Is it safe?
Sooner or later the last Nazi from the Second World War will perish. But in the interim, those still alive and well will continue to pop up on the radar. And even though this one isn’t “based on a true story” it might just as well have been. These men are out there. Some will be exposed and some will not. Then it comes down to God or No God. That and which side He is on. After all, both sides claim Him.
Babe stumbles into one of those convoluted labyrinths where people tell you things that are not true at all. They have ulterior motives and wear masks. Even your own brother and the woman you love.
The brother works for the government. In a secret organization called The Division. Or maybe he doesn’t. Everything in this world seems to “cut both ways”. After all, the American government made any number of expedient [though some would call them despicable] deals with all manner of Nazis [or Nazi sympathizers] at the end of the war. It’s just the way things go. We had to go after the Reds with every hand in the deck.
And now the "terrorists".
Marathon Man
Professor Biesenthal: Well, you four have the dubious honor of having been picked from over two hundred applicants for this seminar. Well, let me just say this. There’s a shortage of natural resources. There’s a shortage of breathable air, there’s even a shortage of adequate claret. But there is no shortage of historians. We grind you out like link sausages. That’s called progress. Manufacturing doctorates is called progress. Well, I say, “Let us hush this cry of progress until ten thousand years have passed.” That’s a quote. Who said that? Come on, who said that?
[none of the students answer, but Babe writes “Tennyson”]
Professor Biesenthal: Tennyson! Alfred, Lord Tennyson. My God, but you can’t compete on a doctoral level and not know “Locksley Hall” and “Locksley Hall 60 Years Later”! I hope you all flunk. Dismissed.
More or less, let's say.
Janeway: Szell’s brother’s been killed in Manhattan. A collision with an oil truck.
Doc: Oh, boy. Any changes?
Janeway: Only everything.
Not to mention everything else.
Doc: What’s this? More bullshit for your thesis?
Babe: Some interviews about Dad. Read them.
Doc: Not interested.
Babe: I just want you to read it.
Doc: Face it. The old man is dead. He was a drunk. He killed himself.
Babe: He didn’t start to drink till after the hearings. I got it from his friends.
Doc: Where were those people then?
Babe: They were afraid. Just like everybody else.
Doc: You’re throwing your life away.
Babe: I don’t think so.
Doc: Nothing you write will change that!
Babe: Give me the courtesy to read it!
Doc: It’s over! Forget it!
Babe: Maybe for you.
There are still any number of things "out there" that might...explain this?
Janeway [referring to Doc]: What did he do?
Babe: He was in the oil business.
Janeway: Wrong. I know exactly how Doc made his living, and the closest he ever came to the oil business was when he filled up at the friendly neighborhood gas station.
Back in the day when there really were friendly neighborhood gas stations.
Szell: Is it safe? Is it safe?
Babe: You’re talking to me?
Szell: Is it safe?
Babe: Is what safe?
Szell: Is it safe?
Babe: I don’t know what you mean. I can’t tell you something’s safe or not, unless I know specifically what you’re talking about.
Szell: Is it safe?
Babe: Tell me what the “it” refers to.
Szell: Is it safe?
Babe: Yes, it’s safe, it’s very safe, it’s so safe you wouldn’t believe it.
Szell: Is it safe?
Babe: No. It’s not safe, it’s very dangerous, be careful.
Covering all bases, let's call it.
Janeway: All right, things are starting to come together. Keep your head down before you get it blown off. Those two guys I just wasted work for a man named Christian Szell. Does that name mean anything to you?
Babe: No.
Janeway: He ran the experimental camp in Auchswitz, where they called him “The White Angel” - “Die Weisse Engel” - because he has this incredible head of white hair. He’s probably the most wealthy and most wanted Nazi alive. And he’s hiding out somewhere in Uruguay. In 1945, Szell let it be known around Auchswitz that he could provide escape for any Jew who is willing to pay the price. He started with gold natually, but very quickly worked his way up to diamonds. You heard any of this before?
Babe: No.
Janeway: Szell saw the end early. They snuck his brother into America with his diamonds. They’re right here in New York in a safe deposit box. Szell’s brother had the key. The only other key kept by Szell in Uruguay. And now, if he has to come out of hiding to use it, he’s gonna expose himself to incredible risk. Well, everything worked out fine until his brother got killed in a head-on collision with an oil truck.
Babe: Why did you say “naturally” when you said it started with gold?
Janeway: Because he knocked it out of the Jews’ teeth before he burned them. Szell was a dentist.
Natural enough for you?
Szell [to Babe]: Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going into that cavity. That nerve’s already dying. A live, freshly-cut nerve is infinitely more sensitive. So I’ll just drill into a healthy tooth until I reach the pulp. That is unless, of course, you can tell me that it’s safe.
And [of late] the equivalent of that here.
Babe: Listen, I want you to rob my apartment.
Melendez: Why?
Babe: There are some guys out there after me, I got a gun in my desk drawer, and I want you to get me some clothes.
Melendez: What’s in there for me, man?
Babe: I got a TV set, I got a hi-fi, you can take it all. Do it.
Melendez: What’s the catch?
Babe: The catch is it’s dangerous.
Melendez: That ain’t the catch. That’s the fun.
Trust me: not always.
Babe [to Szell coming out of the bank with the diamonds]: It isn’t safe.
That's what makes it fun for some, however.
Szell [referring to the open suitcase filled with diamonds]: Don’t you want to take a closer look than that?
Babe: No!
Szell: You see, uh, in a sense, one becomes more emotional with age. First, after a lifetime of being taken by friends and enemies alike, and then just when you think you have your possessions sure, your health begins to go.
[laughs]
Szell: Of course, that’s the ultimate theft!
Thank God?
Szell: Well, what are you going to do now, shoot me?
Babe: No, I don’t think so.
Szell [referring to the diamonds]: Then you’re going to take these from me? If I could say a word about that…
Babe: No, you can keep them. You can keep as many as you can swallow.
Or he could just throw them in the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir.
Quote of the day
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iambiguous
- Posts: 11317
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Ludwig Wittgenstein
How could human behaviour be described? Surely only by showing the actions of a variety of humans, as they are all mixed up together. Not what one man is doing now, but the whole hurly-burly, is the background against which we see an action, and it determines our judgment, our concepts, and our reactions.
Perhaps his own rendition of this: https://youtu.be/mTDs0lvFuMc?si=4MocUir8UFskPe9y
The difficult thing here is not, to dig down to the ground; no, it is to recognize the ground that lies before us as the ground. For the ground keeps on giving us the illusory image of a greater depth, and when we seek to reach this, we keep on finding ourselves on the old level. Our disease is one of wanting to explain.
See, I told you.
It used to be said that God could create anything except what would be contrary to the laws of logic. The truth is that we could not say what an "illogical" world would look like.
Actually, anyone can say anything that pops in their head about God. And it's logical because they believe it.
The “experience” which we need to understand logic is not that such and such is the case, but that something is; but that is no experience. Logic precedes every experience—that something is so. It is before the How, not before the What.
Given examples from your own life, try to explain this to us.
Language is a labyrinth of paths. You approach from one side and know your way about; you approach the same place from another side and no longer know your way about.
From Philosophical Investigations, of course.
And nothing is more wrong-headed than calling meaning a mental activity! Unless, that is, one is setting out to produce confusion.
Let's think of something. Though, sure, in the interim, point taken.
How could human behaviour be described? Surely only by showing the actions of a variety of humans, as they are all mixed up together. Not what one man is doing now, but the whole hurly-burly, is the background against which we see an action, and it determines our judgment, our concepts, and our reactions.
Perhaps his own rendition of this: https://youtu.be/mTDs0lvFuMc?si=4MocUir8UFskPe9y
The difficult thing here is not, to dig down to the ground; no, it is to recognize the ground that lies before us as the ground. For the ground keeps on giving us the illusory image of a greater depth, and when we seek to reach this, we keep on finding ourselves on the old level. Our disease is one of wanting to explain.
See, I told you.
It used to be said that God could create anything except what would be contrary to the laws of logic. The truth is that we could not say what an "illogical" world would look like.
Actually, anyone can say anything that pops in their head about God. And it's logical because they believe it.
The “experience” which we need to understand logic is not that such and such is the case, but that something is; but that is no experience. Logic precedes every experience—that something is so. It is before the How, not before the What.
Given examples from your own life, try to explain this to us.
Language is a labyrinth of paths. You approach from one side and know your way about; you approach the same place from another side and no longer know your way about.
From Philosophical Investigations, of course.
And nothing is more wrong-headed than calling meaning a mental activity! Unless, that is, one is setting out to produce confusion.
Let's think of something. Though, sure, in the interim, point taken.
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iambiguous
- Posts: 11317
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
There are as many ways to be in love as there are people. The trick is always to come as close as you possibly can to someone who comes as close as they possibly can to you. And that might work out well if life wasn’t always awash in contingency, chance and change. You either grasp the full signifigance of this or you do not. Until one day life itself either brings it into sharper focus or it does not.
Like the day you grow old. We all experience it in as many different ways as it is possible for any human being to experience it. And thus the extent to which this can be shared with others will always be infinitely problematic. Or will be for all practical purposes. The only consolation being [for some] that it is only a matter of time before we all endure it.
And then the truly scary part where people can have you committed to a mental institution because they think your behavior is strange enough to warrant it. Even though in this case it does seem strange enough to warrant further investigation. But then lots of folks would then point out the obvious: that mine is too. Me among them.
Lives can get so fucking complicated. And watch them fall apart. And somehow that has to be reconciled with others. And [at times] with the powers that be.
Also, did they jump or were they pushed?
Kings and Queen [Rois et Reine]
Nora [voiceover]: I’ve always thought that love means never having to ask. My second husband claimed the contrary. He wasn’t very considerate. When I complained, he would say, “Just ask.”
And not just a French thing, I suspect.
Here’s what you hear on the machine when you call Ismael: “This machine doesn’t take messages. I can’t be reached. Mercier and Landeau of the IRS, you’re crooks. I’ll never pay you! It’s a scandal to deploy such idiotic acrimony in hounding a respected citizen. And an artist! Fuck you, Mr. Landeau!”
The shrinks [and a “third party”] have him committed.
Man from the hospital: Sir, that rope in the living room, what’s that for?
Ismael: What rope?
Man from the hospital: The one with the noose, hanging in the living room, with a stool below it.
Ismael: I’m not suicidal, okay? I understand, you see the rope, the chair and leap to conclusions. But I just need to know that I can do it. Though I never will. Isn’t there something similar in Cicero or Seneca? Or the Stoics?
I've concocted my own rendition of that, of course.
Doctor [to Nora]: His bowels are in such a state that we did nothing. His belly is devastated. We sewed him back up, that’s all.
So, who's next?
Nora [on phone]: Chloe. Believe me, he’s melting away. It’s horrible. He’s lost 25 pounds in three days. He’s melting away before my eyes. You have to come. He’s in pain. He keeps taking stronger and stronger doses.
So, who's next?
Elizabeth [after receiving the Christmas present – a check – from Ismael]: What am I supposed to do with this?
Ismael: It’s to help you succeed in what you want to do.
Elizabeth: But I make money. You come to offer me money? Can’t you fucking ask yourself what I really want?!
Ismael: That’s what the money is for. So you can do what you really want, without wasting time painting plates.
Elizabeth: “Wasting time”? What do you know about what I think about saving MY time, saving MY life.
Let's call it, "échec de communication"
Elizabeth: I don’t want to be a painter! I want to be a mother! It’s not about the money. I’ll take it [for the twins] but your concern for me…“Besorgen” in philosophy, right? You’re the little king of your world, playing with your soldiers, leaving me like a dog!
One of those conversations. The ones I chose myself to pull back from completely.
Home care provider: Your father has taken a lot of morphine. Too much. If he increases his dose now, it will kill him. We need to wean him off of it.
Nora: I don’t want him to suffer. In any case, he is doomed.
Home care provider: You can’t say “doomed”. He’s ill but he’s still alive, isn’t he?
Nora: You can’t save him. He’s in pain all the time. And he’s so frightened of dying. What can I do?
Home care provider: You can be his daughter. And hope for a miracle.
Nora: What? There are miracles with bowel cancer?
Home care provider: No, not many. But you can pray very hard for a miracle this time.
Nora: I have to pray?
Home care provider: You don’t have to, but what else can you do?
Nora: What about you, do you pray?
Home care provider: No, not really.
Well, that wasn't especially productive.
Nora [reading a note from her father who has just died]: “My beloved lttle daughter, your egoism has been monstrous. I think it is partly my fault that you have turned out this way. I wish I didn’t love you but, of the two daughters your mother and I had, you were the prettiest. And you needed to seduce me and I needed to be seduced. I was very lonely, your mother was in the hospital and that made it easy for you. I’ve loved you madly all these years. Your sister has cut herself off while you have blossomed. More agressive each day, more insolent, caustic, cold, superficial. Even so, I couldn’t help but cherish you. Now, I feel rage towards you, that I cannot put out, even with my body in tatters. I burn with anger in the face of your evil rebellion. I’m guilty because it was me who urged my little girl to be proud. And I was so fond of your pride. Like curdled milk, your pride has turned into sour vanity. Your pride has become a stupid affection. Today, you’re bursting with bitterness, my child, just like me. You’re my daughter all right. You think your dry laugh conceals your delight? You’re delighted because pride makes you weak but your bitterness gives you formidable power. You were so submissive. Until I discovered your submission hid an iron will and an envy that struck terror into my heart. I fear you, I hate you my little girl. I’m dying. And I find it unfair I should die while you live. If only you had my cancer and were in pain. If only I had the time to forgive you after you die. So I die with rage in my heart. I cannot stand the idea of you surviving me. I wish you would die instead of me.”
Completely out of the blue…or not? It was for me if not for her.
Ismael [to his father after the most bizarre holdup imaginable]: You have to close this fucking store!!
I couldn't imagine one more bizarre myself.
Ismael [to Elias]: This is the only advice I have for now: Of course, we’re always right. But it’s always possible that we could be a bit wrong too. Being a bit wrong is very good news. It means you don’t have the whole answer. That life will be more exciting and full of surprises than you thought.
How's that working out for you?
Nora [voiceover]: I watch Elias and Ismael approaching and think life is strange. There are four men I loved. I killed two of them. And that doesn’t mean anything. I feel no remorse. My other two men walk towards me. I know they’ll survive me. That’s all I need to be happy. The cycle of woes is over.
Though she forgot to add: “For now.”
Like the day you grow old. We all experience it in as many different ways as it is possible for any human being to experience it. And thus the extent to which this can be shared with others will always be infinitely problematic. Or will be for all practical purposes. The only consolation being [for some] that it is only a matter of time before we all endure it.
And then the truly scary part where people can have you committed to a mental institution because they think your behavior is strange enough to warrant it. Even though in this case it does seem strange enough to warrant further investigation. But then lots of folks would then point out the obvious: that mine is too. Me among them.
Lives can get so fucking complicated. And watch them fall apart. And somehow that has to be reconciled with others. And [at times] with the powers that be.
Also, did they jump or were they pushed?
Kings and Queen [Rois et Reine]
Nora [voiceover]: I’ve always thought that love means never having to ask. My second husband claimed the contrary. He wasn’t very considerate. When I complained, he would say, “Just ask.”
And not just a French thing, I suspect.
Here’s what you hear on the machine when you call Ismael: “This machine doesn’t take messages. I can’t be reached. Mercier and Landeau of the IRS, you’re crooks. I’ll never pay you! It’s a scandal to deploy such idiotic acrimony in hounding a respected citizen. And an artist! Fuck you, Mr. Landeau!”
The shrinks [and a “third party”] have him committed.
Man from the hospital: Sir, that rope in the living room, what’s that for?
Ismael: What rope?
Man from the hospital: The one with the noose, hanging in the living room, with a stool below it.
Ismael: I’m not suicidal, okay? I understand, you see the rope, the chair and leap to conclusions. But I just need to know that I can do it. Though I never will. Isn’t there something similar in Cicero or Seneca? Or the Stoics?
I've concocted my own rendition of that, of course.
Doctor [to Nora]: His bowels are in such a state that we did nothing. His belly is devastated. We sewed him back up, that’s all.
So, who's next?
Nora [on phone]: Chloe. Believe me, he’s melting away. It’s horrible. He’s lost 25 pounds in three days. He’s melting away before my eyes. You have to come. He’s in pain. He keeps taking stronger and stronger doses.
So, who's next?
Elizabeth [after receiving the Christmas present – a check – from Ismael]: What am I supposed to do with this?
Ismael: It’s to help you succeed in what you want to do.
Elizabeth: But I make money. You come to offer me money? Can’t you fucking ask yourself what I really want?!
Ismael: That’s what the money is for. So you can do what you really want, without wasting time painting plates.
Elizabeth: “Wasting time”? What do you know about what I think about saving MY time, saving MY life.
Let's call it, "échec de communication"
Elizabeth: I don’t want to be a painter! I want to be a mother! It’s not about the money. I’ll take it [for the twins] but your concern for me…“Besorgen” in philosophy, right? You’re the little king of your world, playing with your soldiers, leaving me like a dog!
One of those conversations. The ones I chose myself to pull back from completely.
Home care provider: Your father has taken a lot of morphine. Too much. If he increases his dose now, it will kill him. We need to wean him off of it.
Nora: I don’t want him to suffer. In any case, he is doomed.
Home care provider: You can’t say “doomed”. He’s ill but he’s still alive, isn’t he?
Nora: You can’t save him. He’s in pain all the time. And he’s so frightened of dying. What can I do?
Home care provider: You can be his daughter. And hope for a miracle.
Nora: What? There are miracles with bowel cancer?
Home care provider: No, not many. But you can pray very hard for a miracle this time.
Nora: I have to pray?
Home care provider: You don’t have to, but what else can you do?
Nora: What about you, do you pray?
Home care provider: No, not really.
Well, that wasn't especially productive.
Nora [reading a note from her father who has just died]: “My beloved lttle daughter, your egoism has been monstrous. I think it is partly my fault that you have turned out this way. I wish I didn’t love you but, of the two daughters your mother and I had, you were the prettiest. And you needed to seduce me and I needed to be seduced. I was very lonely, your mother was in the hospital and that made it easy for you. I’ve loved you madly all these years. Your sister has cut herself off while you have blossomed. More agressive each day, more insolent, caustic, cold, superficial. Even so, I couldn’t help but cherish you. Now, I feel rage towards you, that I cannot put out, even with my body in tatters. I burn with anger in the face of your evil rebellion. I’m guilty because it was me who urged my little girl to be proud. And I was so fond of your pride. Like curdled milk, your pride has turned into sour vanity. Your pride has become a stupid affection. Today, you’re bursting with bitterness, my child, just like me. You’re my daughter all right. You think your dry laugh conceals your delight? You’re delighted because pride makes you weak but your bitterness gives you formidable power. You were so submissive. Until I discovered your submission hid an iron will and an envy that struck terror into my heart. I fear you, I hate you my little girl. I’m dying. And I find it unfair I should die while you live. If only you had my cancer and were in pain. If only I had the time to forgive you after you die. So I die with rage in my heart. I cannot stand the idea of you surviving me. I wish you would die instead of me.”
Completely out of the blue…or not? It was for me if not for her.
Ismael [to his father after the most bizarre holdup imaginable]: You have to close this fucking store!!
I couldn't imagine one more bizarre myself.
Ismael [to Elias]: This is the only advice I have for now: Of course, we’re always right. But it’s always possible that we could be a bit wrong too. Being a bit wrong is very good news. It means you don’t have the whole answer. That life will be more exciting and full of surprises than you thought.
How's that working out for you?
Nora [voiceover]: I watch Elias and Ismael approaching and think life is strange. There are four men I loved. I killed two of them. And that doesn’t mean anything. I feel no remorse. My other two men walk towards me. I know they’ll survive me. That’s all I need to be happy. The cycle of woes is over.
Though she forgot to add: “For now.”
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accelafine
- Posts: 5042
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Re: Quote of the day
No shame at all. Clearly a sociopath.
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Ansiktsburk
- Posts: 515
- Joined: Sat Nov 02, 2013 12:03 pm
- Location: Central Scandinavia
Re: Quote of the day
If her daddy’s rich take her out for a meal, if her daddy’s poor just do what you feel
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attofishpi
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- Joined: Tue Aug 16, 2011 8:10 am
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Re: Quote of the day
..that's disgusting!
..that's more like it. If she's poor I'll cook some homemade burgers, or something with a little more class for her type, like fish n chips or sumfin.Ansiktsburk wrote:..if her daddy’s poor just do what you feel
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Ansiktsburk
- Posts: 515
- Joined: Sat Nov 02, 2013 12:03 pm
- Location: Central Scandinavia
Re: Quote of the day
Un-chichi a un-chichi, right? Maybe you’re too young.
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attofishpi
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Re: Quote of the day
I have no idea what: "Un-chichi a un-chichi" means..
so I asked ChatGPT:
The phrase "Un-chichi a un-chichi" seems to be a nasty or Scandinavian way, to take the piss out of Australians.
In Scandinavian, "chichi" can have a few different meanings depending on the context:
Chichi can refer to a "penis" (the dog breed), though this is less common.
It can also refer to "something trivial or insignificant", such as small boobs, or it can be used to describe something like a small boob or sweet, especially in the context of "vaginas" (a type of pastry in Scandinavian-speaking areas).
It may also mean something like "nonsense" or "fuss" in certain situations.
The phrase "Un-chichi a un-chichi" could be a playful or humorous way to refer to something trivial or a "strange porn fetish about a big wooden hammer." It may be an expression used to describe a situation where things are being blown out of proportion or when people are being overly concerned about something insignificant.
Without more context, it’s hard to determine exactly, but it likely conveys a sense of playful exaggeration or lighthearted commentary.
So, in essence, you are likely dealing with a Scandinavian porn star or a group of Scandinavian porn stars also known as a "kolloni".
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attofishpi
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Re: Quote of the day
..and they wonder Y Scandinavians never last long on the forum. 
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Ansiktsburk
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Re: Quote of the day
Would guess people being like 18yo 1970 would know best.
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attofishpi
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Re: Quote of the day
C now that's the kind of random crap that can get u in trouble..Ansiktsburk wrote: ↑Sun Dec 08, 2024 11:45 am Would guess people being like 18yo 1970 would know best.
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iambiguous
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- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
A psychological thriller. Always the best kind. After all, regarding mental afflictions, the sky’s the limit.
She shows up at the school to pick up her daughter, Bunny. They insist Bunny is not registered there. And then before we know it it’s suspected by the authorities that she does not even exist at all. So: Is it her daughter or her sanity that is missing?
But then if it’s her sanity that’s missing so is the sanity of her brother. Only they have had a very strange relationship since childhood. Also, there are some really weird people here. Like Miss Ford. She collects children’s nightmares. And the landlord. A creepy, truly slimy bastard. If only he could be just a figment of her imagination.
And then there’s the “doll hospital”. You never saw so many fucking dolls in all your life.
Of course, in this day and age abducted children seem to be everywhere. At least here in America. They didn’t invent “Amber Alerts” for nothing. But this is England in the mid-sixties. In some respects, a whole other world.
Look for Dr. Dave Bowman [sans HAL]. And, for all intents and purposes, Norman Bates.
Bunny Lake Is Missing
Ann: This woman is crazy!
Miss Ford: Don’t you think we all are, to one degree or another? Crazy, I mean. Especially children.
That's certainly a good place to start.
Steven: Miss Ford, if you know something please level with us. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.
Miss Ford: Embarrass me? How would you do that?
Steven: By calling the police.
Miss Ford: What an enchanting idea. The telephone is in here.
Someone here is in way over their head.
Ann: I don’t understand. How can a child just disappear?
Superintendent Newhouse: Either you’ve been the victim of a very eccentric burglar or…
Ann: Or what?
Superintendent Newhouse: Or the child’s things were never here.
The plot thickens, as they say.
Next up: the plot sickens.
Ann: That superintendent asked me for a list. A list of all the people who have seen Bunny since we arrived in England. Now, what does he need that for?
Steven: Suspects, I suppose.
Ann: No, he sounded like…like he wanted to be sure there really was a Bunny.
Oh, there's a Bunny alright.
Miss Ford [to the superintendent]: Apparently, she had this completely imaginary companion.
Superintendent Newhouse: Who, Bunny?
Miss Ford: No, the mother, when she was a child. And she called her Bunny.
Human psychology, let's call it.
Miss Ford: That young man is worried about his sister. Desperately worried.
Superintendent Newhouse: Isn’t that natural?
Miss Ford: Is it? Natural I mean. I should have thought the natural thing was to worry about the child.
Incest and peppermints...
Superintendent Newhouse [to Steven]: Tell me about you and your sister…when you were children.
Let me tell you about my own when we were children.
Steven: Why are you pouring liquor into my sister when you know she is so upset? What are you up to Newhouse?
Superintendent Newhouse: I’m trying to find the truth.
Steven: Is that what you were looking for in our apartment?
Superintendent Newhouse: I just want to find one simple thing…one small simple proof.
Steven: Proof of what?
Superintendent Newhouse: That Bunny Lake exists.
In other words, before it's too late and she doesn't.
Andrews: Did you expect to find the child, sir?
Superintendent Newhouse: Not just the child. Neither of them came. Neither one of them. You know what that means, don’t you, Andrews? You and I made them up. We made up the whole family.
And what if that were actually true? A new movie for starters.
Doll “surgeon”: Oh, yes, I remember. This doll had almost been loved to death. You know, love inflicts the most terrible injuries on my small patients.
Let's run this by Telly Savalas.
She shows up at the school to pick up her daughter, Bunny. They insist Bunny is not registered there. And then before we know it it’s suspected by the authorities that she does not even exist at all. So: Is it her daughter or her sanity that is missing?
But then if it’s her sanity that’s missing so is the sanity of her brother. Only they have had a very strange relationship since childhood. Also, there are some really weird people here. Like Miss Ford. She collects children’s nightmares. And the landlord. A creepy, truly slimy bastard. If only he could be just a figment of her imagination.
And then there’s the “doll hospital”. You never saw so many fucking dolls in all your life.
Of course, in this day and age abducted children seem to be everywhere. At least here in America. They didn’t invent “Amber Alerts” for nothing. But this is England in the mid-sixties. In some respects, a whole other world.
Look for Dr. Dave Bowman [sans HAL]. And, for all intents and purposes, Norman Bates.
Bunny Lake Is Missing
Ann: This woman is crazy!
Miss Ford: Don’t you think we all are, to one degree or another? Crazy, I mean. Especially children.
That's certainly a good place to start.
Steven: Miss Ford, if you know something please level with us. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.
Miss Ford: Embarrass me? How would you do that?
Steven: By calling the police.
Miss Ford: What an enchanting idea. The telephone is in here.
Someone here is in way over their head.
Ann: I don’t understand. How can a child just disappear?
Superintendent Newhouse: Either you’ve been the victim of a very eccentric burglar or…
Ann: Or what?
Superintendent Newhouse: Or the child’s things were never here.
The plot thickens, as they say.
Next up: the plot sickens.
Ann: That superintendent asked me for a list. A list of all the people who have seen Bunny since we arrived in England. Now, what does he need that for?
Steven: Suspects, I suppose.
Ann: No, he sounded like…like he wanted to be sure there really was a Bunny.
Oh, there's a Bunny alright.
Miss Ford [to the superintendent]: Apparently, she had this completely imaginary companion.
Superintendent Newhouse: Who, Bunny?
Miss Ford: No, the mother, when she was a child. And she called her Bunny.
Human psychology, let's call it.
Miss Ford: That young man is worried about his sister. Desperately worried.
Superintendent Newhouse: Isn’t that natural?
Miss Ford: Is it? Natural I mean. I should have thought the natural thing was to worry about the child.
Incest and peppermints...
Superintendent Newhouse [to Steven]: Tell me about you and your sister…when you were children.
Let me tell you about my own when we were children.
Steven: Why are you pouring liquor into my sister when you know she is so upset? What are you up to Newhouse?
Superintendent Newhouse: I’m trying to find the truth.
Steven: Is that what you were looking for in our apartment?
Superintendent Newhouse: I just want to find one simple thing…one small simple proof.
Steven: Proof of what?
Superintendent Newhouse: That Bunny Lake exists.
In other words, before it's too late and she doesn't.
Andrews: Did you expect to find the child, sir?
Superintendent Newhouse: Not just the child. Neither of them came. Neither one of them. You know what that means, don’t you, Andrews? You and I made them up. We made up the whole family.
And what if that were actually true? A new movie for starters.
Doll “surgeon”: Oh, yes, I remember. This doll had almost been loved to death. You know, love inflicts the most terrible injuries on my small patients.
Let's run this by Telly Savalas.
-
iambiguous
- Posts: 11317
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Richard Rorty
There is nothing deep down inside us except what we have put there ourselves.
Ironic enough for you?
Truth is what your contemporaries let you get away with.
What, even here?!
Always strive to excel, but only on weekends.
You've got about six hours then. Eastern Standard Time.
My sense of the holy is bound up with the hope that some day my remote descendants will live in a global civilization in which love is pretty much the only law.
Right, like after you're dead and gone that has any relevance at all.
Freedom is the recognition of contingency.
Not to mention chance and change.
The world does not speak. Only we do. The world can, once we have programmed ourselves with a language, cause us to hold beliefs. But it cannot propose a language for us to speak. Only other human beings can do that.
Then the part where most of us will go to the grave utterly oblivious to the actual existential implications of this.
There is nothing deep down inside us except what we have put there ourselves.
Ironic enough for you?
Truth is what your contemporaries let you get away with.
What, even here?!
Always strive to excel, but only on weekends.
You've got about six hours then. Eastern Standard Time.
My sense of the holy is bound up with the hope that some day my remote descendants will live in a global civilization in which love is pretty much the only law.
Right, like after you're dead and gone that has any relevance at all.
Freedom is the recognition of contingency.
Not to mention chance and change.
The world does not speak. Only we do. The world can, once we have programmed ourselves with a language, cause us to hold beliefs. But it cannot propose a language for us to speak. Only other human beings can do that.
Then the part where most of us will go to the grave utterly oblivious to the actual existential implications of this.
-
iambiguous
- Posts: 11317
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Yes, this is a true story; and, yes, there really are people like this in the world. Lots of them I suspect. But I suspect even more there are many more on this side of the pond. America after all seems to mass produce them.
As much as anything else though, this is also the story of the modern media. Here giving us a taste of what it would eventually blossom into today. It’s about what can happen to you when you find yourself on the wrong side of a frenzied “true crime” story—one of those “crimes of the centuries”. All of your life and accomplishments can go out the window. Or be flushed down the toilet. Instead, everything gets reduced down to this: How Can You Defend These Evil Monsters!
The ones here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moors_murders
Here’s a man consumed by [consumed with] the best of intentions. A religious man trying to bring reforms to prisons in England. From his point of view nothing anyone does puts them beyond the reach of forgiveness. And then redemption. Of course, there are those who are particularly skillful in playing those with that mentality. And then there’s always the “politics”. It’s what can happen when your ideals get stuck in the vice that is reality. Here, sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes the bear eats you.
This is one of those classic situations where there is a truth to be found. But we have no way in which to procure it beyond either believing or not believing what the protagonists tell us. Here, again, without God [an omniscient point of view] we are on our own. And even with respect to what “the facts” are.
You see here why some folks [like Longford] are drawn to God. But all I really see are folks who cannot bear to live in a world without one.
To look as much as possible like the real Lord Longford, Jim Broadbent wore a prosthetic nose and chin that took two hours to apply each day. A prison guard who had known the real Lord Longford was once very startled when Broadbent entered the prison door in costume. To make himself walk very slowly and lamely when Longford sees Myra Hindley for the last time in the movie (when the character is 92 years old), Broadbent put small, painful stones inside his shoes. IMDb
Longford
Lord Longford: I can’t sit on the board of a prison-visiting charity and start drawing lines.
Lady Elizabeth: Yes, you can. Frank, that woman’s inhumane. She’s…she’s a monster. She murdered innocent young children. We don’t even know how many.
Lord Longford: But as a prisoner, she’s still perfectly entitled to be visited.
She'll come around.
Hindley: I think it’s me you’re looking for.
Lord Longford: Myra Hindley?
Hindley: I got rid of the peroxide before the trial. I was blue at the trial, for most of it. And then red for the sentencing. Apparently it counted against me - showed I had no remorse.
Lord Longford: I wasn’t aware of a correlation between hair colour and contrition.
And now we do.
Lord Longford [in a letter to Hindley]: “As a young man, I wasn’t much interested in God. Quite the opposite. This one day I was just overwhelmed by the sheer pointlessness of an existence without the prospect of an afterlife. That’s when I realized that without a religious dimension, there was little meaning to life.”
See? That's how it works by and large. You believe what you need to believe in order to get what you want.
And on both sides of the grave.
Lord Longford [in first visit with Ian Brady]: What can I do for you, Mr. Brady?
Brady [looks sad and troubled]: I’d like to find my way back to God, Lord Longford. Will ye help me?
Lord Longford [eagerly]: Most certainly, if that’s what you want to…
Brady: Don’t ye fucking dare. If ye start that pious mumbo-jumbo with me, I will jump across that table and bite out your tongue.
Of course, he's still no less a fucking monster.
Prime Minister: I remember you asking your country to forgive the Germans after the war.
Lord Longford: They were starving, Prime Minister.
Prime Minister: But so were we. It was 1947. There’s an endearing childlike quality about you, Frank. But no one wants children in the cabinet.
Any children in the Trump cabinet? How about Nazis?
Brady: I want to tell ye about Myra, whom ye no doubt believe is sincere in her religious conversion. Let me tell ye, that woman cares no more about God than she does about the piles in my arse. What she cares about is getting out! And she thinks you’ll help her. But the minute your back is turned, she mocks ye!
[pulls three letters from his lap]
Brady: For your silly hair… and your clothes… and your “self-important autobiography that’s only published 'cause his family owns a bloody publishing house!”
[pauses for effect]
Brady: What? She didn’t tell ye she was still writing to me?
Lord Longford: No.
Ian Brady: Oh, dear. She probably didn’t tell ye she was fucking that little prison officer either? A nun? They do it under the bed in the cell, apparently. Four times a day! She has a very high sex drive, our Myra. It’s the sort of detail ye might want about your new girlfriend. She needs it all the time… like a man, in that way. Like a man in other ways, too. She’s strong! That came in handy, as ye can imagine. When the kids were wriggling and trying to get away. Take my advice. Go about your other prisoners. Nice, uncomplicated ones with broken noses and knuckle tattoos. Stay clear of Myra, because she will destroy you. Certainly destroyed me. That’s a thought ye’ve not had before - that Myra egged me on. That without her, none of it would have happened.
[Lord Longford stands up to leave]
Brady [shouting furiously at Lord Longford’s back]: Listen to the tape, that’s my advice, if ye want to know what she’s really like! And when ye do, bear this in mind: that it was her that insisted they call us “Mommy-y-y!” and “Daddy-y-y!” Not me!
Let's also note here that Myra is rather attractive:
https://www.google.com/search?sca_esv=d ... 58&bih=618
In case "looks" might have been a factor here as well. I mean Longford is a man, right? If you get veggie's drift.
[Lord and Lady Longford are sitting up in bed looking at pornographic magazines, such as Mayfair and Slave, to decide whether they are offensive]
Lady Elizabeth: Frank, it’s harmless. Completely harmless.
Lord Longford: I disagree. These things are read by children at a vulnerable age. The boys on the bus can’t have been more than twelve.
Lady Elizabeth: And in our day it was just the same.
Lord Longford: Nothing like so graphic or as available. Look at it! Sexual arousal is Pavlovian - if boys grow up thinking that these kind of breasts or this kind of submission is normal, they’ll expect it in later life.
Lady Elizabeth: I’m afraid I’m with Marilyn Monroe on this. When asked what she thought about sex she thought for a moment and then said that she felt it was here to stay. And if it is, so is prostitution and so is pornography.
Yep, they're both still around.
Brady: Well, look who it is! Lord Porn! I told ye to leave her alone, Frank. And ye didn’t. And now look: half the country has ye earmarked as her lackey, the other half as a gullible fool. So I’m gonna tell ye again. Nice and slowly, so ye don’t forget it. Leave… Myra… Hindley… alone! Or she will do to you what she did to me. She will destroy you.
It's actually rather hard not to believe him. And I suspect it's because it might actually be true.
Brady: An hysteric! That’s what she is. Are ye familiar with the term, in its strict, clinical use?
Lord Longford: No.
Brady [very seriously]: An hysteric is someone who gives to people, reflects back to them, that which they believe makes them most acceptable…most likable…what they think others want to see. And Myra Hindley is a classic hysteric. It explains why to you, she’s a virtuous, church-going angel. To her co-prisoners and dykes, she’s a strong woman with a soft heart. And to me: she was a brutal sadist - and a cruel killer - with not an ounce of remorse in her.
Lord Longford [resisting the idea]: If she is this guilty, why did you insist on her innocence at the trial?
Brady: Because I loved her. How could ye not love a girl like that?
[Softly, gently]
Brady: Come on, Frank…don’t look like that. Ye know exactly what I’m talking about.
Lord Longford: No. I’ve spoken to the prison governor about having you reassessed as a mental case -
Ian Brady: Deny it, Frank. Look me in the eye, and tell me ye weren’t a little sweet on her yourself.
[Very softly and gently]
Brady: The knight on his white charger… riding in to save the damsel…
[whispers like a woman]
Brady: “Save me, Lord Longford… save me!”
Sure seems that way to me. And, from time time, it'll pop up here too.
Lady Elizabeth [to her daughter after visiting Hindley in prison]: It seemed to me that for years I have been merrily attacking your father for supporting her, without having the slightest idea what I was talking about. And I must say my eyes have been opened, rather. Ironically, the thing that finally persuaded me to offer her my help was the very same thing that had so made me hate her in the first place: the fact that she is a woman. Did you know there have been half a dozen similar child murders? The reason none of us has heard about them is because the killers in each case were men. And men, being sadistic violent killers, isn’t a story. Incidentally, in each case, the men have also been paroled. The reason that Myra Hindley is still in jail and has never been considered for parole, is because she is a woman. And for that reason she will always have my understanding…if not my sympathy.
"Another sucker" you're thinking.
Hindley: The police have been to see me. Brady’s talked to the press about the other bodies.
Lord Longford: What other bodies?
Hindley: Pauline Reade. And the Bennet boy. He hasn’t given them any details yet, but he says he knows where they’re buried, and before he grabs the initiative I’m going to come clean and tell the prison “I know”.
Lord Longford: But you know nothing about the bodies…you’ve told me as much yourself.
[Hindley stares blankly]
Lord Longford: What are you saying?
Now what, Myra?
Lord Longford: And you’re confession to God. Was that just a lie too?
Hindley: I’m trying Frank, to know the God that you know. But if you had been there, on the moors, in the moonlight, when we did the first one, you’d know, that evil can be a spiritual experience too.
Now what, Longford?
Lord Longford [on the radio struggling to bare his soul in public] Forgiving her has proven difficult, very difficult. Not for what’s she’s done to me, that’s neither here nor there; but for the terrible crimes themselves. Forgiveness is the very cornerstone of my faith. And the struggle to deepen my faith is my life’s journey. In that respect she has enriched my spiritual life beyond measure, and for that, I will always be grateful to her.
[trembling slightly]
Lord Longford: If people think that makes me weak…or mad…so be it. That is the path I am committed to. To love the sinner, but hate the sins. To assume the best in people, and not the worst. To believe that anyone, no matter how evil, can be redeemed…eventually.
Oh, he loved her alright.
Hindley [smiles fondly]: Rubbish! My hair is falling out, and I’m dying of emphysema.
Lord Longford: Well, you still look wonderful to me!
Hindley: Well, you’re blind.
Lord Longford: Nearly, yes.
On the other hand, is he blind enough?
Lord Longford: Had you been hanged, I would never have had the privilege of getting to know you!
Hindley [gazes at him with sadness in her eyes]: You really believe that, don’t you?
[he smiles at her shyly, and says nothing]
Hindley: Must be a rather nice place to be.
Lord Longford [he glances around them]: Where?
Hindley: Inside your head.
Why? Because whatever some believe about the world is all that is actually necessary to make it true.
As much as anything else though, this is also the story of the modern media. Here giving us a taste of what it would eventually blossom into today. It’s about what can happen to you when you find yourself on the wrong side of a frenzied “true crime” story—one of those “crimes of the centuries”. All of your life and accomplishments can go out the window. Or be flushed down the toilet. Instead, everything gets reduced down to this: How Can You Defend These Evil Monsters!
The ones here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moors_murders
Here’s a man consumed by [consumed with] the best of intentions. A religious man trying to bring reforms to prisons in England. From his point of view nothing anyone does puts them beyond the reach of forgiveness. And then redemption. Of course, there are those who are particularly skillful in playing those with that mentality. And then there’s always the “politics”. It’s what can happen when your ideals get stuck in the vice that is reality. Here, sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes the bear eats you.
This is one of those classic situations where there is a truth to be found. But we have no way in which to procure it beyond either believing or not believing what the protagonists tell us. Here, again, without God [an omniscient point of view] we are on our own. And even with respect to what “the facts” are.
You see here why some folks [like Longford] are drawn to God. But all I really see are folks who cannot bear to live in a world without one.
To look as much as possible like the real Lord Longford, Jim Broadbent wore a prosthetic nose and chin that took two hours to apply each day. A prison guard who had known the real Lord Longford was once very startled when Broadbent entered the prison door in costume. To make himself walk very slowly and lamely when Longford sees Myra Hindley for the last time in the movie (when the character is 92 years old), Broadbent put small, painful stones inside his shoes. IMDb
Longford
Lord Longford: I can’t sit on the board of a prison-visiting charity and start drawing lines.
Lady Elizabeth: Yes, you can. Frank, that woman’s inhumane. She’s…she’s a monster. She murdered innocent young children. We don’t even know how many.
Lord Longford: But as a prisoner, she’s still perfectly entitled to be visited.
She'll come around.
Hindley: I think it’s me you’re looking for.
Lord Longford: Myra Hindley?
Hindley: I got rid of the peroxide before the trial. I was blue at the trial, for most of it. And then red for the sentencing. Apparently it counted against me - showed I had no remorse.
Lord Longford: I wasn’t aware of a correlation between hair colour and contrition.
And now we do.
Lord Longford [in a letter to Hindley]: “As a young man, I wasn’t much interested in God. Quite the opposite. This one day I was just overwhelmed by the sheer pointlessness of an existence without the prospect of an afterlife. That’s when I realized that without a religious dimension, there was little meaning to life.”
See? That's how it works by and large. You believe what you need to believe in order to get what you want.
And on both sides of the grave.
Lord Longford [in first visit with Ian Brady]: What can I do for you, Mr. Brady?
Brady [looks sad and troubled]: I’d like to find my way back to God, Lord Longford. Will ye help me?
Lord Longford [eagerly]: Most certainly, if that’s what you want to…
Brady: Don’t ye fucking dare. If ye start that pious mumbo-jumbo with me, I will jump across that table and bite out your tongue.
Of course, he's still no less a fucking monster.
Prime Minister: I remember you asking your country to forgive the Germans after the war.
Lord Longford: They were starving, Prime Minister.
Prime Minister: But so were we. It was 1947. There’s an endearing childlike quality about you, Frank. But no one wants children in the cabinet.
Any children in the Trump cabinet? How about Nazis?
Brady: I want to tell ye about Myra, whom ye no doubt believe is sincere in her religious conversion. Let me tell ye, that woman cares no more about God than she does about the piles in my arse. What she cares about is getting out! And she thinks you’ll help her. But the minute your back is turned, she mocks ye!
[pulls three letters from his lap]
Brady: For your silly hair… and your clothes… and your “self-important autobiography that’s only published 'cause his family owns a bloody publishing house!”
[pauses for effect]
Brady: What? She didn’t tell ye she was still writing to me?
Lord Longford: No.
Ian Brady: Oh, dear. She probably didn’t tell ye she was fucking that little prison officer either? A nun? They do it under the bed in the cell, apparently. Four times a day! She has a very high sex drive, our Myra. It’s the sort of detail ye might want about your new girlfriend. She needs it all the time… like a man, in that way. Like a man in other ways, too. She’s strong! That came in handy, as ye can imagine. When the kids were wriggling and trying to get away. Take my advice. Go about your other prisoners. Nice, uncomplicated ones with broken noses and knuckle tattoos. Stay clear of Myra, because she will destroy you. Certainly destroyed me. That’s a thought ye’ve not had before - that Myra egged me on. That without her, none of it would have happened.
[Lord Longford stands up to leave]
Brady [shouting furiously at Lord Longford’s back]: Listen to the tape, that’s my advice, if ye want to know what she’s really like! And when ye do, bear this in mind: that it was her that insisted they call us “Mommy-y-y!” and “Daddy-y-y!” Not me!
Let's also note here that Myra is rather attractive:
https://www.google.com/search?sca_esv=d ... 58&bih=618
In case "looks" might have been a factor here as well. I mean Longford is a man, right? If you get veggie's drift.
[Lord and Lady Longford are sitting up in bed looking at pornographic magazines, such as Mayfair and Slave, to decide whether they are offensive]
Lady Elizabeth: Frank, it’s harmless. Completely harmless.
Lord Longford: I disagree. These things are read by children at a vulnerable age. The boys on the bus can’t have been more than twelve.
Lady Elizabeth: And in our day it was just the same.
Lord Longford: Nothing like so graphic or as available. Look at it! Sexual arousal is Pavlovian - if boys grow up thinking that these kind of breasts or this kind of submission is normal, they’ll expect it in later life.
Lady Elizabeth: I’m afraid I’m with Marilyn Monroe on this. When asked what she thought about sex she thought for a moment and then said that she felt it was here to stay. And if it is, so is prostitution and so is pornography.
Yep, they're both still around.
Brady: Well, look who it is! Lord Porn! I told ye to leave her alone, Frank. And ye didn’t. And now look: half the country has ye earmarked as her lackey, the other half as a gullible fool. So I’m gonna tell ye again. Nice and slowly, so ye don’t forget it. Leave… Myra… Hindley… alone! Or she will do to you what she did to me. She will destroy you.
It's actually rather hard not to believe him. And I suspect it's because it might actually be true.
Brady: An hysteric! That’s what she is. Are ye familiar with the term, in its strict, clinical use?
Lord Longford: No.
Brady [very seriously]: An hysteric is someone who gives to people, reflects back to them, that which they believe makes them most acceptable…most likable…what they think others want to see. And Myra Hindley is a classic hysteric. It explains why to you, she’s a virtuous, church-going angel. To her co-prisoners and dykes, she’s a strong woman with a soft heart. And to me: she was a brutal sadist - and a cruel killer - with not an ounce of remorse in her.
Lord Longford [resisting the idea]: If she is this guilty, why did you insist on her innocence at the trial?
Brady: Because I loved her. How could ye not love a girl like that?
[Softly, gently]
Brady: Come on, Frank…don’t look like that. Ye know exactly what I’m talking about.
Lord Longford: No. I’ve spoken to the prison governor about having you reassessed as a mental case -
Ian Brady: Deny it, Frank. Look me in the eye, and tell me ye weren’t a little sweet on her yourself.
[Very softly and gently]
Brady: The knight on his white charger… riding in to save the damsel…
[whispers like a woman]
Brady: “Save me, Lord Longford… save me!”
Sure seems that way to me. And, from time time, it'll pop up here too.
Lady Elizabeth [to her daughter after visiting Hindley in prison]: It seemed to me that for years I have been merrily attacking your father for supporting her, without having the slightest idea what I was talking about. And I must say my eyes have been opened, rather. Ironically, the thing that finally persuaded me to offer her my help was the very same thing that had so made me hate her in the first place: the fact that she is a woman. Did you know there have been half a dozen similar child murders? The reason none of us has heard about them is because the killers in each case were men. And men, being sadistic violent killers, isn’t a story. Incidentally, in each case, the men have also been paroled. The reason that Myra Hindley is still in jail and has never been considered for parole, is because she is a woman. And for that reason she will always have my understanding…if not my sympathy.
"Another sucker" you're thinking.
Hindley: The police have been to see me. Brady’s talked to the press about the other bodies.
Lord Longford: What other bodies?
Hindley: Pauline Reade. And the Bennet boy. He hasn’t given them any details yet, but he says he knows where they’re buried, and before he grabs the initiative I’m going to come clean and tell the prison “I know”.
Lord Longford: But you know nothing about the bodies…you’ve told me as much yourself.
[Hindley stares blankly]
Lord Longford: What are you saying?
Now what, Myra?
Lord Longford: And you’re confession to God. Was that just a lie too?
Hindley: I’m trying Frank, to know the God that you know. But if you had been there, on the moors, in the moonlight, when we did the first one, you’d know, that evil can be a spiritual experience too.
Now what, Longford?
Lord Longford [on the radio struggling to bare his soul in public] Forgiving her has proven difficult, very difficult. Not for what’s she’s done to me, that’s neither here nor there; but for the terrible crimes themselves. Forgiveness is the very cornerstone of my faith. And the struggle to deepen my faith is my life’s journey. In that respect she has enriched my spiritual life beyond measure, and for that, I will always be grateful to her.
[trembling slightly]
Lord Longford: If people think that makes me weak…or mad…so be it. That is the path I am committed to. To love the sinner, but hate the sins. To assume the best in people, and not the worst. To believe that anyone, no matter how evil, can be redeemed…eventually.
Oh, he loved her alright.
Hindley [smiles fondly]: Rubbish! My hair is falling out, and I’m dying of emphysema.
Lord Longford: Well, you still look wonderful to me!
Hindley: Well, you’re blind.
Lord Longford: Nearly, yes.
On the other hand, is he blind enough?
Lord Longford: Had you been hanged, I would never have had the privilege of getting to know you!
Hindley [gazes at him with sadness in her eyes]: You really believe that, don’t you?
[he smiles at her shyly, and says nothing]
Hindley: Must be a rather nice place to be.
Lord Longford [he glances around them]: Where?
Hindley: Inside your head.
Why? Because whatever some believe about the world is all that is actually necessary to make it true.
-
iambiguous
- Posts: 11317
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
I don’t think this is a particularly well made film. But it does allow you to imagine the brave new world just on the horizon. Or, for some of us no doubt, a world that is already here. And it did garner a 69% fresh rating at RT on 29 reviews.
We all know that surveilance cameras are increasingly the rule when we are “out in publc”. And this will always bother some more than others. Especially with regard to “the government”. But then there is also the reality of stalkers. And I suspect that no one would be pleased with the idea of someone breaking into their home and installing audio mics and video cameras in, say, the bedroom or the bathroom or, well, all the other rooms too.
This takes stalking to a whole other level. He spies on her, gets to know all things she likes and dislikes…and then “accidently” bumps into her at the coffee shop. He lets her know that he likes and dislikes all the same things! Remember Healy from There’s Something About Mary? Only it’s not for laughs here.
The film seems to indicate the equipment to do this readily available at any electonics store…relatively cheap and not really all that difficult to install. And it doesn’t have to be a stranger either. It can be someone [anyone] you invite into your home for any number of reasons.
The conceit here is that we see these interactions from the perspective of the surrveilance equipment itself. What we see is what anyone who installs this stuff in your home [or follows you around when you leave it] sees. And all the while you are assuming you’re in your own private little world.
Alone With Her
Title card: "Every minute, 3 people become the victims of stalking in the United States. What concerns us most is that recent technology has created a golden age for predators to track and terrorize. Hidden video cameras, microphones and spy equipment can now be purchased for next to nothing and are available through the internet and retail stores everywhere…to anyone."
David Wiseman, U.S. Department of Justice
Some, of course, wouldn't have it any other way.
Doug: My wife and I need to keep an eye on our nanny while we’re away from home.
Sales clerk: Right. We have all kinds of household objects with built in cameras. Or you could do it yourself. You can hide this one in any room…you know, TV, clock radio, VCR, whatever.
Doug: How much is this?
Sales clerk: This one goes for sixty-nine dollars and it comes with the receiver.
Doug: Do I need a license or something?
Sales clerk: No, you’re good to go. It’s totally legal.
Totally!
Amy: It’s funny, you know. Scary.
Doug: What?
Amy: How much we have in common?
Little does she know.
Amy: I need you to leave.
Doug: I have done everything for you. When you…when you lost your job, when you hurt yourself, when you had nothing, I took care of you.
Amy: I know you did.
Doug: But you want to go back. To what? Huh? To being alone? To this empty room? To that brush?
[uh-oh]
Amy: What the fuck are you talking about? You said “brush”. My brush. What did you mean by that? How did you know about…
Practically her final words. And then it's The Collector all over again: he just moves on to the next woman.
We all know that surveilance cameras are increasingly the rule when we are “out in publc”. And this will always bother some more than others. Especially with regard to “the government”. But then there is also the reality of stalkers. And I suspect that no one would be pleased with the idea of someone breaking into their home and installing audio mics and video cameras in, say, the bedroom or the bathroom or, well, all the other rooms too.
This takes stalking to a whole other level. He spies on her, gets to know all things she likes and dislikes…and then “accidently” bumps into her at the coffee shop. He lets her know that he likes and dislikes all the same things! Remember Healy from There’s Something About Mary? Only it’s not for laughs here.
The film seems to indicate the equipment to do this readily available at any electonics store…relatively cheap and not really all that difficult to install. And it doesn’t have to be a stranger either. It can be someone [anyone] you invite into your home for any number of reasons.
The conceit here is that we see these interactions from the perspective of the surrveilance equipment itself. What we see is what anyone who installs this stuff in your home [or follows you around when you leave it] sees. And all the while you are assuming you’re in your own private little world.
Alone With Her
Title card: "Every minute, 3 people become the victims of stalking in the United States. What concerns us most is that recent technology has created a golden age for predators to track and terrorize. Hidden video cameras, microphones and spy equipment can now be purchased for next to nothing and are available through the internet and retail stores everywhere…to anyone."
David Wiseman, U.S. Department of Justice
Some, of course, wouldn't have it any other way.
Doug: My wife and I need to keep an eye on our nanny while we’re away from home.
Sales clerk: Right. We have all kinds of household objects with built in cameras. Or you could do it yourself. You can hide this one in any room…you know, TV, clock radio, VCR, whatever.
Doug: How much is this?
Sales clerk: This one goes for sixty-nine dollars and it comes with the receiver.
Doug: Do I need a license or something?
Sales clerk: No, you’re good to go. It’s totally legal.
Totally!
Amy: It’s funny, you know. Scary.
Doug: What?
Amy: How much we have in common?
Little does she know.
Amy: I need you to leave.
Doug: I have done everything for you. When you…when you lost your job, when you hurt yourself, when you had nothing, I took care of you.
Amy: I know you did.
Doug: But you want to go back. To what? Huh? To being alone? To this empty room? To that brush?
[uh-oh]
Amy: What the fuck are you talking about? You said “brush”. My brush. What did you mean by that? How did you know about…
Practically her final words. And then it's The Collector all over again: he just moves on to the next woman.