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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
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Bibliography
The Great Little Hunter
Pinspired Philippines, 2022
The Boy The Girl
The Rat The Rabbit
and the Last Magic Days
Chapbook, 2018
Republic of Carnage:
Three Horror Stories
For the Way We Live Now
Chapbook, 2018
Bamboo Girls:
Stories and Poems
From a Forgotten Life
Ateneo de Naga University Press, 2018
Don't Tell Anyone:
Literary Smut
With Shakira Andrea Sison
Pride Press / Anvil Publishing, 2017
Cupful of Anger,
Bottle Full of Smoke:
The Stories of
Jose V. Montebon Jr.
Silliman Writers Series, 2017
First Sight of Snow
and Other Stories
Encounters Chapbook Series
Et Al Books, 2014
Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop
Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013
Handulantaw: Celebrating 50 Years of Culture and the Arts in Silliman
Tao Foundation and Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee, 2013
Inday Goes About Her Day
Locsin Books, 2012
Beautiful Accidents: Stories
University of the Philippines Press, 2011
Heartbreak & Magic: Stories of Fantasy and Horror
Anvil, 2011
Old Movies and Other Stories
National Commission for Culture
and the Arts, 2006
FutureShock Prose: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures
Sands and Coral, 2003
Nominated for Best Anthology
2004 National Book Awards
Follow the Spy
Recent Crumbs
Blogs I Read
© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Friday, October 25, 2013
7:02 PM |
I Already Know Her Name
I kept thinking, while watching Kimberly Peirce's remake of
Carrie (2013): "Where are the boobs? Where are the boobs?" Not because I'm an asshole, but because Brian de Palma perfectly mined the metaphorical relationship between a girl's newfound telekinetic powers with burgeoning female sexuality. There are no boobs in this new version. There is no bite, either, although the film mistakes visceral CGI for dreadful terror. I love the humanity of the new Tommy though; Ansel Elgort is a far cry from William Katt's Ken-doll marionette in the original, and I love that Peirce tries to check the flaws in the narrative logic of the original. But in the original, the malevolence sprang from Piper Laurie's Christian fundamentalist monster-mother -- but Julianne Moore telephones in the role of Margaret White instead, and it is a disappointment to discover that her greatest depravity is the ability to cut herself. But the greatest flaw in this movie is the casting of Chloe Moretz, whose mien suggests plucky rather than bullied-upon. Because of that physical unbelievability, Ms. Moretz hides behind physical acting instead, going about the school with her shoulders haunched to suggest vulnerability. Sissy Spacek never had to do that. You look at her, and she embodies frailty. You look at her again during the beginning of the prom scene, and she embodies girlish delight, the transformation to swan a magnificent surprise for us. You look at her again covered with pig's blood, and she is a fiery fiend whose stare curdles your blood. Moretz tries to do the same thing, and you think, "This girl is cosplaying."
Labels: film
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
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