Posts Tagged ‘eroticism’

Act of Faith and Jimmy’s End

November 29, 2012 Leave a comment

The question to start us off is what makes an image or sequence of images interesting to the audience. It could just be the content. No matter what the quality, if the mind invests the image with significance, it will be considered important. For these purposes, it doesn’t matter what form the image takes. It could be photographic or line-drawn, in oil paint or acrylic, old or new. It could be in a book or tattooed on to the skin. It could be spray-painted on to the wall of a public building or held in an encrypted file on a computer. The significance given to it is all that matters when the individuals with access come to judge it. Alternatively, the content may be invested with greater meaning because of external attributes. So we might consider preserved dead animals achieve a meaning that transcends their inherent reality simply because of the person whose name appears as an artist and the place where they are displayed. If the bodies were in an abattoir, not even Damien Hirst’s name could save them from being turned into food. But if they are designated an art installation and displayed in Park Avenue, they can take on a greater significance if that’s what the viewers want. Calling the whole, “The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living” is also seeking to provoke thought. Whether it actually needs the pickled sheep to make us think about death is a different matter. Turning to erotica or pornography, Umberto Eco suggests that a sign can be used as a substitute for something else. All we have to do is accept a social convention that an image of, say, a banana can stand in for the penis. This is a convenient process because it allows a discussion about normally “prohibited” issues by using a code. Language can be too obvious, crude if you prefer. Equally, images can be too explicit, i.e. they do not lie about their content but show it for what it is. So exploiting connotative meanings in words or images allows greater freedom to deal in shades of significance so long as all the viewers understand the process and can decode the intended meaning.

Siobhan Hewlett going through her ritual preparations


Having set the scene in typical academic fashion, we come to two short films made by Alan Moore and Mitch Jenkins. The two are linked by a common character, Faith Harrington played by Siobhan Hewlett. In the first, Act of Faith, we have an autoerotic asphyxiation potentially going wrong. The question, “What happens to faith?” is of course, theological. But an answer of sorts is provided in the second film, Jimmy’s End, where she appears in a distinctly different club environment which lurks as a kind of flytrap for people like James Mitchum (Darrell D’Silva). What makes this pair of short films so interesting is that this is Alan Moore setting out to use film as his medium of expression. He’s been remarkably dismissive of the various attempts made by others to translate his printed work into a cinematic experience. In a gesture of semi-anarchic purity, he’s resisted all efforts to associate him personally with the film-making, asserting it is pointless to take static images created as a comic book or graphic novel and recast them as moving images. For him to take his own money, write this pair of script for filming, and oversee production is therefore brave. It’s asserting his own aesthetic is superior to Hollywood directors and cinematographers.

Darrell D’Silva not quite at wit’s end but close


In part this comes from the content. He’s not competing directly. Mainstream Hollywood does not so overtly deal with the erotic. In the first, we’re shown a woman who’s stepped away from social life with her colleagues at work, who distances herself from her father. For her weekend entertainment, she prefers something a little more exciting. This, of course, begs the question why people do push beyond the conventional. It’s important in this to recognise the ritual being performed. The choice of clothing, the way in which the different items are put on, the style of makeup, and so on, are an essential part of the experience. Only when viewed as a whole do the parts come together to enhance the final climatic moments. This scenario forces the film-maker to play with the conventions of soft porn and voyeurism to establish the mind game being played. More importantly, the title shows the ironic intention because, by timing her arrival in that particular position, she’s literally putting herself in the hands of another. It’s a real act of faith because we all know how unreliable other people can be.

Alan Moore, Mitch Jenkins and Siobhan Hewlett coming together in the cutting room


Switching to Jimmy’s End we have a similar theme played out from the male perspective. Come the evening, a certain type of man goes out to a succession of pubs. This can be treading a well-worn path or an entirely random journey from sobriety to a state of mind in which he feels comfortable in going to a different part of town where he can find a different form of entertainment, perhaps involving women. He’s not a roué. In some senses, he may be debauched, but he’s not leading a life of sensual pleasure. There’s a form of self-imposed degradation about each night’s outing. The result is our “hero” accepting an invitation into a demimonde “club” environment in which he’s plied with free drinks, introduced to Faith and comes into the ballroom for the main event. He’s free to leave at any time but elects to become the main focus of the night’s entertainment. What’s clever about this is, first, that it’s understated in its depiction of shades of sexuality, while the subtext is that life can become as monotonously boring as all the catchphrases and jokes that are recycled into meaninglessness. What might have been fresh the first time we heard it, becomes tiresome and then part of the wallpaper. All the people we see in the club are bored, going through rituals out of habit and not in the expectation of enjoyment. We can speculate on why any one them is present. For the majority, it’s as if participation is not wholly voluntary. This behaviour has been woven into the fabric of their lives over time. For the few movers and shakers, there’s profit to be made from the needs of others. This may be malicious exploitation, a kind of louche sadism in exposing the vulnerabilities of the majority. Or the relationship may be more complex.


Without being overly “arty” or trespassing too far over the boundaries of good taste, both films represent a pleasingly idiosyncratic view of sex and sexuality, using the conventional signifiers to make some interesting comments in the subtext on the potential for boredom in the routine of sexual behaviour. Although some of the cinematography is slightly static and posed, this is partly because we’re not engaged in a classic narrative being told through the usual visual conventions. The camera is being used in a more dispassionate way to record events and to comment on behaviour by highlighting features of significance. It’s very successful at this length, but more stylistic variation would have to be added if a full-length feature film was to avoid creating its own clichés. That said, both films are a testament to a different eye being brought to bear on film-making conventions. Alan Moore and Mitch Jenkins are to be applauded for demonstrating real professionalism in all aspects of the film-making process. If Hollywood was prepared to trust Alan Moore, it would be interesting to see what kind of film would result.


Both films are available to view on Youtube:
Act of Faith
Jimmy’s End


Confessions of a Five Chambered Heart by Caitlin R Kiernan

July 14, 2012 4 comments

When you look at the world of dark fantasy or horror (depending on the way you apply labels), it’s sad there are so few women who get the recognition they deserve. I suppose if we stretch the boundaries, we have to include Anne Rice among the really well-known. Of the “midlist” crowd, my personal favorites are Poppy Z Brite and Lisa Tuttle. All of which is probably not the best way to begin a review of Confessions of a Five Chambered Heart by Caitlin R Kiernan (Subterranean Press, 2012) but I thought I should make the point that the mass market is not given the chance to appreciate the quality of the dark fantasy or horror fiction that women write. Whereas the men are heavily promoted, women are not picked up by the mainstream publishers and so are less well-known. This denies the majority the chance to read work by Caitlin R Kiernan and others. Not only does she produce such good prose, but her work gives a fascinating insight how fiction written by a woman differs from the male version. In this collection, we also see a conscious effort made to blur the line between the “dark” and the “erotic”, i.e. to make explicit what many of the male writers tend to leave implicit. Those of you who know Caitlin R Kiernan will understand she has an insight into the spectrum of gender and so her fiction tends to approach sexuality and eroticism from less usual directions. This makes her work all the more interesting to read and, once again, we’re indebted to Subterranean Press for supporting her work.

“The Wolf Who Cried Girl” is an elegant story about the socialisation process. No matter how they first present as children, we intend to transform our young into adults we can be proud of. For the elite who are strong and the average, this works reasonably well, but when the non-standard have to contend with the prejudices of the peer group and authority figures, it’s very difficult to stay true to the inner personality. Those with gender issues are only too aware of this problem. This is the story of a wolf who’s magically transformed into a girl. Hospitals and counsellors attack her instinctive feral identity, forcing her to assume the appearance of a woman. Her decision to have sex with a man proves the final step in the magic driving the process of social change. The voluntary acceptance of the new identity is inevitably the surrender of the old. Except, of course, wolves never like to surrender and always fight to the end, particularly if they believe they have been tricked. The reverse is “Unter den Augen des Mondes” in which a female werewolf finds herself a prisoner and unable to transform into her human body. Living as a caged animal, all she can hope for is the opportunity to kill the man who taunts and abuses her.

Caitlin R Kiernan

We then have a genuinely macabre allegory. “The Bed of Appetite” makes literal the cliché that people can be consumed by love. This inevitably involves one or both parties accepting some reduction in their individuality. They give up their freedoms, accept new responsibilities. But, as the relationship moves towards termination, what will be left of each person? “Subterraneus” is a simple but powerful Lovecraftian story. “The Collector of Bones” reminds us of the idiom that some people talk you to death. These three stories also consider the difference between dominance and submissiveness depending on the gender role. “The Bed Of Appetite” is particularly interesting because the woman begins to write the story, but it ends as the man dictates. “Beautification” continues the theme of submissiveness and self-sacrifice, except it’s not at all clear what benefit will accrue to the woman from this sacrifice. “Untitled Grotesque” returns to the world of gender mutability in a story of voyeurs where it’s important to understand who’s watching whom with the greatest interest. At least, in “Flotsam”, there’s an obvious pay-off for the submission. The victim longs to give blood to a vampire because it’s an ecstatic experience. Unfortunately, the sexual high emphasises the dominant loneliness and frustration because the donation comes only when it suits the convenience of the vampire. “Concerning Attrition and Severance” completes this small section by moving us from voluntary submission to sadism for the greater enjoyment of the sadist and her watchers.

“Rappaccini’s Dragon (Murder Ballad No. 5)” shows us that, with good preplanning, revenge can achieve the desired result, while “The Melusine (1898)” demonstrates that if you live in the moment, you can suddenly find your rational defences overwhelmed as love beckons. But if you hesitate, the magic is lost and the mundane rationality of the world reasserts control. “Fecunitatem (Murder Ballad No. 6)” asks if you have a close relationship with nature, will a death of your own choosing lead to a different view of the world? Perhaps a seed might take root and prove you as fertile as the rich earth. Moving into science fiction, “I Am the Abyss, and I Am the Light” describes a process whereby a human and an alien surrender their individual personalities and merge into a single being. In so doing, the individuals become something different, neither human nor alien, but a third species. During the process, both overcome the inherent loneliness of being one individual in a body, never knowing what others around them are thinking. Through this surrender of individuality, they accept each other in a form of relationship that’s intimate and permanent. Similarly, “Lullaby of Partition and Reunion” suggests that true love implies the two people will intermingle, will fuse both physically and intellectually — even become soul partners like siamese twins albeit with different parents.

“Dancing With the Eight of Swords” thinks about a serial killer who, while alive, believes the voice of another is guiding every action. Would it not be remarkable if, upon death, the killer might find a different way of relating to that voice, perhaps even of breaking down barriers to become a single individual who can make her own choices. “Murder Ballad No. 7” raises the possibility that, if a man could see past a glamour to the fairy below, he might be considered worthy of being a mate, albeit only within the fairy ring, of course. “Derma Sutra (1891) offers a Lovecraftian potential for two coming together through the application of various tattoos and the use of words from Ancient Books, while “The Thousand-and-Third Story of Scheherazade” is a nice inversion of the original Arabian Nights to keep a different relationship going. “The Belated Burial” suggests an intermediate step in the metamorphosis from dead human to vampire. “The Bone’s Prayer” reinvents the old trope of the message in a bottle and wonders how a small piece of soapstone with signs of the Elder Gods carved on to its surface might serve the purpose. “A Canvas For Incoherent Arts” has a couple playing S&M games based on sensory deprivation. What does the submissive partner become when she’s actually afraid? “The Peril of Liberated Objects” is a powerful Lovecraftian acceptance of dreaming as a form of voyeurism, showing an unexpected price paid out of sight. “Pickman’s Other Model (1929)” was reviewed in Black Wings. “At the Gate of Deeper Slumber” continues the Lovecraftian theme with a wonderful box that offers the use of a portal if only you have the courage to open it. Finally, “Fish Bride (1970)” completes the frame of the first story. A woman is slowly going through the metamorphosis to become one of the Deep Ones. Unfortunately, she falls in love with a human man. As her gills begin to show and the call grows stronger to join her mother in the city beyond the Devil Reef, she realises the loneliness that awaits her without the man she loves. Here acceptance of the process produces the mirror image result but without the option to pick up a knife and strike with any meaningful purpose.

Confessions of a Five Chambered Heart is a collection of densely written stories, often with challenging content. As such, it rewards those who take their time to engage with the author and think through what underpins each story. Because of its frankness and some eroticism, it will not be to everyone’s taste. This is a shame because, regardless of the superficial descriptions, the underlying themes transcend physicality. Almost without exception, the stories are about the mind and how it relates to the world around it through the agency of the body. Yes, some of the stories are disturbing, but is one of the functions of art not to disturb, to challenge our safe view of the things around us we perceive as mundane?

My opinion on Lee Moyer‘s contribution to the cover design provoked some debate so I’ve written a more detailed critique of the artwork at Cover Design For Confessions of a Five Chambered Heart. For reviews of other work by Caitlin R Kiernan, see:
The Ape’s Wife
Blood Oranges (written as Kathleen Tierney).

A copy of this book was sent to me for review.

%d bloggers like this: