D-Nasty: "Wednesday, November 12, 2003
Eros and Thanatos in L'affair Hilton
by Bergmann Endresson
Noted Film Critic, Swede
The cold black of night is penetrated by an alien tone, played upon an inhuman scale. It pierces through the quiet slumber that is the inheritance of honest men.
As when Psyche dripped her voyeur wax upon the forbidden face of love, a sprightly nymph stirs, and all is a flutter:
'Let me get my phone.'
Paris Hilton's first line in this magnificent post modern statement is more conditioned response than free will. Like Pavlov's doggy, she is powerless to resist the cold intrusion of the technological sprawl that devours countrysides, bathrooms and budoirs with the same unyielding hunger. McLuhan promised us a Global Village, but nowhere did he say that it would be a tax haven, and on this evening the throbbing circuitry of a connected world demands the sacrifice of a media virgin. But she is not without an advisor. In this film Ms. Hilton acts opposite Rick Solomon, media mogul, giver of corporal knowledge. Yet he is more, and in a poignant moment of self-loathing which defines the entire encounter, Solomon blasphemes the very technology upon which he has built his empire:
'Fuck your phone.'
Svengali. Lothario. Luddite? Solomon's character thrusts deeply not only into technological contradiction but also into magnificently complex Neo-Purtanism, defending the sanctity of the marital bed from the light of truth and the becks and calls of the public just as he violates that very same realm with a handheld camera. It is in this union of night and photography that the film itself becomes organic, and the handheld camera an extension of Mr. Solomon's own masculinity. Autofocus indeed."
Eros and Thanatos in L'affair Hilton
by Bergmann Endresson
Noted Film Critic, Swede
The cold black of night is penetrated by an alien tone, played upon an inhuman scale. It pierces through the quiet slumber that is the inheritance of honest men.
As when Psyche dripped her voyeur wax upon the forbidden face of love, a sprightly nymph stirs, and all is a flutter:
'Let me get my phone.'
Paris Hilton's first line in this magnificent post modern statement is more conditioned response than free will. Like Pavlov's doggy, she is powerless to resist the cold intrusion of the technological sprawl that devours countrysides, bathrooms and budoirs with the same unyielding hunger. McLuhan promised us a Global Village, but nowhere did he say that it would be a tax haven, and on this evening the throbbing circuitry of a connected world demands the sacrifice of a media virgin. But she is not without an advisor. In this film Ms. Hilton acts opposite Rick Solomon, media mogul, giver of corporal knowledge. Yet he is more, and in a poignant moment of self-loathing which defines the entire encounter, Solomon blasphemes the very technology upon which he has built his empire:
'Fuck your phone.'
Svengali. Lothario. Luddite? Solomon's character thrusts deeply not only into technological contradiction but also into magnificently complex Neo-Purtanism, defending the sanctity of the marital bed from the light of truth and the becks and calls of the public just as he violates that very same realm with a handheld camera. It is in this union of night and photography that the film itself becomes organic, and the handheld camera an extension of Mr. Solomon's own masculinity. Autofocus indeed."
Comments