Dark Night

"The United States did not ratify the the treaty after the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan in December 1979." -- a nice, staid archive consulted for strange, forced cohesions

It is interesting to note what glimpses of ruthless brutality Ronald Donaldson chooses to offer viewers in his 2007 expose, The Bank Job. We're allowed to see Jason Stratham's supporting crew member Eddie get tortured with a blow torch by a cop on the take, but we are spared seeing the henchmen of hustler pimp "Michael X" slit the throat of Gale Benson, the MI5 operative, perhaps in order to staunch racial backlash, which certainly hasn't stopped the spastic dowager from coming into creation, or emerging into her unpleasant incarnation, which is about to cost her a great deal, though she is paying greatly already.
American directors are certainly capable of ruthless, merciless films which show violence in its own linguistic context. When I still had cable, I saw an independent, the name I cannot remember, about a black cutter who got off on stabbing his victims to death. He too wiped out a family, with the plastic bags over the head, sealed with duct tape technique, and at brutal cost, the white cop, who had a biracial boy, took these ruthless psychopaths out. Ebert, still able to speak, liked it. I did not, and obviously its unsparing malevolence still ignites my dread. Unless some brave soul comes to my rescue, one day I'll battle search and find Ebert's review. Despite my recoil, both the directors and the actors were courageous to make the film, because it exposes harsh realities which our British progenitors do not fear to reveal. I'm not indicating The Bank Job corresponds to the earlier American film, even though they both involve violent crime, and Donaldson made me think of the other. I'm only acknowledging exceptions to the rule. Britons, Europeans at large, tend to be more unsparing than the colonists they left behind to form the last major powers, though truth be told, Canada seems just to be lucky, and I know sum total of zilch about its defense capacity, nor if its benevolent neighbor down South has given it access to warheads. It is not listed as one of the nuclear eight, but with such a vast land mass, second only to Russia, I can certainly entertain a Boys from Brazil intrigue, especially in the event that Syria and Israel decide to end civilization as we know it. I don't mean that the CIA is conspiring to clone German fascists with Canadian Intelligence, but that there are fail safes of the sort that would leave James Gardner exasperated, in his tough detective jacket. If it is true that people died needlessly because Princess Margaret couldn't be embarrassed, what right do I have to say I'm not expendable to a black urban majority which destroyed my health and social conscience? In the years Joan Tarshis claimed Bill Cosby raped her, I was being denigrated in a whirlpool bath by a minority orderly who actually believed her abuse of a nine year old girl abandoned by a shamed father was "God's work". The woman probably many years since passed away, given her weight, her age then, mine now. I couldn't prosecute, and I am not certain that scapegoating Cosby does anything, for Miss Tarshis or anyone else. The comedian is too old to functionally survive prison, but whether he was married or not, I would have never put myself in the position of a naive progressive willing to be alone with a stage personality, though I was naive enough to go into the hood and emerge like this, willing to sacrifice shelter to staunch such emotional scars as I've sustained. I am nearly in the space Joan herself seems to inhabit, uncertain veracity against injustices beyond the ability of the law to rectify, sorely in need of difference.