PLAGUE DIARY 91: SKY WRITES REVIEWS OF OLD BAD HOLLYWOOD MOVIES TO KEEP HIM SANE DURING THIS TIME OF HORRIFIC INSANITY

Knife in the Water (1962)
This is art; which I know sounds pretentious. But — Just. Stop. Crucifying. Roman. Polanski. I don’t care what he did, it has nothing to do with his work. Can I tell you what Shakespeare did? He accused his wife of a bearing a child by another man, which killed her. He also murdered a man by accident, and he imported an Italian castrato to England, to diddle. (This is, of course, if you think Shakespeare was Edward de Vere, The Earl of Oxford). Never mind my parenthetical speculations. Do you think a nice man wrote Macbeth or The Sonnets? Do you know that the word ‘black’ meant ‘evil’ to Shakespeare? And the word ‘nothing’ meant ‘vagina’? (i.e. Much Ado About Nothing?). If we jettisoned every artist who was an asshole there would be no art. And since we’re on the topic, who is actually not an asshole? I’m an asshole, and I admit it. Everyone is an asshole — and people who don’t admit they are assholes are the biggest assholes of all. In real life Roman Polanski has a tendency to objectify teenage girls and manipulate them. That is not good. But I don’t know if he is evil, because I am not God. Speaking of crucifying — there are at least two scenes of  Knife in the Water when it is implied that the young hitchhiker is Jesus. 1. He lies on the boat in a bathing suit (you can see all he’s got) with his arms spread in a crucified fashion. 2. He hangs off the boat and moves his feet in a way that makes it look as if he is walking on water. (I’m sure there is another instance, as these things tend to come in threes.) I cite Polanski’s references to Christ because it is typical of the poetic nature of this film, and that’s what makes it art. This film has no message and is deliberately confounding. It is about something, though — sex. All three protagonists are very sexy, and spend most of their time  in bathing suits on a boat. The moment the older man and his girlfriend decide to pick up the young hitchhiker in their car, the rivalry between the two males is tangible. It’s sexy too, which Polanski is completely aware of. One gets the feeling that if these two men weren’t fighting each other they would be screwing. The hitchhiker is blonde and has impeccable cheekbones. One can assume that to some degree he is a stand-in for Polanksi himself, because Polanksi ended up dubbing his voice over the young actor’s (inappropriately mature sounding) voice. Or we may not assume that at all; with Knife in the Water one should not assume anything. In one of those idiotic IMDB reviews somebody says ‘surprisingly, no violence.’ How stupid can a person be: there is absolutely no overt violence in Knife in the Water, but this is an incredibly violent movie. From the moment the knife appears we expect someone to get stabbed, and though no one does, they might as well have been. This is the kind of film that makes me think heterosexuality must be unbearable for the participants (I’m sorry to condescend to heterosexuality again. Or maybe I’m not.) And Polanski is completely aware of this ridiculousness. The girl that the older man and the hitchhiker appear to be vying for is technically speaking, quite attractive, that is, when she takes of her spectacles. But riding in the car wearing cat’s eye glasses perched on her nose, with a tan that looks pasted on, and black curly locks pasted down, she looks more doll than human — which you can attribute to Polanski’s perversion — but I would attribute to his genius. (The misogyny in this film is observed and intentional, not accidental and incriminating.) Polanski wants us to look at how heterosexual men behave around women, how insane they get. He does not draw conclusions; he just wishes us to see it. I, of course know nothing about heterosexuality. However I was bending over behind a fence this afternoon in Montreal, and I have no idea really why I wasn’t arrested. Yes, I was doing the dirty, if you can imagine, smack in the middle of day, because the bars are closed, and the bathhouses are closed, and a guy like me who needs those places ends up in crazy positions doing crazy things just after lunch. Some guy in his backyard on the other side of the fence was varnishing a table, and I certainly didn’t want to ruin his day by making sex noises. The problem was  that making sex noises was exactly what I wanted to do. So the whole thing got somewhat aborted. But it was an awful lot of fun at first. This time I am telling you this embarrassing detail for a reason —in order to set my record straight on heterosexuality— in other words, I want you to know that we fags do ridiculous things too. it’s sex, after all, that drives us to do crazy things, not sexuality. But I also want you to know something else about my day. I sat on a Montreal balcony tonight with someone who I love very much and I’m not supposed to talk about, but I’m going to talk about — and we hugged and kissed in a way we haven’t for awhile. This person is the stuff of poetry, and he slyly seemed to be asking why I hadn’t written a poem about him lately — because, it’s true, I used to to — all the time .And I said, and I was not lying: it’s because I don’t write poetry anymore, as no one will publish them. But it’s also because he told me not to write about him. But tonight he said; “That was then, this is now.” So maybe I will write a poem about him again. Sometime soon. Or maybe that’s what this is trying to be. For I will say, one reason he wanted me to write about him is because --you might not be aware --that although crazy sex with strangers is kind of a habit with me, I am also very much in love with one person only. And if that seems strange or unbelievable to you, well, I’m not going to say something condescending. But it’s like Knife in the Water —it’s just there, and it’s kind of scary, and it means a lot of things, but it’s also lovely. And that is the definition of art. And if that still sounds pretentious -- I’m not going to be one of those bad teachers who tries to tell you what it all means. The greatest service I can offer you — or anyone else — is to rest in a place of conflict and confusion, because, paradoxically; that is the only place tranquillity lies.