Sinners Plus The Ecology of Islands
May. 3rd, 2025 08:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraI went to see Sinners at the neighborhood movie complex in New Paltz. The Raisinettes were not stale, and the movie was not very good—which kinda shocked me because the Reddit-ors were all This. Is. The. BEST. Movie. EVAH!
There were interesting things about the movie. I do like the idea of vampyric musicians, and of course, the idea that a blues guitarist could be so slick that he summons the ghosts of musicians past & present to play with him is a wonderful conceit. There were also some great shots of Mississippi's endless cotton fields, a panopticon shot in that kinda dark your eyes see when the actual light is overwhelmingly bright & dazzling.
But on the whole, no.
An unexpectedly boring movie.
###
When I got home, I dashed off a couple of pages of my own vampire story! Resolved: All vampire stories should take place in Indian casinos!
----
THE ECOLOGY OF ISLANDS
The thing about an island is it's a long way from home, and you have to go over a bridge to get to one.
###
On Techuma Bridge, Pellegrino was held hostage in his car. A van had gone crazy on white lines slick with rain; it had taken thirty-five minutes for the police and ambulances and the guys with the fish-hooks to show up. The reflection of red brake lights spilled across two lanes of stopped traffic. Pellegrino watched as the twisted doors of the van were pried open and the bodies extracted. There was a lot of blood.
Pellegrino felt the old reflexive tightening—incisors somehow hard-wired to groin.
Well what the hell, he figured. He was on vacation.
He hadn't made reservations at the casino motel and they overcharged him for the room. The girl jotting down his license plate number didn't seem surprised at all that Pellegrino was three thousand miles from home. "Room 72," the girl told him without looking up.
The motel rooms had doors opening up on to a veranda. Convenient for midnight strolls.
In the casino, Pellegrino sipped espresso and searched for a victim. They didn't serve alcohol on Indian reservations. Pellegrino liked that; it kept things quiet. It was two o'clock in the morning, but that had never seemed to matter when there were mirrors and indirect overhead lighting. The casino was small, two connected rooms and a coffee bar. The usual faces clustered around the low-end tables, the $2 and $5 limit blackjack games. Men in polyester shirts, pointed and grim. Strangers on their third day of desperation. Hustle and rush.
Pellegrino wanted a woman.
Pellegrino found one. She was Chinese and middle-aged; the pai gao table at the end of the room had baited the trap. She clutched a small jade medallion which she shook furiously for luck. She appeared to be alone.
Pai gao appeared to be a high/low game. The dealer flipped the cards fast with practiced indifference. The dealer was also a woman, one of the very few Caucasians working at the casino, her blonde hair angrily moussed back. Her name tag said Janine. Her salary, it would seem, was a good investment for the house; the pile of chips at her side of the table grew larger and larger.
After a while, the Chinese woman gave up on Janine's table and wandered over to the dice.
Soon, she gave up on that one, too, and wandered toward the door.
Pellegrino followed her.
Outside it had stopped raining but clouds haloed the moon, an effect, Pellegrino noted, not unlike an X-ray. Time slows down when you're about to score: Pellegrino had plenty of time to reflect not just about the moon's discreet radience, but also about the Chinese woman's screams, the way she shuddered and convulsed in his arms when he grabbed her, stainless steel file to her neck; the way her blood tasted when it pulsed out of her wound as she lay dying and he stood waiting to come alive. The Chinese woman ate a lot of garlic.
Pellegrino dumped the body in the Sound.
Afterwards, Pellegrino returned to the casino. Afterwards, it was always particularly sweet to pass.
He bought another espresso. He circled back idly to the pai gao table.
The blonde pai gao dealer, Janine, was staring at him.
Pellegrino looked down.
On the collar of his white shirt was the imprint of the Chinese woman's good luck medallion, outlined in blood.
------
Today, BB, Flavia, & I are off to a protest march in Middletown.
There were interesting things about the movie. I do like the idea of vampyric musicians, and of course, the idea that a blues guitarist could be so slick that he summons the ghosts of musicians past & present to play with him is a wonderful conceit. There were also some great shots of Mississippi's endless cotton fields, a panopticon shot in that kinda dark your eyes see when the actual light is overwhelmingly bright & dazzling.
But on the whole, no.
An unexpectedly boring movie.
###
When I got home, I dashed off a couple of pages of my own vampire story! Resolved: All vampire stories should take place in Indian casinos!
----
THE ECOLOGY OF ISLANDS
The thing about an island is it's a long way from home, and you have to go over a bridge to get to one.
###
On Techuma Bridge, Pellegrino was held hostage in his car. A van had gone crazy on white lines slick with rain; it had taken thirty-five minutes for the police and ambulances and the guys with the fish-hooks to show up. The reflection of red brake lights spilled across two lanes of stopped traffic. Pellegrino watched as the twisted doors of the van were pried open and the bodies extracted. There was a lot of blood.
Pellegrino felt the old reflexive tightening—incisors somehow hard-wired to groin.
Well what the hell, he figured. He was on vacation.
He hadn't made reservations at the casino motel and they overcharged him for the room. The girl jotting down his license plate number didn't seem surprised at all that Pellegrino was three thousand miles from home. "Room 72," the girl told him without looking up.
The motel rooms had doors opening up on to a veranda. Convenient for midnight strolls.
In the casino, Pellegrino sipped espresso and searched for a victim. They didn't serve alcohol on Indian reservations. Pellegrino liked that; it kept things quiet. It was two o'clock in the morning, but that had never seemed to matter when there were mirrors and indirect overhead lighting. The casino was small, two connected rooms and a coffee bar. The usual faces clustered around the low-end tables, the $2 and $5 limit blackjack games. Men in polyester shirts, pointed and grim. Strangers on their third day of desperation. Hustle and rush.
Pellegrino wanted a woman.
Pellegrino found one. She was Chinese and middle-aged; the pai gao table at the end of the room had baited the trap. She clutched a small jade medallion which she shook furiously for luck. She appeared to be alone.
Pai gao appeared to be a high/low game. The dealer flipped the cards fast with practiced indifference. The dealer was also a woman, one of the very few Caucasians working at the casino, her blonde hair angrily moussed back. Her name tag said Janine. Her salary, it would seem, was a good investment for the house; the pile of chips at her side of the table grew larger and larger.
After a while, the Chinese woman gave up on Janine's table and wandered over to the dice.
Soon, she gave up on that one, too, and wandered toward the door.
Pellegrino followed her.
Outside it had stopped raining but clouds haloed the moon, an effect, Pellegrino noted, not unlike an X-ray. Time slows down when you're about to score: Pellegrino had plenty of time to reflect not just about the moon's discreet radience, but also about the Chinese woman's screams, the way she shuddered and convulsed in his arms when he grabbed her, stainless steel file to her neck; the way her blood tasted when it pulsed out of her wound as she lay dying and he stood waiting to come alive. The Chinese woman ate a lot of garlic.
Pellegrino dumped the body in the Sound.
Afterwards, Pellegrino returned to the casino. Afterwards, it was always particularly sweet to pass.
He bought another espresso. He circled back idly to the pai gao table.
The blonde pai gao dealer, Janine, was staring at him.
Pellegrino looked down.
On the collar of his white shirt was the imprint of the Chinese woman's good luck medallion, outlined in blood.
------
Today, BB, Flavia, & I are off to a protest march in Middletown.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-03 02:26 pm (UTC)Raining axe handles and pitchforks here. I hope you stay dry.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-04 03:50 pm (UTC)If I only had the time to write fiction, I could do something interesting with it.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-03 04:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-04 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-03 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-04 03:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-04 11:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-04 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-04 01:31 pm (UTC)I love it. Thank you.
Hope the demo goes well.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-04 03:53 pm (UTC)