The Picture Changes

Queen Mother (Neil Hague)

LONDON — The British government is seeking to abolish an 18th century royal succession law that requires the daughter of a monarch to make way for her younger brother, a Sunday newspaper reported.

Solicitor General Vera Baird was quoted by The Sunday Times as saying the 1701 law giving male heirs the right to succeed to the throne ahead of any older sisters was unfair and "a load of rubbish."









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Closing off the last few escape-routes from the Gynogulag. Ensuring there can be no future "mistakes."



You said you'd never compromise
with the Mystery Tramp but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
and say: "Do you want to make a deal?"

("Like a Rolling Stone")



She's invisible now, even as Rilke dreamed in Duino Elegies. Close your eyes the right way, she might appear.

Mute, magnetized, hurtling toward some Bogartean great Attract Tor.




Uncle Sweetheart: Don't they understand who Jack Fate is?

Nina Veronica: Nobody knows who Jack Fate is anymore. Nobody cares. I mean, he doesn't make records. He doesn't go on tour. He doesn't do interviews. He doesn't do anything!

/

Sweetheart: He doesn't have to, he's a legend.


As blathered last outing, I Am Legend and recent related films, VALIS-like, sneak vital information about current real plagues into the western collective unconscious, for gradual assimilation. One cannot battle something collectively agreed not to exist.

Thus a malevolent "plague," civilizational devolution, etiology carefully undefined.


Legend's protagonist is Robert Neville (Will Smith) -- a combo of the modern individualized human Will, and the collective masculine -- the perennial, everyman, common Smith. A counter-Crowleyan, a blacksmithy if you Will.

Chunk on the I Am/Yahweh associations, after Dick's The Divine Invasion.


Virologist Smith remains behind in New York's Ground Zero, Manhattan (more broadly, diseased Earth) seeking a vaccine from captured zombees. He's separated from his "true family" (possibly killed in copter crash) but later connects with a "foster family" for whom he must die to ensure their escape from quarantined Manhattan, and subsequent delivery of the blood-vaccine to a Vermont survivor colony. (Nina Veronicamont? lol)



The "foster" mother and boy (Anna and Ethan) find Neville in Manhattan, having escaped contaminated Maryland (Land of Mary, reinforcing the plague's matri-nature.)


While neither infected nor carrier, Neville/Smith is nevertheless "contaminated" or polluted by his blasted psycho-spiritual environment, struggling to maintain basic humanity, under assumption his family is dead, and the entire planet is contaminated and doomed. His relationship with his German Shepherd is reminiscent of Harlan Ellison's masculo-primal A Boy And His Dog, denounced by feminists as misogynistic.




Smith in I Am Legend is cosmogonic, much like the Star

Father at the end of No Country for Old Men: making possible and launching a new civilization, a new heaven and earth hinted at in Legend's closing scene.

The secret of Smith's mission, like the inner nature of the "plague," tiptoe across the screen in the first few minutes, while the viewer is still unsettled, distracted, slightly unconscious -- thus most vulnerable to influence or suggestion.

The film's initial image is the Warner Brothers logo, "WB" emerging from the peculiar, sorta spooky, yellow-orange "backlot sheds" or quonset huts backdrop. As the usual "timewave effect" ripples across the sheds, the offscreen voiceover begins, of two baseball announcers. The Warner Brothers logo is replaced by the Village Roadshow Pictures, Weed Road Pictures, and Overbrook Entertainment logos, in succession.


All standard, except for the voiceover, which fades-in and picks up mid-sentence:

Announcer #1: . . . Spring Training Camp, and he's definitely got the inside track. Word is that they're having some problems with injuries.


Announcer #2: Really. And, uh, are they looking into free-agent signings, last-second, anything like that?

Announcer #1: Possibly. They've got a strong Farm Club too. They've got some Triple A ballplayers they might be bringing up. But, again, Peter would certainly be able to tell us a little more about that in the next half-hour.

Curious opening for an apocalyptic narrative, hm?



The announcers chat a bit more. We are normalized and disarmed. Then, the hammer falls.


The moderator, transitioning, comes in:



Thank you, guys. And that's not all we're following. Here's Karen at the Health Desk.

Cut to image of a black female TV anchor, speaking:


The world of medicine has seen its share of miracle cures, from the polio vaccine to heart transplants, but all past achievements may pale in comparison to the work of Dr. Alice Krippen.




Cut to middle-aged white female, with a lopsided half-smile.


Anchor: Thank you so much for joining us this morning.


Krippen: Not at all.


Anchor: So, Dr. Krippen, give it to me in a nutshell.

Krippen: Well, the premise is quite simple. Um, take something that is designed by nature and reprogram it to make it work for the body rather than against it.


Anchor: You're talking about a virus?


Krippen: Indeed, yes, in this case the measles, um, virus, which has been engineered at a g-genetic level to be helpful rather than harmful. Um, I find the best way to describe it is if you can imagine your body as a highway, and you picture the virus as a very fast car, being driven by a very bad man, imagine the damage that car could cause.


Anchor: (agreeing) Um.


Krippen: Then, if you replace that man with a cop, the picture changes. And that's essentially what we've done.

Anchor: How many people have you treated so far?

Krippen: Well we've had ten-thousand and nine, um, clinical trials in humans so far.



Anchor: And how many are cancer-free?



Krippen: Ten-thousand and nine.

Anchor: So you have actually cured cancer?

Krippen, smiling: Yes, yes. Yes, we have.

(Pilfered Shamelessly from Rigorous Intuition)

The screen immediately goes black, we hear a deep, ominous roll, then the screen opens on contaminated New York City, three years later, deserted except for zombies and Robert Neville.



Neville recorded and replayed the interview. Krippen and Anchor Karen, like almost everybody else, is either dead or Panfried Zombie.



As our last post discussed, I Am Legend's plauge is relational, not bio-physical -- what Camille Paglia called America's "maternal psychosis." This plague inevitably separtes male from female, male from children, and humanity from both sanity and God.



Seems Dr. Krippen and fellow cultural engineers -- with advice of ever-helpful Madonna Serpentum -- cured the planet of the "global threat," a.k.a. masculinity. Result: wasteland.



Latest in Ill i noise. West Salem, in fact. Nearby Mount Carmel also mentioned.


It's the New Ma Dread [pronounced MAD-rid] Fault! Oh-nooooo! :O)



The Good Dok Tor doesn't "give it" to the Anchor Lady "in a nutshell." Krippen is the nutshell, representative Nut. She's Infested A-lice, Kultural Re-Engineer of masculinity and fatherhood, self-deified replacement for God. As Anna represents Erich Neumann's Nurturing Mother, Kripen personifies the Terrible Mother -- our western matriarchies.



Feeding on the penetration-anxieties (and desires!) of females, and on the chivalrous protection-response in males, Krippen invites the Anchor and her audience to imagine the [female/planetary] body as a highway, and the virus as a very fast car driven by a "very bad man."

Not a bad woman, to be sure. No woman is illegal.



The sexual innuendo, with its fear-inciting, agitprop subtext, would be perfectly at-home on any t.v. screen in the modern Western world. Profitable, too.


As Dr. Krippen warns, without proper "reprogramming" and "engineering" why, that bad "car" gets out of control. Imagine the damage that car could cause, she intones, as we all nod agreement.

Baaaaa.

Dr. Krippen's panacea:

Then, if you replace that [very bad] man with a cop, the picture changes.


Krippen is played by Emma Thompson, a British actress discussed by Fairhall in his "The Butterfly Net":



An (uncredited) cameo by Emma Thompson, for example, as the scientist responsible for the carnage is poignant for her being one of several celebrities named as a reptilian-human hybrid in Jennie Gosbell's highly unusual book, The Reptilian Informant.



'Synchro-mystically', this fact yields poetic confirmation that the 'real' virus is no mere germ, but a state of being equally contagious and potentially much more deadly: the 'reptilian (or predator) consciousness.'




Her character, the aptly-named Dr Krippen, is clearly inspired by the notorious Victorian murderer Hawley Crippen; the distinctive spelling, however, and the hard K-sound, is a well-known reptilian 'fingerprint', based on the fact that its hieroglyphic equivalent was drawn as a serpent (cf. Meredith Kercher.)



Again, the skeleton key to this film, the transformative invocation, is Krippen's statement: Then, if you replace that [very bad] man with a cop, the picture changes.


Careful attention to the above line of dialogue on DVD reveals that she actually says somthing quite different, and that as listerners, we have unconsciously "filled-in" the "proper" word, picture.



In reality, rather than picture, Emma Thompson -- almost like Doctor Jekyll's "good side" -- utters the words bitch who. The phonics and pronounciations are almost identical . . . but it is there. Replay for yourselves and see.


And that really changes the Planetary Picture. Not to mention the enitre ontology of the West.



Now, Krippen's revelation reads: Then, if you replace that [very bad] man with a cop, the bitch who changes, that's essentially what we've done.




Indeed. It is.



An amazing, almost completely hidden confirmation of the true plauges infesting the modern West. Bravo Lawrence and Co.!!


Suddenly, the film's thematic underground, vast, opens out before us, and all subsequent drama and events take on new light and resonance.

Madonna Serpentum (John Meluch)

Bitch who changes infers shapeshifting sorcery, reptilianism, lunacy/lunarity, and the triune-goddess -- very much as Fairhall intuited with his Emma Thompson riff. Man is "replaced" with a planetary "cop" -- "the bitch who changes."




[BTW, another Emma involved in "Hollywood sorcery" is Emma Watson, the chief female protagonist of the Harry Potter film series. Born in Oxford.]

Chelsea, Hillary, Dorothy Rodham: On the Campaign Trail

Ms. America, Psyko-kop.







U.S. To Expand Collection of Crime Suspects' DNA




Guess which gender is arrested in America, and whose DNA will be collected?




Hint: not Chelsea's.




If Dr. Krippen's Bad Man is, somehow, found innocent after Arrest and Collection, he can petition Dr. Krippen and Company to expunge his record and de-collect him.




Good luck.




Recall the "penetration threat" in Dr. Krippen's spiel?




Jayann Sepich of Carlsbad, N.M., said she applauds the federal rule change. In August 2003, after Sepich's 22-year-old daughter, Katie, was raped and killed, investigators found her attacker's skin and blood under her fingernails. But no samples in the state's database matched the evidence.

In 2006, moved by Katie Sepich's death, the New Mexico legislature passed "Katie's Law," requiring the collection of arrestees' DNA.



Katie's Law, Megan's Law, Vanessa's Law, etc. Homeland Security.


How was the government's "new rule" on taking DNA from all arrestees shoehorned in? By the same laboratory-tested technique of appeal to America's Innocent Female/Evil Male religion: in this case, the multi-billion dollar War on Maleness called the Violence Against Women Act. (What!? You're not FOR violence against women, are you!?)




The database expansion was authorized by Congress as an amendment to the Violence Against Women Act and was billed primarily as a way to track down serial rapists, murderers and other offenders.




Sounds good, doesn't it? Mama's Law. Dr. Krippen Knows Best. All in the name of protection and safety.



As our Airwave Announcers comment when I Am Legend begins, if Neville/Smith ends up on the Injured Reserve List, well, they draft someone from Triple-A ball or free agency.




Earth, however, is not interchangeable with anything. There are no substitutes. While relations between human female and male are ill, Earth is ill. If those relations reach a critical mass, it's lights-out. There are no alternate remedies. Only reluctant arks.




There's a long drive... it's gonna be, I believe...THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT!! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT!


--Russ Hodges, Shot Heard 'Round the World