Imagine someone you’ve hated saying that sentence and it making you seethe…
Especially when you have built your entire fake case against them on your belief in what you decided they did not have fiscally.
And when you have willfully spread the affliction of that communicable brain infection rotting you onto others …to stand in for proof of the righteous grounds your supposed disdain of them stands upon.
Nevermind all that you repeatedly saw of their actual behaviour that quietly showcased wealth. It couldn’t BE richness. That’d read as an aberration to your telling of tales.
You’ve still forcibly processed everything you’ve seen of them through a premise of poverty that you carry no Matter how much you have in the bank and thought gave you license to openly & loudly use the horrible personality you’ve cobbled together to point derisively at them after a lifetime of decisively whoring yourself to folks in ways that you have never come to terms with.
“…at least I’m not not poor… like them…”
Money is just an amplifier.
When you looked at them and what would be amplified if they were “loudly” flush with cash…and compared it to what money amplified in you no matter your subterfuge, after all the lies you’ve told on them …
It never was that they didn’t have money that your fantasy of supremacy depended upon.
You never saw what you’d really sold for money until you saw them not having to follow suit to breathe, like you keep telling yourself that you have to. Finding those who ” look like them” who Do think they have to sell what you sold still brings you no peace, either.
You look around at everything in your life that you have ‘obtained’…at all you’ve done for money…& you fucking despise yourself to the point of suicide on a routine basis.
You have been calling them the very bywords you look around at your looming life and feel about everything in it. Because the prison is a prism.
That’s why they bear no hatred for you, only comprehension.
You’ve mocked how they don’t have the homes you do… yet you fuck and suck off a willfully filthy man who has always made a show of delighting in how you are nothing but bought for, a sex worker to him to dismiss or demean whenever he wants, loathing every dappled thrust of him against you… to “have all of”. ..it.
“at least I’m not poor like her~”
The curse walked out becomes complete only when you see him wanting to wake from the nightmare of you he actually bought part & parcel into because he too was playing a part , passed down from fucked up dads… and you do everything in your power to keep him trapped within it.
You “know” you’ll never be able to be free psychologically due to the real reasons you chose that… life(which have nothing to do with him) , & you damn him for even the passing thought…of the possibility he finally could be free.
Every gift ever given to you has been a transactional bandaid over some conscious violence or violation against any true richness in your life, literally purchased to placate you after sucking the very marrow out of your bones like an energetic vampire.
& your parents prepared you for none of it. You were raised solely to be a transaction whose tricks were traded upon to enrich them too…and it freaks you out to see it more clearly the older they and you get , still turning said tricks in newer tents.
Not one of the problems you swear up and down you have with the person saying they’ve been rich the whole time has A N Y T H I N G to with a dime in their pocket, whether they are actually “loaded” or ” broke”… in wordly terms.
& what’s worse is your fixation on the money in their pocket or not sings of sawdust your lucre has become to you that you do all you can not to look at.
Your current rage at them using the word rich to describe themselves comes from now angrily looking at them with the word “rich” on your tongue, instead of “poor”…against your will.
…and seeing where they actually “stack up” according to the rules you’ve lived by in that column makes you livid.
But…Not only have you not once faced how those very rules have royally fucked you long before you tried to pin those stupid, prosaic rules to them… you’re still acting out in anger due to the bona fide Fear that anger is really about.
I have a sneaking suspicion that the reality is many do not understand that… this… is what Poor Things…is actually about.
When the circle closes and Bella “goes home” you don’t just “see” why she jumped.
If you listen straightforwardly enough to the actual dialogue you hear & understand that she was wholly complicit in it, for real or for play, in exchange for access to “opulence ” alongside her partner.
It’s at the dinner table.
He calls in the maid with the broken arm carrying the soup…and sics the dog on her.
When the “baby brain” of the monster he impregnated her with doesn’t laugh at the cruelty he makes an aside that she used to be right there in the cruelty with him, laughing with his terrorizing, in cahoots. Bonded via the bad behavior.
It makes one take a casual glance back at how her “return” was received by the staff. The flinching in the hallway. Which flashes back to Bella stabbing the corpses in the lab. The brain of that child was monstrous due to the hearts & lives of both parents that initially conceived it. & it also speaks to nobody in London seeming to bother looking for her “rich lady ass” obviously due to the monstrosity of a woman she was alongside him, complicit with him in every scheme.
The female arc of the character of Bella & how she got to that… bridge… isn’t about emancipation at all. It’s an expression of eternal returns.
It is about what you have indentured yourself to having to come full circle. One way or another.
& the archetypal men?
They just make more attempts at Bellas after the 1st one has escaped them.
Solely because they’re lonely. They have learned absolutely nothing in her running away from them in the first place.
Then they grumble about how they have no emotional attachment to the fill in flesh puppet they mercilessly made to spec, literally along the same lines as the one that escaped their clutches. Because that…non-attachment was something they saw on the drawing board …as an upgrade.
Interesting movie, though.
Glad I let the wary weariness of the pedophilia allusions stop me from seeing it in theaters. & it not being in my budget to spend money on such things.
But it’s intriguing that in all the discussion about the film the cycle of certain kinds of women met with certain paths is glazed overtly over.
Which is something that makes the life of the director very hmmmm-ishing, honestly.
Dude has clearly seent some shit.
The sweetest soft scene was Dafoe’s deathbed embracing that his father… was a violent, sadistic idiot who bequeathed him the apathy they called genius that… led to him taking a warm dead body with a live baby in it & choosing to Kill the very much alive baby…and insert its baby (not Fetal) brain into the reanimated fully developed body of the grown Bella. Didn’t cross this eunuch’s mind once to save & rear the child.
He’d spent his life following that man’s sadistic path as if he were a God…discarded the actual ability of a woman To create… to stitch together a corpse that’d call him God…but died in peace, seeing the man who tortured him as a child was a stupid monster & he didn’t have to justify his life after it by tellingly trying to make sense of the tainted legacy he’d left scarred across his own son’s face.
Still not a feminist movie, at least not the feminist movie it is lauded to be.
Totally a man… making sense of fucked up Male shite he’s seen.
But good .
A good movie.