Tuesday after Christmas

Tuesday after Christmasⁱ debuts with a near-perfect depiction of the fundamental modeⁱⁱ of human amorous entanglements.

Then it takes a sudden bend and goes decidedly South. The impression one starts forming by half an hour in (and then simply can not shake by the time the credits roll, try as he might) is that the entire collection of cucky "smart guys" (with a great sense of humour, bien sur) working in Romanian advertisingⁱⁱⁱ who had married some insecure (but clever!) careerwoman^iv and then divorced her with a pre-teen in tow^v gathered together in a convention-festival-concurs or something, and brainstormed 'till the wee hours to produce the best possible "look, I'm an upstanding, moral, cvasi-heroic guy, I did the right thing and that angry lawyer bitch is just a harpy" piece of agitprop.

Which... I mean, I can sympathize with the concept, the "careerwoman" fumes & fumuri are dispelled like the smoke they are the very moment the ugly little girl "runs into" / is ran into the facts of life. All it takes is the man's hand on her face and she's bawling the stupid out of her guts like so much bile after her first "real" party -- but then ? What then ? Where's the followup, Simpy McCuckerson^vi ?

They could've lived happily ever after together, but if you don't tell them to ? If you don't make them do it ? How the fuck are they gonna, on their own ? What is this supposed to be, the post-human future ?

Anyways, as ever the case with propaganda, the film succeeds in unintended directions unforeseen (deliberately, for cause of wilful blindness) by the authors much better than it manages in the vein it was supposed to.^vii In this particular case, you can safely turn it off twenty or so minutes in, you'll not be missing out on much thereby.

1. 2010, By Radu Muntean (whose name I actually wrote out here, in lieu of copy-pasting), with Maria Popistasu (the young woman), Mimi Branescu (the man), Mirela Oprisor (the wife). [↩]
2. Yes, adolescents belong with older adults, that's how this entire thing called humanity (to distinguish it both from what the animals do and from what infantile, unexamined "imagination" would have it do) works, and how it's supposed to work in the first place. For reasons.

   No, age-"appropriate" mating is not appropriate, especially not for young people. In older people it can be excused, on the same lines the self-abandonment, functional failure and all the rest of the stupid shit old people do is excused -- they don't wash anymore, they don't learn anymore, these are greater problems than not fucking teens anymore, and so the smaller problem readily passes unmentioned, its place in conversation crushed by the immediacy and immensity of the larger. They'll die soon anyway. In adolescents however -- in young people it is such massive failure of meeting age-appropriate development goals as to by and of itself constitute sufficient macula to warrant the "developmentally retarded" label.

   Yes, that's right -- if you're 25 and haven't yet lived with -- I don't mean "drunken brawled", once. I don't mean any of the other dumb bullshit you plebs do to "substitute" for the necessary achievements incumbent in the unfolding of life. I mean quite exactly lived for -- you're retarded, just like any other booger-eating, spittle-dribbling mongoloid. The difference, if there's a difference, if anyone can be bothered to look for such things as a difference, will come out as a matter of degree. It will not be a matter of kind, because there's not two kinds. Retards are retards, broken sub-humans, they don't make the cut and that's that. It don't specifically matter if the other's 55 or 39, but it does matter they're twice your age, give or take. It does matter that the retarded adults around you "would never approve" and the immature girlies about "don't understand how you can". You'd better fucking well can, because as the men used to point out to each other all the time (back when some could still be found) : you either do what's to be done or you're no good.

   Yes, I'm aware the currently prevailing practices among amok little girls trying to pass themselves off for "careerwomen" pululating all over our meanwhile failed colonies go the exact opposite -- and (wonder of wonders) they even have a lot of hot air to supposedly "justify" ahem, "it dun need any justification" but to "explain" and "I have to understand". All this is because they're fucked in the head. They may pretend to a centrality, universality and ahistoricity which absolutely does not belong to them all they want, until they fall over, but all that inconsequential gargle notwithstanding the correct practice is what the mercantile republics did, not what these idiots (who managed to squander in the past fifty years almost everything the warring states of Europe had been gifting them freely) think -- if we can so abuse that poor verb in the first place. Neither the mores nor the "justifications" of either North or South Argentina are of any import in the settling of human affairs. None whatsoever.

   Now get to work. [↩]

3. Of which cinema, including the Romanian New Wave, was a subtype -- all these people earned their livings by doing adwork, everything else is a sideline. [↩]
4. No, I'm not here discussing pizdi from Fizesu Gherlii and other such axe handles, inconsequential biomass eaten up by USG.Blue because porn was no longer worth money and moreover -- I had put an end to life and the very possibility of living through my mere say-so (talk about power, huh).

   No, I mean genuine (sui generis) clever girls, somewhat driven, meaning well... like my mother, say. Like so many like her, not really either brave or curious enough to live, but also not quite abject enough to substitute facebook for it. Have you met any of these backbones of mediocrity ? They're great for raising children, even if they're not particularly good at making enough. [↩]

5. Which honestly... given the year is 2010, these are therefore precisely the insuficient biosacks that were picciutteddi back when I decided the new blood's neither , actuallyworth sticking around for nor ever capable of filling the previous generations' shoes, and so made an end of it. [↩]
6. Called Paula in the film, for extra lulz. Because, of course, the young whore's also magical. [↩]
7. This should also explain the fabulous products of said Romanian New Wave : propagandists without central command, scraping for employment here and there, ended up making random shit which seems to work well by people who weren't aware of how it was made, or why, or by whom -- which is to say, moviegoing audiences. It worked for Henry Miller well enough, rite ? [↩]