Take a moment to vote for Kate of Make Do Style, whose delightful short film deserves to make the cut at the Paris film festival, presented by Diane Pernet… vote here, right now!!

xoxoxo

Okay, so Andrew Krasnow is an ‘artist’ whose medium is human skin.

His ‘work’ is made from the skin of White men who have donated their bodies to science. Apparently, the left over skin can be purchased at auction. Eoow.

Anyway, Krasnow’s ‘work’ is controversial. But it will be on exhibit in July at the GV Art gallery in London. I’m sure there will be quite a turn-out. The gallery owner notes that Andrew “uses skin to make the point that suffering is universal. It is tanned using the same process that you’d use for an animal skin.”

Krasnow says his work represents his opposition to war and bla bla bla. He also makes lampshades out of skin, to make the statement that bla bla bla. Yep, lampshades.

Can we all agree that Andrew Krasnow is a fucking cunt?
~

On the subject of human skin, but this time involving Actual Art, tonight I saw the French horror film Eyes Without a Face for the first time. If there’s anyone left who hasn’t seen it yet, let me say that it lives up to its reputation. Shocking, haunting and poetic, it also nearly made me throw up. Don’t watch it right after dinner.

“Late Fragments” is the first fully interactive dramatic feature film, and it’s now available on DVD. I read about it at Schema Magazine, ‘an online platform about ethnic cool in the new Canada.’   I don’t know what the new Canada means, but Schema is a great source of interesting pop culture news.

Late Fragments has three storylines: A male stripper struggling with past trauma, a mother dealing with the loss of innocence of a child, and a father trying to reconnect with a son. Together, they offer thousands of pivot points.   As you choose which storyline or character to explore, you discover more nuances and delve deeper into the poignant stories.

Apparently, the unifying theme is Restorative Justice.

Despite all my sexist posturing (which includes a vehement disapproval of male strippers) I am all ready to choose my character…The Traumatized Male Stripper.   Who among us could refuse him?

A friend gave me a heads-up to watch a documentary on BBC America called “Love Me, Love My Doll.” It focuses on some men who have ‘fallen in love’ with their life-sized dolls.   Let me say, this is nothing like “Lars and the Real Girl,” which has been ruined for me now.

After watching the documentary, I googled it. All I could find were other people who had watched it on TV and were somewhere on the spectrum between creeped-out and traumatized.

Watching it in our separate houses, my friend and I texted frantic messages back and forth, like “Oh god!” and “There is no hope.” One of the guys was really scary, because he owned some impressive firearms. If you’re reading this, scary firearms guy, we were only scared because you are so fucking AWESOME!

The men do seem to ‘love’ their dolls, who have names and personalities. The personalities are kind of compliant, if you know what I mean.

The documentary includes a visit to the factory where the dolls are made, and sold for $8,000 to $10,000. You can choose from several styles of pubic hair, and each doll comes with a “douche ball” for easy cleansing.

Had enough? Sorry.   If you want to know more, here is an essay about it at Salon.com.

On a lighter note, but also tragic in its own way, in a scene where a guy applies lipstick to his beloved doll before sending her off to be repaired, I actually recognized the lipstick!!!!   It was “Tabloid” by Prescriptives, a nice deep blue-red that has been discontinued.

The movie is based on a true story. In 1965, a mother of 7 in Indiana took in two young girls as boarders. One of the girls became the focus of the woman’s demented rage, and ended up being tortured to death.

This plot seems timely, given the news from Austria, but there is nothing to be gained from this film, in terms of understanding the forces that can pervert human behavior.

The worst thing is that according to the film and factual accounts of the crime, a group of children took part in torturing the girl. It became an after-school sport to visit the basement and abuse this helpless, broken teenager.

I want to know why ordinary children would do this. I want to know why a filmmaker would chronicle this abuse without offering any insight or consolation. I want to know what the actors were thinking when they took on this project. And I want to be warned before a film this thanklessly brutal appears in my living room.

I could have stopped watching, but I was desperate for catharsis. I felt certain that there would be a payoff of some kind. Silly me. The use of torture as entertainment has no obligation other than financial profit.

If you ever suspect a case of child abuse, don’t hesitate to report it. It won’t matter if you’re wrong, at least you’ll know you tried to help. Look out for each other. And beware of this fucking movie, no matter how much you like Ellen Page.