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Monday, August 09, 2004
Written in front of the box of evil last night:
I am watching Psycho in French. It's the sort of movie I watched in bits and pieces. Last summer, I decided to watch it all in one go at the University Psychiatry Department's Mental Illness of the Month movie night. Watching it in French tonight, almost exactly a year after my first complete sequential viewing, I don't have to pay attention to the words. I can better appreciate the visuals.
Now this Antony Perkins. He is rather cute as far as black-and-white men go. Other black-and-white men are too fatherly for them to be much fun. Humphrey Bogart: he picked his nose in public. I can see why Ingrid Bergman left him in Casablanca. Then there's that creepy Gregory Peck. For all of Roman Holiday I was worried that Audrey Hepburn might take a liking to him - incestuous!
But this Anthony Perkins guy; even subtracting his boyish looks*, he's the kinda person I would like hanging out with. Youthful and slightly off-kilter. His face even turns skullish in the very last scene. What a decoration he'd be at my annual Day of the Dead party! And his hobby is taxidermy!
To his everlasting credit, Perkins wore a dress in Psycho. Not a sexy number, unfortunately; still a dress is enough to spark my own replay of that attack scene in something from the Sex and the City wardrobe. The wig is, in my fantasy, gone. Rouge is encouraged. Eye makeup not allowed.
*Despite his unappealing profile. And the fact that he looked pretty creepy as an old guy. Beauty is, indeed, fleeting.
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