Meet Me in St. Louis
Today's header's perhaps more adequate to discussing what I did to the unicorn in the park ; but I'm irreverent and so therefore adequacy be damned. We'll talk instead of Meet Me in St. Louisi, a very... milquetoast production. It's soothing, I suppose, after a fashion, this imaginary world wherein the greatest possible conflict's someone having misunderstood something, and even then coming braced in a package with an absolute guarantee that it'll be benign in any possible perspective excepting pretense for the sake of pretending otherwise, and also readily remedied, as if by itself pretty much.
The singin's alright, I guess ; the dancing mostly absent. Otherwise there's the simpy male as per early 1900s Americana conventions -- the nominal "head of a household", though in practice his wife's more a subby to the maid than a maid to her husband -- and the eager young cunts looking for the filling of their belly... the usual stuff of underclass life. A very small film about a very small world with very small "problems" invented for the sake of me-too-ing it.
I'm mostly reviewing the thing because I have much better, closer and immediate-r access to the bare skins of life itself, though I'll say this much for Meet Me in St. Louis : when it comes to "find something to screen behind the whores whoring", it beats the pants off most porn out there. Most porn out there. That's gotta cunt for something, aite ?
———- 1944, by Vincente Minnelli, with Frances Ethel Gumm of Grand Rapids, Minnesota (whom you know as Judy Garland) and... Lucille Bremer, I guess. She'd be a lot closer to okay if she were doing her corseting scene bare cunt, like normal fucking women. They're cute though, the young one's mimicking sitting her butt down on a dong for the very first time pretty much exactly.
