Good morning and hello. Last night I went to see iHamlet and today the
contents of the play are gone and also inside me. This is not a review
this is a response don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Hamlet is an incel – the ur-incel – and Elliot Rodger won’t stop talking
about how attractive he is and Ophelia is guttural on the floor in a
hospital gown held together with bull clips – there are clips of bulls,
too. Ophelia is also Gertrude and also Electra and pregnant with a
balloon and covered in lipstick squealing like a pig.
The first lit-bro the first softboi the nightmare of the toxic man
clinging with loving vicious to his mother as he crushes her.
Peter Price is back but someone stretched him and now there are
indeterminate numbers of boys in turtlenecks with round glasses talking about postmodernism and I feel very not a lot. You caught me watching something disgusting and I am embarrassed and defiant and would like to go home now.
Desensitised CGI Steve Jobs a lot of German people (they are always
German) spit that Rosy would have drunk if they let her.
“It will be either a gorgeous, nauseating spectacle that will make you
want to crawl back inside your mother’s womb, or an abject failure. In
either case it should be worth the price of admission.”
Not gorgeous, somewhat nauseating, perhaps a spectacle, not hugely
interested in my mother’s womb, not an abject failure either. Kristeva
would love that. An incomplete stab at incompletion, an apt stab from