Posts Tagged ‘Sigourney Weaver’


September 4, 2012

Accepting then that the face-huggers embody: that is, fembody, male fears re: the re-integration of the phallo-cervical matrix – to wit, the atavistic retreat of the male and female genitals into an androgynous pre-natal state – and, moreover, that the product of this reunion of penis and vagina is not the genial, inert and asexual Sakishantu-type (translation: Mr Womb) popularised by the lyrics of the Geisha-Rock movement – but rather a voracious scuttling pair of labia wielding a retractable cock – accepting this, then, we can begin to read Alien as a cousin germain of the Succubus of European myth, Circe in The Odyssey and The Witch from Simon and The Witch. Of course, the casting of a female in the role of Ripley reminds us that the fear of the arachnoid pussy-penis is not an exclusively male fear. Yet it is women who go scuttling around and making unreasonable sexual demands of men so they have no right to complain.

Take for instance it should be added yesterday my wife of thirty-seven years leaped at me pelvis-first and attempted to form a tight seal around my mouth with her pudendum, evidently with the hope of using me as a host for her young. I endeavoured to struggle but years of scholarly seclusion have atrophied my body. Plus the musculature of her legs is unusually well-developed (it was this lower-body strength that allowed her to launch herself from the settee pelvis-first) so she encountered little difficulty in neutralising my arms and affixing herself to my mouth. “Phase 1 is initiated” she said. “Beginning the seeding process.” This continued for roughly 12 hours. I couldn’t be sure of course because my NHS spectacles had been dislodged from my upper facial area by a high-impact vaginal collision so I couldn’t check my watch.

A few days later my wife of thirty-seven years noted with irritation and disappointment that “the seed appeared not to have taken hold”. Shortly after she attempted once again to latch her pelvis on to my face. This time I was ready, however. I ducked, quick as a biscuit, causing her to sail through the living room, across the threshold of the hall and off to some point that I was subsequently unable to ascertain. I then locked the door and phoned the authorities. Thankfully, they picked her up before she could cause any real damage, and I was able to go back to writing earnest critical explications of films intended for children.

Bill Paxton ruminates about the phallo-cervical matrix in Aliens.



February 25, 2012

Woody Harrelson and Sigourney Weaver survey their 'stash' in Rampart

As a keen philatelist, as a vegan and as a male who claims to experience menstruation-sympathy cramps, I could identify strongly with Woody Harrelson’s character, Graham, in Rampart. In this film, Harrelson plays that rarest of creatures: a cop who is also a quiet man of conscience and a radical thinker. Graham enjoys nut roasts and can put forward convincing arguments for and against polyamorousness. He never lets his work responsibilities get in the way of his duties as a dweller of mother earth. In one taut scene, for example, Graham’s corrupt boss instructs him to beat up a suspect and steal his drugs. Graham, like a bearded vicar in jeans, replies that he would love to, but that he has to go and help some disadvantaged children sew turnip seeds on an inner-city allotment.

Graham once wrote a song about a cricket called ‘Mr Noisy Knees’.

His teacher said it showed real promise.

Harrelson is chiefly famous for his turn as ‘Dr Koulikas’ in Cheers. Before Harrelson joined Cheers, most episodes consisted of a pickled fatsack called Norm flirting with an uncomely postman, called Stan or Chief or something like that. It was pretty grim stuff, even by the standards of the alcoholic self-haters who constituted its target demographic. But as Koulikas, a barman living a secret life as a disgraced Greek doctor, doling out backstreet abortions like peanuts or pork scratchings in the tap room of the pub, Harrelson brought a tingling intensity to an otherwise insipid sitcom.

Now Harrelson can put Cheers behind him. His performance in Rampart will go down in cinematic history. Harrelson, as Graham, is an example to males everywhere. He shows us that we don’t have to punch women in their reproductive organs in order to earn the respect of our fellow men. We don’t have to eat meat or spread our seed far and wide like a defective piece of farming machinery. We can be sensitive and thoughtful. We can eschew the flesh of fowl and beast, and live instead on a hearty selection of lentil dishes and non-dairy quiche. At least I assume that’s what Rampart is all about. I wouldn’t know, of course. I haven’t seen it.