Cool it, Carol!
Motto: Vin rechinii, sase! Voi sunteti prada,
Toate pizdele cu pizda-n sus, a-nceput Olimpiada.
Cool it, Carol!i is one of the very few notable british films. Very few.
It tells the story of a seventeen year old ruralii beauty in a very true and truthful feminist vein. She likes being handled, she likes being kissed, she likes frolicing naked in public. She is not afraid, not of poverty, not of meniii, not of the unknown, not of anything. Consequently she stands on her own two feet, roars (like a woman, not like a tiger), and enjoys everything life has to offer, with a warm, velvety voluptuousness served in portly alabaster cups.
She knows she doesn't like being gangbanged by a half dozen decrepit, inept, sclerotic old men because she's tried it once. She knows she can't get men to fuck her for the asking because she's tried it once too. Literally, out in the street, in her endearing homemade knitted dress/apron, "would you like to go to bed with me ?" Nobody's ready for her, she thought she might not be ready for London but really, it ain't so. Nobody's ever ready for the young tigress. Almost nobody.
She loves a boy, for no apparent reason. It's inexplicable beyond the dramatic necessities of literature and the happenstance that the young tigress often imprints on whoever happens to be there when she's but a wee tyke, a sort of reverse Westermarck. He's inept, comically so, painfully aware of what a man should be and utterly incapable of even appearing in the general direction. But he tries -- oh, how he tries. He pimps out the girl because he can't get a job, he loses their moneyiv and then calls her a daft goose for it, he runs into the famous guy he pretended to be friends with and has no idea what to say because he lies without a plan, he's the country bumkin consummate.
But he doesn't lie, not to her, not at the key moment. Which is all it takes, really, and they return home slightly looser, slightly older, infinitely more. There isn't a lot else to be said, I don't mean about this film, I mean about human condition altogether, but let's say this much : girlie, if you're 17 and you're not Carol, you're a cow not a woman.
C'est tout.
———- 1968, directed and produced by Pete Walker, with Janet Lynn. Apparently re-released in 1970 as "The Dirtiest Girl I Ever Met" in USTardistan, to a promptly negative reception. Because they're retarded, both literally and figuratively, over in the colonies. [↩]
- Etchingham. It counts. [↩]
- Seriously, what are they going to do to you ? Hm ? [↩]
- "Well then let's go find it!" [↩]
Sunday, 11 March 2018
This film is such an exquisite gem... I felt compelled to follow the leads, trying to find what other great things the people involved made. Because lightning doesn't just strike, right, great films are made by great men sitting down to do greatness.
Sadly, the girl did ~nothing else (and that ugly fuck Askwith does no service by his presence). Pete Walker absolved himself of all responsibility when he declared in some interview that his 70s flicks were entirely commercial affairs, with no deeper meaning.
Which leaves the screenwriter, don't laugh, this is possible, sometimes the screenwriter manages to squeeze greatness through the idiocy of the director-producer and the disinterest of the lead actress. At least if you believe the Romanian 1980s cocksuckers, this is a thing.
As it turns out, Murray Smith made nothing but TV crapolade, continuing almost into the third millennium! The few exceptions are Cool It Carol and something called The Four Dimensions of Greta. So whatever, this happens, right, talented young chap tries his best, hits the wall, retreats into pantsuitism -- but the glory of his youth shines on!
Shines on my foot, that Four Dimensions of Greta atrocity is so fucking bad I lack words to describe just how bad it was. Maybe, let's try this, maybe we could say Quentin Tarantino'd have liked it, and leave it at that.
Oh, and it's "in 3D". Because yes, the gimmick's not novel, but cyclical.
Meh!