Toot nr 666.
quite a few Satanic movies are close to my heart, so I'll admit I agonised about this for days.
Now that all the evildoers of history seem to be toppling off their pedestals, here's one about a dude who climbed onto a massive pedestal, of his own accord, to practise a very ostentatious form of self-confinement.
Simon of the Desert, my favourite of Luis Buñuel's amazing Mexican flicks.
first time i had sleep paralysis i'd been reading "1984" in high school and the phrase "we will meet in the place where there are no shadows" came to me in the dream. someone whispered it in my ear while i was sleep-paralysed. then two low piano notes, played jauntily alternating, started playing from a spot of light across the room from me. i was too scared to take my eyes off the spot until the sun started to rise and i saw it was ambient light reflecting off a shelf.
I'm Kevin Chevalia in 1993 adventure comedy film Homeward Bound, and my sense of humor is abandoned bulldog Chance who has to ford rivers and toboggan down waterfalls and shit to cross the country to reunite with me. Hope homeboy makes it.
sometimes i think about to when netflix was still primarily known as a DVD service and streaming as an entity wasn't really a thing, and how i used to run an illegal horror stream channel of all the really gruesome indie flicks. if you were ever on /x/ and watched Human Centipede with other x-files in the early 2010s, you might have had that inflicted on you by me 💀
Drive Your Plow over the Bones of the Dead.
By Olga Tokarczuk.
With the inner and outer landscapes of Kenzaburo Oé's Silent Cry still fresh in my mind.
What a treat.
In a shared laundry room, I'm the person who wipes under the rubber lip of a front loading machine before using it. Mostly I catch coins and hair clips or the odd cigarette lighter or pellets of wet paper. Usually the grossest stuff is soap scum or hair. Today though? A rusted nail, two rocks, and a tooth. In a horror movie, that means something horrendous is under the floorboards and I have seven days to live.
non-explicit mention of a couple explicit movies
shoutout to whoever programmed Kechiche's Blue and Noé's Love back to front to mercilessly reveal the latter as the tritest of all living macho filmmakers. The music alone is broish beyond description. Not to mention the vogue-mag bodies, the vacuous characters/dialogue, the nike-advert camera angles...
Underground usherette in suspended animation.
Generalist Hometown instance with a strong focus on community standards. No TERF, no SWERF, no Nazi, no Centrist.