Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

The Horror of No Kleenex

Now where was I? Oh yes. Many things scared me as a child. The sheer cold, vastness of the universe. The fact I may have to get married one day to Debbie Toddle just because I'd accidentally chewed the top of her My Little Pony multi-colour pen - which, in Primary School, meant we were going steady.

And dirt naturally; I remember always having to have a blanket in the back garden to sit on when I was having my tea party, ne'er venturing off into the dirt for love, money or cookies. Of course my sister was always off yomping in the long grass, down the back of the garden to the muddy bit and and licking the underside of snails, but there I would be, pouring Earl Grey for Big Ted, Little Ted and Grupo their little Spanish 'friend' - a dynamic I'd modelled on the inhabitants of a bungalow up the road who's curtains much delighted me from a distance.

And for some reason my father was utterly surprised when I turned out to be a Gentleman Who's Good With Colours.

But the thing that put the willies up me much earlier than Richard Joules while we were in Detention, the thing that absolutely mortified me as a child was this:



Well, it was the Eighties, so nothing was more terrifying than those sideways pony-tails and polka-dot ra-ra skirts, but the above clip was the one thing that gave me more nightmares than any fluorescent fashion item. Up until that point, Superman III had been skipping along, all Richard Pryor and Pamela Stephenson, and then it becomes that. Utterly horrifying. The silly comedy sidekick gets completely absorbed.

I've been thinking why it caused me to wet the bed right up until I was, well, last week frankly, and it's hard to put my french-tipped finger on. I don't think its the dehumanisation aspect - Star Trek covered that, and with the arrival of the Borg Queen and Seven of Nine (or 'Norgs of Borg' as we took to calling the top-heavy assimilant. Honestly, that woman must live on back-pain tablets...) just made being cybertized a bit camp. There you are in a rubber suit with flashing lights, covered from your bald head downwards in glistening KY jelly... you can see where I'm going with this can't you? It's not scary, it's an average night out for some of my more 'fisty' friends.

Then saying that, the original Stepford Wives makes me very uneasy too - and you don't really see what those merry housewives undergo. So is it simply that I can identify with these characters more, and that what makes it real? I mean, I've seen terrible, terrible horror films and they do little for me. But combine horror with housework and I'm a gibbering wreck.

So back to Vera Webster and her cyber-transformation. Why so scary? It's because I could identify with her. She's the camp one. She wants it all. It's because of the fight she gave. The final scream. And ultimately, the frizzy hair and pale skin she has when she emerges.

And frankly, that's what's horrifying above all.



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Another addendum. Bob of BobzyerUncle fame is currently in the Big Blogger house and needs your votes. Now I like Bob cause he does a mean cocktail, so go here and vote for him. You'll get it all back in karma.

6 comments:

Let's Kill Saturday Night said...

That bit scared me shitless too. It was the red eyes.

Qenny said...

I afraid I snorted derisively at that moment, and wasn't at all scared. I'm butch, me.

Inexplicable DeVice said...

I know she'd been super-charged with electricity, but honestly, that hair.

What a fright!

CyberPete said...

What scares me the most is the hair.

The eyes are quite creepy too.

Oh and anyone who makes a mean cocktail gets my vote. Go BOB!

Skip said...

yup. terrifying. really, really in a "this film is for kids?" way.

tried to rewatch the film recently, but never got this far. it's awful.

kleverkloggs said...

Oo-er, and I've just seen a slightly dumpy Pamela Stephenson trying not to crack up as Sharon Osbourne wonders why she shat on her father's concrete monkey. A present from his mistress, or is that a detail too far.