Susan Atkins just died. In Vincent Bugliosi's book, she easily comes out as the second worst human being, with only Manson being more despicable. I don't really care about this bitch either.
No, I want to talk about Roman Polanski. If you were going to make a movie about a fictional artist who is constantly suffering, you might start with having him escape the Holocaust. Then he might leave Communist Poland. And then, and this shit would probably be rejected as just too ridiculous, you could have his wife and unborn child brutally butchered for some insane, random reason. Then you'd come up with an ending, I don't know, maybe he kills himself and the audience leaves the theater wanting to slit their
wrists, or maybe after a long period of mourning he meets someone else and has a child and wins an Oscar and becomes beloved but never forgets those who he lost. But here's what you wouldn't do - you wouldn't have him turn out to be a disgusting old lech who, one night, plies a 13-year-old girl with quaaludes and champagne and then rapes her. And then he flees to Paris to escape justice, becomes part of the intelligentsia there and makes a series of mostly so-so movies since he's cloistered away from Hollywood money and influence. Because you'd lose the audience's sympathy, and what would be the point of that?Yeah, fuck that guy.
4 comments:
Max.
(I watched Kicking and Screaming just this morning.)
Oh God, it's Lou.
(Isn't that the Will Ferrell vehicle where he's a soccer coach? "Like Ladybugs, but even more irritating!")
I found the Grey Album in a pile recents. Pairing this with 99 Problems is a lot of fun.
I'm talking about the too-smarmy-for-its-own-good college "comedy" from the mid-90s that's supposed to be a sort of coming-of-age for people wanting to remain stuck between college and adult life.
And Max is the cynical Philosophy German major.
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