(content) On Watching "The Thing From Another World"

[heslopian]

Howling winds. Dark corridors. Snow beating like fists
on the windows and walls. A creature evolved
from vegetable life which feeds on blood,
and doesn't care whose. Why does this chilling story need
stupid macho army types, ignorant studs
who look like they belong in a cigarette ad from the first world war?

I want to watch the scientists. I crave to see them huddled round
a lab table, discussing this monster from the stars;
reaction shots of scared faces, terse arguments, fighting,
a battle between their natural instincts
and a yearning for knowledge, the secrets this strange Thing withholds.

So why Mr. Hawks do you punish me with an airhead captain,
his jaw line a central personality trait, and the male bonding
he inflicts; "gee wiz Jimmy, the Thing slaughtered
those bodies like hogs! Why don't we trade a cigarette
and talk about the girls in Acapulco?"
Not to mention his woman, and all the clichéd pouting
she does. "An alien's been found, history hinges
on the study of it, ethics and morals are becoming confused,
but first I think I'll tie you up and tease your libido, captain."

If I ever write a horror story the first people to die,
the ones hanging from the ceiling, necks cut
and fluids drained, will be these fucking idiots,
the captain and his girl Friday, preferably side by side,
with cigarettes still caught in their lips.

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