As far as premises go, Strombolii is definitely interesting : it proposes the confrontation of your typical inhabitant of Precious Cuntlet Planet, the "Northern woman" (in the sense of, North of the Hajnal line) to human society. She deems herself called to form opinions, to carry notions, to sit in judgement of things and mattersii, finding them inadequate, insufficient, bla bla & etcetera. There's even a scene included wherein the rebelious "princess" (in her own estimation, of course, of course) attempts to enlist the help of itinerant "knights" (in case you had any doubts remaining about what precisely the whole "chivalric tradition" was, outside of the usual "PCiii retelling of history") towards the goal of "realising", after a fashion, her hysterical fantasies.
Ingrid Bergman is in general a worthless actress, and systematically an unwelcome, noxious addition to any cinematic projectiv she's improvidently involvedv in ; much like Bridget Fonda essentially existed to be shot in the uterus and left for dead in a parking lot, this insufferable cunt's pretty much only here to be trampled over in Stromboli.
Nevertheless, the proto-pantsuit in charge of writing, directing and producing the thing are very... well, limp-dicked, how shall we put this, they're microtesticularily simpy. The whole thing has to be re-shot, properly, because really the road to common womanhood's nothing like this. It works, a certain way, well understood and well practiced, it's the basis of human civilisation (while the way to exceptional womanhood's eminently not open to Ingrid Bergman and her miserable ilk). Why pretend like we don't know how cattle's trained to the yoke, anyways ?! Oh herpy-derp nobody could guess how cunt#34058304958's life went on "the island", it's not like that's the most thoroughly worked & insistently practiced mechanism of all history ?
Weak sauce. Very, very weak sauce.———
- 1950, by Roberto Rossellini, with Ingrid Bergman. [↩]
- The very essence of female fret is turning events into trauma. In male societies, where the female "perspective" is repressed to the point of taboo, females rendered incapable of fret perceive their own rape as plain sexuality, the event without "trauma", phenomenology bereft of spinning ; whereas in dead societies (because no, there can never be such a thing as "female society" -- there can be a femstate, in fat times, but it'll fail painfully not to mention miserably every time ; other than that, the males are either present or absent, voiced or voiceless, making society either vigorous, virtuous and virile or simply fucken stone dead) the desperate (and let me underscore that : desperate) females therein shipwrecked will misinterpret their sexuality as rape because... well, simply because such misrepresentation stands as a proxy for suicide, which is the prime ethical imperative in that context, perceived but repressed by the overextended formal tendrils of an overactive conservation instinct.
Which is why I beat mine, and you should beat yours : if you don't, they get the idea they're called to form opinions, which they can never be ; and to carry notions, which they can't carry in that sense ; and to sit in judgement of things and matters, which... god help us (and them, for in due time they will be finding all inadequate, insufficient, etcetera etcetera). The very possibility of such a thing as female happiness, fulfillment, serenity, whatever you'd call non-Hell (self-made) rests squarely an' entirely upon the separation of the female from her "natural extensions, naturally occurring" exactly like the survival of apple trees rests on the controlling of the pests and parasites that also "naturally" occur on them as equally "natural" extensions.
So... tell you what : nevermind that pompous fisherman in Rome, pretending himself the chosen son of the friend of a dead carpenter, as fucking if. Be instead the gardener at home, and that'll utterly be good enough. [↩]
- Precious Cuntlet, yes ? [↩]
- Casablanca is perhaps the most notable example, but truly her career consists of nothing else but notable examples for this thesis, the only difference between them is whether the rest of the cast & crew managed to survive her damage, and build a little or a little more in spite of her. Basically, she's playing here the "unhappy foreign woman" as a break from the rest of her career, wherein she reliably played the Stromboli volcano. [↩]
- Note the passive ; though English goes above and beyond itself to dissimulate it, the dumb cunt's not an agent to that verb, but an object. [↩]
Saturday, 29 August 2020
I've added footnote ii, produced upon a night's meditation and by whose grace this entire agglutination of idiocy is saved into meaning. Ad majorem MP gloriam, as they say.