I get it now–she’s wearing a red hoodie because she’s little red riding hood. Except she’s the wolf. Which is to say that Hard Candy is every bit the taught psychological fable of abusers and victims and tables that turn which I expected when I first thought it was a movie by Andrew Vachss, who wrote a book by the same name but with a different set of victims and wolves and tables. There’s no relation, in fact, but I think Vachss must love this movie anyhow. It is ugly and brutal and filmed in a lingering and loving way that ratchets up the viscerally disturbing plot to the point where I was quite glad in the end that I wasn’t watching it alone at my apartment. And watching movies at my apartment but not alone…
That’s a relatively new thing which I’m enjoying very much. To wit, the lasagna was good, the scratches up my chest and arms are good, the need to drink lots of water is good, and well really aren’t there just so many good things in the world when things are good? Like Cory Doctorow and Ben Rosenbaum’s Novella “True Names” on podcast, and oatmeal with little cherries or raisins or whatever they were, and a boss who says yes, yes you should make all those things a priority, how about by the end of the month?
And lest I forget, preventative colon care. At least, I hope that’s good…
