Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Gay Lolita: The Movie

Justin Bieber
Gay Lolita: The Movie

Gay Lolita (2012)


Justin Bieber as Donny Haze (Male Loltia)
Frank Langella as Prof Humbert Humbert
Lady Gaga as Charlotte Haze
Roman Polanski as Clare Quilty

“Dearest Readers, and I do use the term rather loosely, my dears…”

“Yes, my dearest chicken cineastes and gay moviegoers, plus a little hug and some kisses over there to all you loving jury members lounging over there in the corner of this wonderfully kitschy temple of gnarled marble, meandering legal mumbling and exquisitely jurisprudential jizz-smeared walls…”

“Yes, my dears, and to all the rest of you quaint shocked religiously-addicted readerly Swine, excuse me voluptuous Voyeurs that really know how to care for this voluptuous, vivacious, sometimes smutty, anglo-saxon adolescent dirty louche Language of ours…”

“Swirling about us incessantly day & night here in this little naughty nymphomaniacal Nymphet Novel of mine…now at your local dreadfully spectral ghost-mall Bijou along with all the other marvelously bourgeois electronic venues of our modern vain pornographic versissitudes…”

“Did I say that? That rude, obnoxious, unforgivably word ‘Pornography’ the very athema and opposite of my literary aspirations and and Gogolian greasy talents? What Kafka did with the Cockroach, what Roth did with the Breast, what Gogol did with the Nose—I’ve decided to do with the Nymphette!!!”

“Yes, my dears, my decadent, depraved cinematic imagination suddenly underwent a rather rude Rimbaudesque Drunken Boat denouement of the my usually quite sane sane & sober cineaste senses—replacing pretty lollypop-sucking temptress sweetheart Sue Lyon with somebody else.”

“Yes, my dears, I replaced lovely enchanting dumb Sue Lyon with none other than the young burgeoning Badboy Justin Bieber as the charming all too charming dumb ‘youngmale nymphet’ who makes a devastating fool of Humbert Humbert. None other than Donny Haze—light of my life, love of my loins.”

“Gay cuckold I was not, my dears—I defininitely wasn’t a "Que Sera, Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be)" type of girl. I’d been cruelly cheated and hounded by a vast reintinue of rabid, lying, cheating Chicken Queens trying to steal cute Justin Bieber away from me. Sneaky Quilty managed to weasel his way into my charming cluckity-cluck chicken-house—even when I was on the run from him, rushing from motel to motel and hiding Donny away from him.”

“Seducable siren? Simple-minded little teen slut? Do any of these tacky gutteresque phrases—actually capture the way Donny Haze could do me in? Just as Justin Bieber gets away with simply scandalous tittilating exposes of the gay imagination—all of us chicken cognoscenti, I suppose, my dears, in the same predicament as yours truly.”

“But then who am I to say—for surely my idea of Lolitaesque Chicken Heaven isn’t really real, my dears. Anymore than just about all the usual potbellied pedophile fantasies most chicken queens have—whether hoity-toity Miss Aschenbach dying decadently there in rotten stinking Venice or me a mild-mannered small college town teacher stuck in Ramsdale Nowhere in the middle of some Chicken of the Sea cornfield surrounded by dumb country-bumpkin Future Farmers of America?”

“Yes, my dears, Nymphette just isn’t quite the word for my little Donny Haze—only a meek, naivie, dumb sixteen years old, but watch out for that bargain basement. I fell straight down the dark shaft—the dark elevator shaft of Breeder Inc. Only to land rather nicely and unforegettably in Donny Haze’s lap there in Charlotte’s crummy little cottage near campus.”

‘Nymphette’ sounds too innocent, too virgin and prestine—when really it got down to the basics like hot Mexican schlock chicken cusine. Yes the Breeders breed—and they breed simply incessantly. They do it simply everywhere and simply anytime and for whatever reason imaginable—the Breeders, my dear, are simple insatiable, insufferable, ingeniously incorruptible. Only one thing dominates their crude phallocentric pea-brained penis-consciousness—and they incessantly brag about it, advertize and seel it, preach and recruit about it, using every form of Minsistry of Breeder Propaganda the plusses of it!!!”

“And me? Lowly me? Lowly chicken queen Cluck Cluck Clucking in the dark background—hiding in the wings, cruising the parks and YMCA’s, playing Queen for Day in dreary subway tea rooms and airport bathrooms under the partitions? Lost, my dears, on some lonely lifeboat after Miss Titanic waved goodbye—stranded in the middle of a vast young teenage male Ocean of Desire. And not a single little droplette, teaspoon, tablespoon, oozelette, jizzlette of Colonel Sander’s Chicken Deep-Fried Bacon-Wrapped Heart-Attack Special for my delerious lips!!!”

“Donny Haze just wasn’t simply, merely another cute str8t strumpet haughty little harlot of the bourgeoisie breeder bozos.There was something eerie and strange about Donny Haze—was he really that stupid or was he just acting that way? Which only leaves the true succulento meaning of the phrase ‘male nymphet’ somewhat undefined and up in the air. Somewhat open to indecent film noir treatments rather than romances like so may other chicken heartthrobs like Corey Haim, Brad Renfro, Bobby Driscoll, Scotty Becket, Michael Jackson and Macauley Culkin.”

“In a voiceover on the morning after giving my first Ramsdale High School blowjob in the parking lot after a dance, I confided in my diary, “What drives me insane is the twofold nature of this young male nymphet, of every teenage sexual nymphette perhaps. It’s this mixture of Lolitaesque tender, dreamy boyishness mixed with a kind of eerie, otherworldly even demonic vulgarity. So vulgar I blush even now, reflecting on its primitive and delicious animality….”

“I know it’s simply madness to keep writing along these strictly forbidden lines, these tres Taormina tres Parisian tres Castro tres Uranian thoughts in such a disgustingly tacky confessional journal such as this, but it gives me a strange thrill to write down things surely they nobody will ever read. And if indeed, someday if Charlotte my dearest wife, may pry the delicate lockets open and peruse ogle-eyed the sacriligious sacrifies I made with her son, Donny, on the sacred Altar of Chicklette Carnage and Carnal Joy—then so be it. After all, it was Charlotte Haze that gave birth to Donny Haze—the ill-begotten Clucklette who surely will be the end of all of us!!!”

“How can I remove my dirty hands and tainted lips from this carnal Boss Cupid—given brith right under the nose of his cow-eyed, bovine Big Mama of a Protective Mother? Jealous and over-protective of only herself, of course—Charlotte Haze who’s not as stupid as I thought. Using her own cute Jailbait son—to entice me into marrying her like I did—finally a real man again she pondered and plotted. A decent nice school teacher—both a good husband & father?”

“Charlotte Haze wasn’t astupid loving wife—she wasn’t blind like a stupid cow to all my Lolitaesque lamentations scribbled down desperately here in these locked pages in my madman’s microscopic script. How long had she been reading my dirty pornographic thoughts—the sinister plotting of my shameless demise wasn’t secret after all. I suppose I’ll have to marry Charlotte to get my hands on her sweet sixteen year old Sebastianesque son? How naïve of me. There was plenty of time to write down all my eerie vulgar thoughts, dear reader. Did she know about all my spoiled, sullen, pouty, surly trysts in the bathroom, my room, in my campus office? Oh my Lovely Donny Haze—how you could squirt!!!”

“Do you always pamper your pimples?” I’d ask Donny, standing with a towel around his thin young waiste, leering behind him in the bathroom mirror as he did his morning toilet. Donny, oh my do-nothing dummy Donny Haze. I was so utterly charmed by your every little diversion and devilish divertimento. Like squeezing and popping your zits all the time in front of the bathroom mirror (with the door locked behind us, of course, portecting us from the prying eyes of Charolette, my soon-to-be selfish bloodsucker clinging Klingon wife.)”

“Here, Donny, let me pop this big one on your neck, sweet little Prince—it’s got a head, it’s just ripe and ready to pop! Hold still, sweetheart, let me squeeze all that white puss outta you, let it ooze and ooze out of you, my precious little cumly stepston.”

“No way, José!!!” he’d say to me, saving the pimple for himself to pop. He loved squeezing and popping his pimples more than anything in the whole wide world. Except popping his wad which was much more serious business—something he’d usually leave up to me since I was a professional Ooze Queen. Yes, all that thick scummy white corpuscular goo oozing out of my Greek statue of a boy, his growing, testosterone-charged, greasy adolescent skin—simply demanding my total dick devotion. It was a hidden feast, something only he and I shared each morning—there in that dank dirty little bathroom amongst all the other leaking secret gladular infusions, boyish bilge-pump male excruciatons.”

“This voiceover is a part of the Gay Lolita narration, which is crucially the perverted central chickenette cluck-cluck Center to the whole disturbing movie.”

“Stanley Kubrick and Adrian Lyne, the previous directors, used the Gay Lolita narrative sparingly and, apart from a few comments, they both set the scenes for the film’s next act basically in a Breeder Theater Zone treatment, generally simple str8t statements of fact, spiced with the odd personal reflections of “What if?” here and there.”

“The only other one of these reflections which makes reference to Humbert’s feelings towards Donny Haze is made after their move from Ramsdale to Beardsley. Here Humbert's comment seems to show a certain interest in the youth’s education and cultural development: “Six months have passed and Donny is attending an excellent school where it is my hope that he will be persuaded to read other things than comic books and movie romances.”

“This gay voice-over narrative begins in every chicken queen’s mind soon after the opening scenes with the hulahoop seduction in the backyard. But then the voice-over ceases once the odyssey begins. Most str8t directors make no attempt to explain Humbert's fascination with Lolita, which a full gay narration would have done, but merely treats it as a matter of fact.”

“Thus, an open-ended, ongoing, gay voice-over narrative might proove to be interesting to members of the jury who’re curious about the subversive, transgressive and homosocial undercurrents in this new rather queer rendition of Nabokov’s classic novel. Those European queens can be rather tres decadent and devilishly sophisticated they say, me dear.”

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