Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Love in the dark, for we are the dark

During the languid and serene nights of February, I have amused myself with a curious pastime. The poor, obscure, plain, and little creature in me has been inflamed by the continuum of dark and spirited wanderers, come in the flesh on-screen. Regardless of the blisters and sores of Antoinetta Cosway, and the unfortunate habit of keeping lustful madwomen in the attic, I am drawn to the Rochesters: the predatory sexual prowess of Michael Fassbender (2011), the lecherous vanity of Toby Stephens (2006), and the melancholy irony of William Hurt (1996). The image of blotting out the moon and pulling down the stars comes as easy as snow.

No comments:

Post a Comment