Adrien Brody is a great actor. He plays every part he takes with an amusing seriousness, and The Pianist made me cry, a lot. Unfortunately, with the exception of that film, his greatest gift seems to be picking the worst scripts ever created.
I just wasted some more of my life watching Splice, a 2009 film that was offered free on BT Vision. That should already have been a hint, but I was suckered by the appeal of the faithful eyes and the big nose.
It’s absolutely amazing that not only did the writer/director succeed in attracting Brody, but apparently succeeded in getting funding for a film that included expensive special effects. These were required due to the main characters’ bright idea of breeding a mutant IVF baby. In spite of purportedly being scientists, and having obviously never read Frankenstein, they create this “splice” between their own genes and the artificial organ-donor animals they are being paid to breed. Very originally, this all happens in a random basement which is always dark. The resultant feminine creature initially elicits a maternal response in the female scientist, but then she increasingly resents it as it grows (at supernatural speed, conveniently), and her husband is clearly attracted to it in some bizarre way. When it reaches adolescence, Adrien Brody – who is ostensibly its father – has sex with this thing with breasts and a long pointy tail. It then transforms into a male adult, kills its “father”, and rapes its mother. The final scene shows the widowed female scientist signing her baby over to the genetics lab she works for.
So what we’ve learnt in that movie is that it fills that essential niche between she-male porn, sexual violence, Freudian family dynamics (with lots of phallic symbolism thrown in) and science. That was obviously something which has enriched our cultural lives; not something marketed exclusively at the 18-34 year old single guy who fancies an evening off the hardcore. It’s available for download on Netflix and Lovefilm, and is apparently quite popular.
Having recently finished Fifty Shades of Grey, I increasingly wonder why I don’t ever just write something and see if I can finish the stories I think of to dull the boredom of running. They can’t possibly be worse than either such a formulaic film, or such an utterly reactionary book. Seriously, millions of women are buying a book about a very rich 40-year old whipping a naive young girl because his mother was a crack whore, which makes his sadistic proclivities and controlling behaviour not just acceptable, but really sexy. Because you know, a woman’s role is to understand men with psycho-sexual issues, and try to help them out of some deep-seated desire to hurt other people. Not to call a cab, bolt out the door and have him arrested.
Whatever creative endeavour I try to foist upon the world, it cannot possibly be worse.
Related articles
- Splice (mrmovietimes.com)
- A “Splice” of Life (darcknyt.wordpress.com)
- The 5 Craziest Ways Famous Actors Got into Character (cracked.com)
The resting writer 
I can only encourage you to go on pursuing that plan. Start with short fiction, then go the long way. I do like your writing, although I’m not sure if I’m really objective in your case. Like in Germany there must be competitions for writers in England. Take part in those which catch your eye and interest. The rest comes along with it: meaningfulness, the end of the story, whatever. Taking part in the competition gives you a deadline and the will to stick along with the story…
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