Sorry for the delay, I know I owed you this one some time ago.
This happened around the time First Blood was released in South America, so maybe around a month or three after the US premier. Faux Hippy Feminist was in college at the time and we had grown a bit distant because of her militancy… scratch that, full-blown acceptance of the Socialism Kool Aid. We would still see each other when the gang got together and spend a night at outdoor cafes to shoot the shit and consume pastries and coffee in industrial quantities (being young and not gaining weight…I miss it.)
One night we were talking movies and Faux Hippy Feminist announced that an “avant garde” theater was going to offer a week with the best European movies from the top European directors. I guess my face showed the “I rather have my nuts chewed by a badger” expression and she came at me with the challenge of “don’t knock it till you try it” and dared me to go with her for the whole week. I took the challenge since that happened to be a week when our family business was scheduled to be down for machinery maintenance. I knew I was going to have a crappy time, (I never tried setting my tongue on fire, but that does not mean I have to try it to see if it is going to be stupid and painful) but I took it as a challenge to be conquered.
Now, there was and is good cinema produced in Europe. It is minuscule and derided by the local critics who have way too much influence on ticket sales over there. Italians have great comedies and Brits can do action damn well (plus they speak weird but understandable English) and I had seen some of those with enjoyment. I knew I was going to see some weird stuff, but I kept an open mind and rose to the occasion. What a mistake. The only film I remember the title from that torture week was “Divorce, Italian Style” and mostly because two words: Sophia Loren. The rest were are gratefully forgotten from my memory, thus avoiding the need for therapy.
But the climax came on the last day of the exhibition with a movie that royally pissed me off. Again, I don’t remember the title but it is about a middle age man who falls in love with young boy… and I mean around 6 or 7 years old. This guy drops everything in his life, family included to follow the wandering boy’s family and have a chance to be with the cherub. The movie ends with what felt like 200 minutes of a shot of an old style crank camera on a beach during the sunset.
We left the movie, went to a nearby cafe and sat to discuss the film with some of her friends that have joined us for that film. I kept my mouth shut as I had been doing for the whole week, but internally I was pissed. Then, it happened: One of her Faux Hippy friends asked (with that intellectual tone of voice) my opinion of the film and my answer was something along the lines of “I wish I had gone to see First Blood again instead of wasting my money on this shit.”
The cafe went silent, I think one waitress passed out of the sheer horror and at least three people on the table pee in their undies a little. Faux Hippy Intellectual finally came out of his trance and chided me loudly for daring to compare First Blood with the jewel of cinematography we just watched. He went on to extol how well the movie portrayed the angst of the unrequited love of the guy and assorted other bullshit till I had to cut them off.
“I did not know you were in support of pederasts.”
Faux Hippy Intellectual froze. You could see the gears inside his brain-pan trying to engage, but they kept slipping. I continued.
“Wait, none of you assholes have figured out that the ‘hero’ of the movie was simply a child molester? And that the director saw fit to portray him under a good light?”
“But.. but he did not do nothing!” was Faux Hippy Intellectual’s reply.
“Because he could not get the chance, you fucking moron!” (my voice might have been loud at this point.) “What do you think he was going to do with the boy when had a chance to be alone with him? Play Parcheesi? He would have popped that kid in the ass 5 minutes after they were alone!” (OK, I am not subtle)
“And another thing.” I continued. “What was with the last scene? It had nothing to do with the movie. Maybe the asshole director ran short of the film’s time during editing and had to add a B-shot filler figuring out nobody would understand and had to come up with bullshit artistic interpretations?”
Again, silence. I threw a bill on the table and left the place. Back then I was a less patient man than I am now and if somebody would have tried to come up with an “intellectual” explanation, I would have decked him on the spot. As you can imagine, Faux Hippy Feminist never spoke to me again. Apparently she was not only insulted of my insulting of his friends and herself, but was rather pissed she had to take public transportation back home since I was the only one in that table with a private conveyance and gave her the ride to the theater.
No, this is not a stock photo from the Interwebs. This is really Faux Hippy Feminist as she looks today. I am keeping her name secret, but the image is needed to confirm what we know about feminists. She did graduate from college and became a Psychologist.
I decided to look her up for giggles-sake and I am not surprised that she is a Hard Core Chavista and defending the government of President Maduro of the fuck ups of both him and the late asshole Chavez. I read a long-winded blog post in which she says that the Venezuelan people are not really physically hungry but it is all int heir minds because they got used to eat food designed by the US Empire and that if they go back to the basics, nobody would starve to death…. no shit, she said that.
But looking like a fat bitch, I figure she has access to the government special stores filled with all kinds of foreign goodies. If I remember correctly, she was a fiend for Toblerone chocolate, I bet she is chugging them by the pound.
And that is the story of Faux Hippy Feminist.