Or, an Refutation of Wook
by Unspiek, the Baron Bodissey
1 May 2182
MY Dear Wook:
ZEBRA Storm, or her offended ghost, are insulted I have no doubt and wherever it is they may dwell to-day Beyond, by your cavalier and jejeune, anachronistic, reference in a recent soi-disant review of yours, to — ‘slash-films’. A cinematic creation of such peerless visual beauty and anguished exposition as Glut of Souls, Flux of Blood can only truthfully be assessed as the jewel in the crown, of the tragically-brief early-21st century post-modern American Hollywood-revival.
And yet you, you bounder and you boer, with that perdurant tireless frivolity of tone of yours, uniquely; and, in the tiresome accents of ever-judgmental glib facility which has forever-vitiated the popularity of the Wooks; you, Hound, blather on about a ‘slash-film’!
I Do not know which be deemed more the vexing:
Your fine ‘aesthetic feelings’ — taken altogether these are nothing finer than brass! — which you continuously vaunt in these detestable little critiques?
Or, your witless and un-blushing display at every opportunity, of an ignorance that is as shameless as it is thorough?
I mean in this context most of all your simple lack of historical and chronological information.
Truth now (that category so foreign to you, Sir!) of course requires that I tell you what, alas, is so:
I, myself, have seen only Zebra Storm’s heart-stopping Glut of Souls, Flux of Blood; and, alas, never — for sake of mourning all we have lost! — have I been able to bring myself to view its sequel:
Wedding Night of the Living Corpse in Love.
But, I do doubt deeply the latter could be classified as any sort of ‘slash-film’, either, Sir; and, certainly not by anyone other than an ignoramus of your sort, my good man:
BECAUSE, You fool, the ‘slash-film’ genre was a development of the 1980s –and not the 2000s!
GLUT Of Souls, Flux of Blood is, actually, a rather nice little film; and, its background be this:
The producer and director, O’Toole N Pyknic and Pagane Hand, did have an extensive background (as a team) in the field of ‘industrial documentaries’, which I take to have meant some sort of the pansexual erotica so popular at the time, that period of deep-space telescopy; and, even more profound and introspective, uranian, enquiry in general.
In the early 2000s Pyknic and Hand decided to attempt something a tad more artistic….
And thus, for only $30,000, they created Glut of Souls, Flux of Blood!
This is a true ouevre; and, it was undertaken en hommage to Resnais and Truffaut, those two icons of the brief francais retrouve movement. Working in this ‘retro’ french cinematic style, Pyknic and Hand filmed on location, in both Broken Hand, Iowa, and Terre de Bleu City, Minnesota [to-day incorporated in the Greater Iowa-cessions, as a consequence of Minnesota’s losses in the Bio-Mass Riots of 2019 — ed].
Enter Zebra Storm:
ZEBRA Storm was the sole thespian professional player.
She was appearing on Broadway when approached by Pyknic and Hand to play the lead in this, her first film — and, when at last her onstage-triumph, Sots, was at an end (held over twenty-three weeks!), she joined the film-company, post-haste and there in Thither Iowa.
THE Rest is artistic history:
THE Thunderous critical success enjoyed by francais retrouve — both as mode and apotheosis — is due solely to the credit, and the immense profound evocative talent, of Zebra Storm.
So great is her dramatic genius that of course the two films together, Glut of Souls, Flux of Blood and Wedding Night of the Living Corpse in Love, represent the entire (!) filmography of not only her career; but, of francais retrouve as well.
In the first of the only two films she ever made, Zebra Storm plays a woman who is dead.
UNAWARE Of her true condition — she has been electrocuted in her bath by a jealous lover, a teacher of jitterbug-dancing — Zebra Storm is followed around by cavalcades of horrid walking corpses. These appear to her in windows and pop continuously in her computer-viewscreen; they peer down loathsomely at her in the drive-through at the bank and abortion-clinic; they perambulate her bedroom at night; and, they dance ska and tango with her in equestrian and foetid Buenos Aires dreams, of encephalitic marshes under rotting yellow Moons. There is, everywhere, an odour of ruptured and gaseous, old, eggs….
Until, finally, the course of love runs true again; and, her jealous lover — he himself has fallen by accident into the electric bath, on top of her — finally gets her in the end. And, so, Zebra Storm is saved at last, from the leering informalities and odoriferous presumption, of her cadaverous retinue.
THE Other players in both films were all members of amateur theatrical companies; from the Broken Hand Methodist Church & Ahmadiyya Mosque, Inc; and, the Terre de Bleu City State Teachers’ College Parent-Alumni-Student Art-Metal 5-Dimensional League; but, with one exception:
The corpse that most often appears to haunt Zebra Storm, namely that of her abject and guilty lover, is played by her director, Pagane Hand. [His chief attribute and, indeed, only talent in all of this would seem to have been an uncanny resemblance, to the legendary tard-moderne, Vincent Price of antique memory and fame — ed] The most interesting location is an abandoned limestone quarry on the North margins of diseased and Indian-haunted Terre de Bleu City, brooding under its rotting mansard-rooves on the pestilential shores of the Minnesota river; and, where mosquito-pursued corpses come out at night in the moonless August glitter of red and grim Antares-light, to dance elfane spasms in the ghostly echoes of ancient rock & roll bands led by such long-ago Terre de Bleu City artistes as: Davey Steiner, ‘Riff’ Pengra and Billy Affolter. The adenoidal buzz in memory of Joe Arsenow’s 1981 evil saxophony is impossible of extirpation — and Ron Tougas’ oboe-work unspeakable!
The legitimate (NB) film-critic, not you this time, Wook, I mean of course Gerd-Erich von Barkhorn und Heideman-Hartmann, is of the opinion that there actually are no bad performances in either of the films.
And, that is the secret perhaps of the ironic, some would say ‘undeserved’, fate, of both films and of Ms Zebra Storm. For truly it is said to-day by everybody; indeed, it is the consensus omnium, nicht wahr? And, what is said, that universal declaration and agreement, it be this:
THAT Glut of Souls, Flux of Blood, and Wedding Night of the Living Corpse in Love, and above all the performances of Zebra Storm, herself; all of that taken together in some sort of utterly not-foreseen divine gestalt; altogether, these films — only the two of them! — and this player, only the one of her; they literally realised, and fulfilled all in joyous synchrony, every conceivable dream of the movie-maker’s art — with the astounding result that there have been no films (not even pornography) made anywhere in the World since 2011, since from within only two years after the release of the sequel, Wedding Night of the Living Corpse in Love and on being seen all round the World, was so cruelly completed the absolute demoralisation of an entire school of — art.
BODISSEY: The Reviewer & Historian of Culture
[Emmett R Smith all rights reserved 8 May 2007]