I read only a few pages of Catch 22 this week. They dealt with the chaplain, and his required attendance at (and subsequent exclusion from) the officer's club. I really don't have much time to read these days, between homework, bowling, friends, not sleeping, and whatever else I tend to do with myself.
Last year, I found a book called That Callahan Spunk! in the juvenile section at the library, which charmed me for obvious reasons. I ordered a copy from eBay. I've yet to read any of it, but I'd like to get started soon.
My most notable cultural consumption this week came in the form of a film called Cannibal Holocaust. The brainchild of Italian filmmaker Ruggero Deodato, "Holocaust" tells the story of four young American filmmakers who enter the South American jungle to make a documentary about a tribe of cannibals. For no apparent reason, they decide to torment the natives upon arrival at their village, attempting to burn them alive before having sex among the charred corpses, while the survivors look on. Other scenes depict rape, genital mutilation, dismemberment, and all varieties of fun for the whole family.
I've never been bothered too much by fake things happening to actors in movies (in this case, I just found most of it pretty stupid). What bothers me is when a director believes that his film, no matter how virtuous (or, in this case, terrible) it may be, justifies the actual death of one or more animals. I was offended by Au Hasard Balthazar, in which Robert Bresson felt that his "masterpiece" of disjointed metaphors was worth the shooting of a donkey. Unfortunately, Deodato seemed infinitely preoccupied with killing as many animals as he could. A pig meets a quick death, being shot by one of the Americans. A monkey, a large turtle, a snake, and a tarantula are all viciously hacked apart with machetes. I don't believe any film could justify that. If it exists, it certainly wasn't this one.
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