Friday, February 22, 2019

Kenneth Anger's FIREWORKS (1947)


How ev'ry damned emotion one could feel
Comes forth in thirteen minutes, I can't tell.
In that short span, the viewer's fed a meal
Of imagery, some raw, some cooked too well.
Deep shadows, lush and secretive, invite
Our exploration, then, as though a spell
Is breaking, stark and strong and sere and white,
The body beautiful is put through hell.
Sometimes it disappears, a landscape, or
An abstract pattern takes its place. No cell
Or tissue has been substituted, nor
A shred of clothing. Laugh? Too soon t'will quell
Your humor with some horror. Frame by frame,
The dreamer's dream can never be the same. 

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Guillermo del Toro's THE SHAPE OF WATER (2017)

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