The Ecstasy of Tits; The Agony of Paranormal Activity 2.

Dear reader: I had no intention of writing on this 'matter'. However, I found myself troubled by the issues it raised - so troubled by the thoughts which were vacillating in my mind, that I took to writing: as a therapeutic exercise - a means of clarifying and codifying my thoughts and feelings.
A while later, I found I had written enough, and of sufficient significance, to warrant the re-drafting which takes place in the process of typing my words into this blog.

Hence, here is documentation of the inner turmoil which unfolded after I had watched the motion picture Paranormal Activity 2 on Saturday night.

The first film - Paranormal Activity - had something to recommend it: tits. Joyful, life-affirming, satiating tits.
I remember watching that film at the cinema: transfixed by the metaphysical allure of the cleavage of the woman jerk-off; it was one of those rare moments in life: where the individual Will co-incided with the universal Will, and all was well with my existence.

If you're a man of cultured pallette, and refined tastes, dear reader, then you will understand me - and the joy and one-ness of carnal pleasure with the fairer sex - perfectly.
Contemplating this woman's transcendent cleavage extinguished the desire which Schopenhauer asserts characterises our lives as Willing, striving beings, and which we can otherwise only allay through art or music; indeed: was it not Aristotle who asserted that art is the attempt by man to recreate the beauty he sees in nature? And is it not the case that woman is - of necessity - the summum bonum of male views of beauty? All other aspects of the male are posterior...


Paranormal Activity 2 is so heinous an attempt to acquire money - such a gratuitous, unnecessary, banal, film, that I wonder whether it should be regarded as 'the straw that broke the camel's back', and thus the rallying cry for a wave of revolutionary mass-suicides across the globe, by the impotent, disenfranchised, nihilistic masses.
Yes: I think there is some merit in the idea that all of those who have paid to see this expletive should 'drink the Kool-Aid' - that those pessimists responsible for this movie should never again profit from such a travesty, and be vindicated in their bleak assessment of mankind.
So just as defeated samurai once redeemed themselves - to some degree - by ritual disembowelment, when it had become clear that they were unsuited to life, so too should we at long last acknowledge the blindingly obvious, and take responsibility for the same failure.
God help us.

The premiss of its forebear (Paranormal Activity) was that a couple of jerk-offs started experiencing some 'ghostly' activity in their home...I guess I would surmise that they experience 'abnormal activity'.
So this abnormal activity turns out to be a ghost/demon fucking about, and the woman jerk-off is all like 'This ghost has followed me all my life - no big deal'; but my anecdotal experience - that of a bored, indifferent man, with a low tolerance for bullshit - shouldn't be relied on as a source for this; instead, let us defer to 'Wikipedia':

'Katie claims that a ghostly presence has haunted her since her youth and believes that it has followed her to their new home. She hires a psychic, Dr. Fredrichs (Mark Fredrichs), who assesses that she is being haunted not by a ghost, but by a demon. He says the demon feeds off negative energy, and its intent is to haunt and torment Katie no matter where she goes. Before leaving, he advises them not to taunt or communicate with the demon'

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paranormal_Activity_%28film%29#Plot

Please keep this in mind, as it is a critical point when considering the premiss and events of the 'prequel', Paranormal Activity 2: the Banality of Evil.

Like Paranormal Activity, the 'prequel' adheres diligently to the formula of having a build-up of numerous days/nights where it's all like 'Things are normal'...then a little 'off-kilter'...then eventually they go fully 'crazy' (This film is so devastatingly formulaic, in fact, that I hear Nestlé have contacted those responsible, in the hopes that they will create a new baby formula with which to eradicate children in the third world.).
However, in this faeces-strewn 'thing that should not be', the 'build-up' portion of the film is taken to un-hilarious extremes, and the film seems to consist of a build-up to the end credits - or a list of the criminals responsible, and their specific role in The Outrage, as I see it; it's like they want us to kill ourselves.


So anyhow, for some reason - sorry: someone went on the internet and found out the true fact that if this idiotic shit happens, then as surely as seven follows six, it's a demon who is after somebody's first-born son which is the cause; ghosts dick you about, yes - but only demons get this serious!
Where was I...?
Oh right: so for this internet-based reason, that never-introduced, plot-advancing, generic boyfriend character tells us (the enfeebled peons), the pool-cleaning robot cleans up the side of the pool and gets out every night. Fuck me! I think I heard a toilet flush, and my body's will to keep me breathing go down with somebody's 12-inch log...


On about day 20 (I stopped paying attention to the day numbers after the Mexican nanny was fired/evicted without ever having received a verbal or written warning*...), anyway, all these cupboards open at the same time in front of this woman - meaning that there's no doubt that a real-life demon has come up from the Gateway to Hell in the basement.
But these people still do nothing: there is never even a serious discussion of their predicament, or possible solutions. In place of this staple of such standard fare 'motion pictures' as this tripe, the daughter character occasionally looks at something on the internet (I guess a character in a film using a contemporary tool makes that film forward-thinking and innovative. I really do want to choke these bastards to death.); and when the woman is finally, and undoubtedly (to the man) possessed, the man calls his evicted/fired/dispossessed/deported Mexican slave back to give her professional advice (because the spells she cast earlier had worked great thus far!).


So The Mexican is all like 'You have to pass the curse (like "the Dutchie") to the (left-hand) side': you can't escape the debt owed to the demon, but you can pas it to another family member - the sister who is the focus of Paranormal Activity, and who observes in that one that the demon has been giving her shit her entire life. 
If these 'film-makers' had any decency whatsoever, they would have given viewers Kool-Aid on their way out of the cinema.

...although, come to mention it: most of the people in the cinema laughed their bollocks off. 


*(Credit goes out to my main man Craig Doughty for pointing out this little fuck-up on the part of these 'film-makers'.)