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fiat_knoxMum might have liked watching that cowboy movie in front of me. She might have been trying to keep me company.
But the scene I just watched had Jimmy Stewart put his arm around a girl, looking as if he was going to try and seduce her very clumsily. A Native American just calmly wanders out of the dark, war paint, full tribal gear, and gets cut down by a revolver.
The woman, who recognises the decedent, begins mourning the dead native. The cowboy, aiming the gun, barks at her to shut up (presumably he would have added "that fucking vile heathen chanting to Satan!" if this weren't shot in the 1950s).
Misogyny. Racism. Disrespect for the other guy's religion. The dead guy could have been coming out of the shadows to challenge the older man's attempt to rape his girlfriend, for all I knew. Same deal. It looked like some guy steps in to stop a monstrous lech trying to take advantage of a girl, gets cut down and then the killer desecrates the dead by forbidding anyone to offer the proper respects.
In the end, I had to ask Mum to leave. I like her company, but I am not going to sit in the same room as one of those broken, failed, misogynistic, racist hangovers of the Nineteenth Century romanticised and sugar coated in the last century.
I hate Sundays, gone. Always, something seems to happen on a Sunday that makes me squirm to my fucking soul.
But the scene I just watched had Jimmy Stewart put his arm around a girl, looking as if he was going to try and seduce her very clumsily. A Native American just calmly wanders out of the dark, war paint, full tribal gear, and gets cut down by a revolver.
The woman, who recognises the decedent, begins mourning the dead native. The cowboy, aiming the gun, barks at her to shut up (presumably he would have added "that fucking vile heathen chanting to Satan!" if this weren't shot in the 1950s).
Misogyny. Racism. Disrespect for the other guy's religion. The dead guy could have been coming out of the shadows to challenge the older man's attempt to rape his girlfriend, for all I knew. Same deal. It looked like some guy steps in to stop a monstrous lech trying to take advantage of a girl, gets cut down and then the killer desecrates the dead by forbidding anyone to offer the proper respects.
In the end, I had to ask Mum to leave. I like her company, but I am not going to sit in the same room as one of those broken, failed, misogynistic, racist hangovers of the Nineteenth Century romanticised and sugar coated in the last century.
I hate Sundays, gone. Always, something seems to happen on a Sunday that makes me squirm to my fucking soul.
