The Company of Wolves


I started watching The Company of Wolves but stopped because there was a frightening clown or doll or something in it. Whatever it was, it did a real number on me, I can tell you. Anyway, here’s a review of it in the form of a sex education lesson.

Ahem. Yes. Your biology teacher is ill today with a touch of ebola so she asked me to fill in for her. Now let’s see what’s in the lesson plan. Ah… oh dear. Sex education. I… well.. this isn’t really my field. But I suppose I we shall have to muddle along all together, won’t we? Ah, she left a video. ‘The Company of Wolves’. Ok. Let’s watch that and I shall provide a running commentary explicating the latent, ahem, sexual content.

Ok. Note the use of soft-focus camera effects. Some of you may already have experienced this. As you get older your eyes become more blurry as a result of reproductive sap spilling out of its pouch and flooding into your eyeballs. It gets worse as you get older. I can’t see a thing. But it’s perfectly normal.

Now, listen to the music. Listen to that mysterious grinding electric guitar solo. Many cultures attribute aphrodisiacal properties to music. The Mundu Mundu tribe of North-East Antarctica in fact name all of their instruments after sexual organs. What we call a guitar, they call a ‘Stringy Bollock Plank’, and what we call the moog synthesiser, they call a ‘Noisy Clitoris’. Yes, Darren, you may well laugh. But think how we look to them, sitting around with our gormless mouths flopped open watching a film about a girl running around a forest. Pretty silly, Darren, pretty silly.

Right. Now it’s really getting interesting. Look at the wolves, class. Look at the wolves. The wolves symbolise the hairy toothsomeness of unbridled desire. See how they paw the forest floor like perverts. See how they howl at the moon like randy, uncouth builders. Yes, Darren they do want to eat her. But many cultures attribute aphrodisiacal properties to being eaten by wolves. The French, for instance. It is well-known that Charles de Gaulle was cured of his impotence after a feral hound chomped off his pinky finger. He went on to father fifteen children by seventeen different women, and out of gratitude awarded the feral hound the Croix-de-guerre, which is the highest honour that can be bestowed upon a Frenchman.

Anyway. I’ve run right over time. Oh dear. We’ll have to continue the discussion next time. For homework I want you to read this pamphlet on the sexual proclivities of robots. See you tomorrow.


3 Responses to “The Company of Wolves”

  1. Banjo Fett Says:

    Sir! Sir! Jenkins has spilt quark all over my pamphlet, can I have another one? At least… I think it’s quark, sir…

  2. John Le Baptiste Says:

    ‘Biles, why are you such a freak? Pass it on.’
    ‘Biles, why are you such a freak? Pass it on.’
    ‘Biles, why are you such a freak? Pass it on.’
    Biles: ‘Shag off you creeps’

    ‘If…’ – my favourite film, if only by virtue of the fact it is the only one I have ever seen.

  3. Banjo Fett Says:

    Gah! The one film you’ve seen and, guess what? I haven’t. I shall rectify.

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