil mirror to Laughton's leering image onscreen, mirrors that of TV and viewer, umbilical extension cords plugged right into us and hell, and with its embryonic red eyes and slit middle you'll wonder if he's a metaphor for an abortion or if his froggy face is supposed to be the ski mask in TORSO, and the priest looks like he might be a reference to the stitched-into-eternity Dr. Freudstein in Lucio Fulci's HOUSE BY THE CEMETERY (1981)... but we have no clear idea why or if it's conscious.

Top: Salem / Bottom: House by the Cemetery
My Mary Easty/ Rebecca Towne Nurse Connective Genealogy 
(on my Dad's Mother's Mother's Side)

I have to mention, as always when discussing Salem and genealogy (characters here are descendants of the hung witches and/or judges and executioners) that it's fascinating on a personal level for me because the one side of my family tree that kept immaculate records is from Salem, having arrived in Boston in 1631 (with fellow passenger Roger Williams, founder of Rhode Island):
The family of John Perkins 1583-1654 - freeman 18th May 1631
Married Judith Gates, born Newent, Gloucestershire, England
Children:
1. "Quartermaster" John - b. 1614 0 d. Dec, 14, 1686
2. "Deacon" Thomas 1616-1686 (not the witch hunter, he died before that)
3.  Elizabeth 1618-1700 / married William Sargent (5 children)
4. Mary 1620-1700 - "She was accused of witchcraft, sentenced, but the execution delayed and the citizens recovered from the delusion." (+5 more)
The Family of Elisha Perkins (born - 1656 - Topfield) died - 1741 in Methuen
Married Catherine Towne - 1680
--
Children:
(9 total), including: John (third son) born Aug. 12, 1685 - died June 22, 1750
married Mary Easty (whose mother Mary Easty and Aunt Rebecca Towne Nurse were hanged for witchcraft)

I have other relatives farther up the years worth mentioning: Joseph and Ichabod Perkins, who "were in Capt. James Jones' Company which marched to Concord at the alarm of Paul Revere in 1775. And 34 other Perkins of Topsfield and Ipswich and cousins of Goulds fought in Revolution (MP)." Etc. I didn't even know Ipswich was a real place! I wish there was a reason for me to research a paper there, and find the population to be a hideous bunch of fish god cult worshippers.

This branch of my family tree owned a lot of property and decent fortune up in the Boston area, but lost it all when it was inherited by two brothers who whored, gambled, and drank away in a few years what it had taken their forefathers five generations to accrue. If women had been allowed to inherit property, I might be a rich scion making my own damned horror movies today! The same streak of olde Enlgish alcoholic mysticism that would help me be a 'good' horror auteur prevents my actually getting it together to do so. My whole freaking life is jerry-rigged in this fashion.... how is that, o Rationalization Guru?

Top: Horror Hotel / Bottom: Alucarda
I know that in all likelihood these ancient aunts of mine were not really witches, but falsely accused by the children of a family wishing to possess the Perkins' wooded bordering acres. But like most Fordians I say "Print the Legend." Maybe my ancestors and the other witches were likely just sexually repressed settlers who found an outlet for their pains outside in the darkness at night, dancing and humping trees. But that's not fun to imagine, and what else gives history any interest aside from the possibility for something still unknown, something still hidden from us by the dry, dusty historians who get to mould our past? We wouldn't even care today if they were just falsely accused of, say, adultery. So if they weren't necessarily witches back in the day, time has made them so, time and three dozen and one horror movies, everything from crisp little low budget Brit thrillers like HORROR HOTEL (1959) to bombastic nonsense like Ken Russell's THE DEVILS.


From top: THE DEVILS, SALEM, SHINING, SHINING, SALEM, SALEM, ROSEMARY'S BABY, Ruth Gordon publicity shot.


Another redeeming trait of the film is just how GILF-ish are the three witch sisters (see CinemArchetype #20): Judy Geeson (GOODBYE GEMINI) has still got it and delivers her bloodthirsty lines with relish, as only a saucy older Brit lady can -- you should check out her amazing half-forgotten 70s sci fi TV series, STAR MAIDENS (my analysis here); also slamming it home with crisp hot fire, Dee Wallace (THE HOWLING) and Patricia Quinn (ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW) as the irresistible palm-reading sister Megan. And as the dirtiest and most evil witch coming back from the past, Meg Foster. As we've seen them in younger incarnations their aged state seems temporary, as soon they may drink the blood of the young and become their former celluloid selves. As a great writer once said, "film is black magic."

WELCOME TO ARROW BEACH, 
I also like that Zombie's main idea of 'a devil' seems to be the aforementioned Baby Bok Choi, a two umbilical cord-cabled Weeblo of the highest order, cunting up the idea that Satan is the original Nephilim rebel, the James Dean of our ancient creators, Lord Enki to some, maybe Merlin, maybe Im-Ho-Tep or Amon Ra or Set or Odin, to others. Hey his mother still lives up on the moon! Don't believe me,  feast your ears and eyes here!




From top: Moon Maiden Mummy Mother of Lucifer; alien grey, LUCIFER RISING, 2001, LORDS OF SALEM, TWILIGHT, Aborigine drawing, 2001, SALEM

Also, check out my review of the History Channel's documentary, The Gates of Hell, which I loaded with pretty intense photographs from the 70s occult revival.

As for actual Hell, Zombie does well imagining the way our own death is linked to rebirth and transfiguration instead of just the same old Heaven/Hell polarity. In Buddhist mythology, Hell is the place the dirtied souls go to be cleansed by fire. It's not permanent. Submit to the scraping with compassionate non-attachment and soon you will be clean for admission into paradise. There's a little of that concept floating through Zombie's film, but it would have been better if he'd bothered to have one unsoiled image, aside from the scholar and his wife, living in an apartment that looks like it will resume being a Brentano's as soon as filming is finished.  I'm jealous of course, it's beautiful...
--------


I'm no fan of Ti West after he subjected me to the awful hipster hair and cheap shocks of THE INNKEEPERS (2011), but HOUSE OF THE DEVIL has a few things going for it which Zombie might have gleaned but didn't. The main thing is tick-tock momentum, wherein dread builds through the careful setup of a particular place over a single evening, in linear time with no flashbacks or disorienting cuts across time and characters. The momentum usually starts in late afternoon as the sun begins to wane and cast ominous shadows and the editing seems to slow the progression of time down. Rather than the constant flashing back and forth and sudden wake-ups from nightmares that 'cheat' on situations, tick-tock momentum is a style of storytelling most horror filmmakers never pick up on when they rip off HALLOWEEN but West does and Zombie doesn't. Their films have such similar plots they warrant close comparison. They should get together and compare notes as each has flaws the other doesn't share.


For example, in HOUSE the places seem normal in that sickly unironic way (dig the couch and painting below), all the believable little early 80s-late 70s details, and are twice as creepy because of it. In SALEM by contrast there's something a little too lush, too big to believably be part of a quaint boarding house and unless she has a maid, there's no way a recovering junky like Heidi's character should have such clean floors. And she would smoke cigarettes and drink a ton of coffee, or something other than booze. The girls in HOUSE by contrast are believably tied up in petty matters that seem huge to them because they're poor and/or just starting out taking care of their own finances.


The girls in HOUSE rule: Gerwig sports some great feathered hair and a cozy college sports shirt and in her late afternoon fast food joint scene with Samantha (Donahue) you feel the ache of an upstate New York fall winter in your bones and want to be able to curl up with her in a fire-lit dorm room and not have to go anywhere, so you feel the sense of desolation creeping up like tendrils of cold around her broke buddy Samantha for needing to take this babysitter job so badly. I went to school in Syracuse, so maybe I relate. The evenings there are so oppressively gray they don't need Satan lingering in the edges to be mega ominous. Mary Woronov and Dee Wallace are on point of course, they were born to this, but the 70s-80s Satanic panic tick-tock momentum vibe of DEVIL is undone with the sudden arrival of a distinctly modern crustpunk (A.J. Bowen), who comes rolling up Gerwig's car like an angry Williamsburg hipster fresh from teeth gnashing class. And another blow follows with the old man played by Tom Noonan who is just way too mumblecore, too naturalistic, with that 'gentle' voice no actor in the 70s or 80s would ever use. Add the boys up alongside the insufferable twerp in THE INNKEEPERS and you get the feeling that Ti West has a stand offish relationship to his male actors. They seem like they didn't get the memo of whatever the film is about, or acting really, about projecting themselves into a room or situation. Ti West should just keep all men out of his films, like I do, until he's emotionally a man himself. (I'm still not, but hey).

The Right: Greta Gerwig 
The wrong: A.J. Bowen
Both the scores do well, though LORDS has moments with kind of making like a Morricone and other times of just sucking with a banal two-note minor key piano. But the hypnotic devil album they play is pretty interesting, it sounds almost like it's trying to break your sound system and leap through the room and crack open a cold-brewed abyss. And a whole slew of great ideas that could be played off the radio as a way to impregnate listeners' minds with Satanic brainwashing come washing across us like a growling Juno synth wipe, but then Zombie shuts that aside, too. Maybe he presumes we've already seen PONTYPOOL? I would love the HOUSE OF THE DEVIL twice as much if it had some Goblin-style synths instead of its creepy but familiar orchestral passages but they're not too bad...


In the end, West may be too cool for his own good, and Zombie is still a music video maker who hasn't yet figured out the rhythms of narrative, but hey, kudos to both for their subject matter and attention to detail, which is impressive in each. West of course wins handily as the post-modern devil pastiche of choice, though LORDS is solid and gorgeous to look at with more consistency in the performances. These old Brit ladies give it their all and make us gradually lose all interest in the by-then scabby and deranged Heidi as she moves forward into the Satanic mass as via airport moving walkway. Indeed I can see this film ruling like hell if 40 minutes were cut out, and the whole thing was timed to the complete Velvet Undergound and Nico like LUCIFER RISING is timed to Bobby Beausoleil's masterfully celebratory soundtrack. But otherwise, what are you left with, in either film, besides admiring Zombie for finding the true Satanic Mass sturm und drang of "All Tomorrow's Parties" and admiring West for his loving recreation of a time and genre and being able to plunge deep and impressively into tick-tock momentum?

West, don't be afraid to put some real men in your films once in awhile, and Rob, that narrative momentum thing will come your way yet. You're already better than the late great Ken Russell. Almost. At any rate, you're already way better at mix-tape movies than Cameron Crowe (see my rant on mix tape movies, Aural Drag). And West, you're the only guy doing tick-tock momentum these days, period. Not even Carpenter still does it. Be proud, as the shrouding darkness crowds the grave mound and the score carpets and the sisters all wake and bait, be proud. Your heritage is ours, brother in the cauldron of Satanic panic culture and 70s-80s homage cinema. So boil the newts and stir that literal baby! Your witches are proof of the black secret by which no witch or cultist ever ages, except between shoots (or after shots).

The problem with it all is, of course, that video itself prevents Satanic magic from actually happening. What soul is worth stealing once its stolen a million times over by the spectral reduction of the camera? Only one place is left where the black arts still occur, the wet hot jungle corridor deep within each of us, as long as we're women.

PS - The dog lives!
---------
NOTES:
1.  A descendent of mine, a Boston seaman in the War of 1812, was also almost eaten 'first, due to his young tender flesh' when he and his crew were shipwrecked on a foodless island. Apparently that's what one did back then, ala the Donners. Luckily they were rescued almost at the last minute before they killed him. I'm sure the rest of the trip was plenty awkward. Anyway, I can joke about it now.... because my family lived through it. 

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Posted in 1980s, Charles Laughton, collagen, Devil, Kubrick, Lucio Fulci, pastiche, Rob Zombie, Salem, Satan, Satanic Panic, Sherri Moon Zombie | No comments
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