Darren Lynn Bousman
There are no such things as snuff films. However, there is plenty of footage floating around of people who have fallen down elevator shafts or lost their face in a mortar attack. And, like a heavily made-up transsexual in a New York bar at last call, in a pinch those will do the trick. All this is to say that if you need to masturbate to someone dying, there are better ways that watching Saw 3.
The relationship between violence and sex is not an undeveloped one, and it's long been used by conservatives to forge a link between pornography and sexual assault. The mix of endorphins and adrenaline that rush through the system when violence is presented is very similar to the one most people get during sex, or I experience when I ejaculate into my clenched fist and then punch my 3 year old son. So, it must be an enhanced state of arousal that prompts people to make and consume films like the Saw series. Empty of anything but a confused sense of Old Testament morality and an insatiable blood lust, this series must be the product of inflamed genitalia and subsequent brain damage from blood loss. It can only be a culture that reduces women to objects and sexualizes children that must relieve itself through glorification of cruelty and debased torture. There's clearly no other message here, since the series has devolved from punishing drug addicts and rapists to tearing out people's tongues for spitting on the sidewalk and mispronouncing "schedule". Jigsaw, the film's villain, has devolved from a sort of Puritanical avenger to what would happen if the Punisher took offense at moving violations, and his triviality extends itself throughout the film, which is more obsessed with set-design and mechanical torture contraptions than anything resembling a plot. If this were a porn film, it would be 20 minutes long and comprised entirely of gaping vagina close-ups edited together to a Drowning Pool song.
And who's to blame for this pornographic orgy of violence? Women, probably. I mean, if they didn't dress so provocatively, audiences wouldn't be forced to sublimate our sexual urges into cheap, exploitative, judgmental trash like Saw, and I wouldn't go through quite so much GBH. The cruel moral tone that the film takes, blatantly glorifying the killers' Draconian moral code, could only be a response to seeing Janet Jackson's breast at the Super Bowl 2 years ago (check date). Ever since women got the vote, they've been showing more and more ankle in public, and that bare skin is no doubt to blame for filth like this, born of pent-up arousal and swollen genitalia. All those 17 second Britney Spears blowjob videos, Lindsay Lohan nipple reveals, drunken Tara Reid panty shots, and looped sequences of the rape scene in The Accused have reduced our culture to rabid, oversexed perverts whose only outlet for repressed arousal is watching someone get their eye blowtorched as punishment for passing gas at a dinner party. After all, it’s fine, moralistic movies like this that show us how wrong it is to be human, and how fun it is to punish people for it. Consequently, as films like Hostel and the Saw series have taught me, the only way to end such sexuality-cum-graphic-violence is to staple women's vaginas shut and cut the skin off their cheeks so they don't look so pretty no more. That way, we can take violence off of the screen, and save our children from being traumatized and scarred. Well, our male children, at least.
Underage? Read a PG-13 review at The Comic Book Bin. Then come over to my house and let me watch you touch yourself. Girls and effeminate boys only need apply.
Labels: Horrific misogyny.