What is Hollywood, you ask, dear children? A quorum of whores babbling endlessly on about fucking while the bordello is razed for a penny arcade -- Paul Bern

Tuesday, November 2, 2010


That rather pleasant & dense pastiche of Bava offered as a mini-movie made of modest peccorino in the middle of the dead space that is Silent Hill points up the slo-mo schemata which the film's promotional business must dutifully undertake: the exploration of the different game set/locations, exposition of the incoherent, opaque trauma mythology, broken and twisted by the moments of "action", the pronouncing of stilted dialogue purchased at discount from some fairyland subaltern christianity, the off-sound design, etc.

It all reveals what the genre is at pains to conceal...that the laughing spirit behind the game movie is the anti-cinema of Marguerite Duras. 

Next from Konami, India Song: Monsoon of Blood... The lepers outside, drawn by the melancholy strains of India Song, storm the Residence de France. When they erupt in the languid heat, the flesh of the guests starts sloughing off when touched by the Other. The Vice-Consul drags Anne-Marie Stretter through the mirror to a bedroom where they finally make love for what seems like 30 years. Using her name of Venice, (which is, somehow, the key to everything) The Vice-Consul calls up a platoon of dead paratroopers from Dien Bien Phu to assist him in the fight against the lepers to take back the mansion, level by level, howling with profoundest melancholy the whole time.

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