Thursday, 5 September 2013

Why Vertigo Is A Satire: An Essay

Vertigo. The come-churning journey of James Stewart as he spirals through a nightmare of sexual frustration along with the film, right down to the unbearable clitmax. An orgy of gorgeousity so splendid that halfway through it, my appearance actually changed slightly, and I changed my name to ‘Madeleine’. An odd experience, I know. But bare with, this is all part of the satire. A satire so intricately crafted that nobody – not even the greatest of film scholars – have realised it’s a snickering lampooning work of satirical sublimeness. The vertigo shot in of itself is a satire of the very act of sex - as it penetrates the frame. The fact that nobody else sees this, or even can sense the elements of the satire oozing beneath the surface, is all part of the satire itself. Herein lies its genius.

The first time I saw Vertigo, I actually developed a fear of heights and began to stalk a woman to unimaginable ends. I became plump and large, started talking in a dry English accent, only wanted to have sex with blondes, and for some reason all of my chums named me ‘The Master of Suspense’. That’s right. Vertigo is such an intensely psychological, physical, spiritual and physiological experience, than when you watch it, you experience metamorphosis. After seeing Vertigo, I became Alfred Hitchcock.

And yes, this is all part of the satire.

However, the film is so effective, that one of my crushes at the time: a woman who I oft imagined stripping down to her mere ‘undergarments’ whilst masturbating whilst in a pastoral field in England - is actually pretending to be somebody else. I masturbated to a lie, wanked to a deceit, rubbed off my orgasm projector to an object of mere pseudo-existence. That’s right. Not only was I Alfred Hitchcock, but I was also the character ‘Scottie’ from Vertigo – in fact, I didn’t just transform into ‘Scottie’…oh no…I transformed into James Stewart himself.

Again, it all adds to the satire.

You may not think it does, and in fact, you may completely disagree with me about this film being a masterpiece of mockery – but, like I said before: that is the point of the satire itself.

It’s so effortlessly satirical that nobody actually classes it as a satire. This is of course symbolic – and if you think it’s not, then it’s a metaphor about somebody not understanding a piece of symbolic imagery – and thus a symbol: a ‘post-modern symbol’, if you will. And a satire.

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