Anathema

When you have mommy issues and decide to make it everyone's problem

Yea yea okayyy get Edward Norton his fucking flowers

Come to think of it, this movie is actually so fucking insane. My most favourite thing about the horror genre is that it's so incredibly fluid that you can play around with it and experiment and mould some kind of entity, whether that be metaphorical or literal. I saw someone saying that over the years transness and queerness has been used as a horror factor to disgust the viewer, whether the transitioning is from a human to a creature or from a creature to a human or even from a human to a human. But this movie completely flips that on it's head and shows how *not *transitioning can be equally horrible and horrific. It's embedded in the human nature to be scared of seeing something or knowing something about yourself and not being able to do anything about it. But, I argue that it's even more dreadful when you are given a choice to do something about it. When you can choose to either ignore it and repress it deep deep down in your soul, or experience the inevitable horror of being different. Choosing the latter entails standing out from the crowds and being noticed and being hated for the fact that you are different. But choosing the former means that you WILL end up like owen; burdened with stagnancy and constantly apologising for being helpless. The real horror of this movie is trying to avoid the unimaginable gloriousness of becoming your true, complete self. The real horror is that so many of us would rather pretend that our insides are hollow and empty, than accept that what lies inside us is different from what the average eye is used to. The horror is that we'd rather turn the tv off, we'd rather pretend that it's not real and live our smooth, blue life in the suburbs. I saw the tv glow is not just 1hr and 40 mins of beautiful visuals or mind-twisting dialogue, it speaks to something deeper that is buried inside all of us and it urges us to let it shine. This movie urges us to face the horrid yet gratifying process of becoming ourselves.

The spirit was there, the execution maybe not that much