by Kelso, Chris
Steve— Yeah, okay, but…
Tom— Quite prattling on about work motherfucker, enjoy yourself!
Steve— Yeah, okay…
Tom— Wow, this place really is a shit hole huh, ha-ha?
(Steve ordered himself a beer.)
Steve— Hell, where I’m from, the only place you can get a decent drink is called “The Wifebeater.
Tom— Sounds okay to me— (Tom grinned. Steve still looked pained.)
Steve— I didn’t sign up for all this, I mean… I did, but I thought it’d be different, you know?
Tom— You thought what would be different?
Steve— The decadence… it doesn’t sit well with me, you know? You people are all like something out of a Bret Easton Ellis novel or something…
Tom— I’m sure I’d find that devilishly apt if I actually read books Steve, but I don’t so fuck you.
Steve— No time to read either I guess?
Tom— There’s only time for fucking and work, rinse, repeat…
(Steve takes another shot from his Burmese glass. Tom takes a drink too, slaps Steve on the back and hunches closer to him)
Tom— Why you so down about it man? You’re from Shell County, I mean don’t you farm boys all have a pretty thick skin anyway?
Steve— I guess not.
(The two men sit in silence for a minute or two, Steve glugs down the last of his drink. When he starts talking again it is in distinctly slurred tones)
Steve— You think childbirth is the ultimate agony?
Tom— What? Who gives a fuck? Hey, I really gotta find Susie…
Steve— We (by which I mean guys) have NO idea about the difficulties of pregnancy— and we simply never will.
Tom— Take a kick in the nuts once in a while.
Steve— It’s this indifference to the subject which provides the fulcrum of casual social male misogyny, Tom. Even I’m no angel in that department, hell I’m from Shell County, I been brought up to slap women around! Surely this can’t be a healthy or a fuckin’ acceptable state of mind?
(Steve sleepily rubs his eye with the heel of his hand)
Steve— After all, we care about the welfare of animals because we’re aware of an animal’s sentience, right? Am I right? So why don’t we have more empathy for women when they’re squeezing out a kid? Come to think of it, why don’t we have more sympathy for women in general? Blood, periods, menopause, waxing, blood, mood swings and more blood…
Tom— What the fuck is the matter with you?
Steve— Nothin’, I just been watchin’ too many movies, hoping to escape reality, you know?
Tom— Get laid man… it beats a movie any day.
Steve— Look at the Alien trilogy, never mind the other ones that almost fucked up the entire series, I mean the first two movies.
Tom— I bet Susie is hooking up with some other asshole right about now.
Steve— These movies embody the argument totally, albeit in the most relentlessly bleak way imaginable.
Tom— You are the bleakest motherfucker I ever set eyes on…
Steve— In 1979, the release of Alien had most horror film fans hiding behind their fingertips and men crossing their legs in disgust. Why? Well, there’s an argument which suggests the entire Alien franchise is driven by feminist ideology and psychosexual theory. Did you know that?
Tom— How’d you figure that?
Steve— Okay, Exhibit A: We open on an eerie black canvas of space, okay, the eternal abyss, an image possibly alluding to the Jungian fear of the unknown, I dunno. It’s this fear of the unknown which Alien uses to exploit aspects of the male subconscious.
Tom— Christ…
Steve— So you got the Nostromo freighter and its craft full of no-hopers stumbling across an alien planetoid. It’s not long before ship executive officer Kane is attacked. Okay, so after discovering a chamber of alien eggs, a recently hatched embryonic… object emerges, attaching itself to Kane’s face. The creature’s spiderlike appearance suggests that the face-hugger is, maybe, representative of repulsion— the instincts and irrational distaste towards a part of oneself, in this case Kane’s fear of being raped has become manifest.
(Two nerves pulse deeply at Steve’s temples like someone attempted to re-fill burr holes. Tom begins to laugh like water gurgling down a drainpipe.)
Tom— Every guy is afraid of rape I guess.
Steve— We soon learn that this creature’s means of reproduction involve locating a host to bear its offspring. So as Kane lies sprawled on the ships gurney, the face-hugger eventually releases him having successful impregnated its host— Fuckin-A!
(Tom realises Steve is talking to no one in particular. He’s talking at Tom, not to him.)
Steve— What Alien possibly does here is make a play on the male fear of pregnancy, yeah? Men have little awareness of the pain of child birth so when Kane’s character finally gives violent birth to his own hideous entity, the male audience is left utterly shocked, right? The unconsented impregnation of Kane is the beginning of a barrage of sexual trauma for male characters in the franchise, most of which ultimately end in child birth.
Tom— Okay… SO?
Steve— So? Do you think Alien carries an anti-abortionist sentiment or not?
Tom— I’m going to find Susie…
(Tom scouts the dance-floor for the girl. He won’t admit it, but he is a little concerned about the creature wriggling around inside her gut. It’s just like Steve said… only he really did have plenty of sympathy for the girl. He’s begun to panic, panic that he’s somehow transmitted an STD on to her himself and it has mutated in the gastrointestinal depths of her bowel. Tom spots a girl, not Susie but someone far prettier)
(She has longish platinum silver hair pulled back into a tight bun and is wearing a purple camisole and a visible V-string thong. There is an instant spark of recognition like shell cartridges flying from the bandolier of a machine gun. It’s his ex-girlfriend Lana. He approaches the girl, offers his hand)
Tom— Long time no see— he wheezes, suddenly aware of his own nervousness.
(The girl smiles and Tom knows they’re going to have sex again, soon. After all, he thinks, sex is just another form of violence. Penetration is just another way of piercing your enemy. Men are slaves to their nature; we are warriors one and all. That’s why things like marriage are a threat to this; it tethers the warrior to the family unit, castrates us of any real masculine identity)
Lana— Where’s your friend?
(Tom has no idea where Susie is and he’ll be damned if he’s going to pass up this opportunity to get with Lana)
Tom— She’s just a friend. She left…
~
(Steve is bald as a pheasant’s egg, his face sandblasted of even the tiniest hair sac. Susie appears on the stool beside him)
Steve— Hey, jeez I’m sorry, I’m real drunk…
(Susie blinks inhumanly)
Steve— You lookin’ for Tom? He’s over…
(Steve swivels on the stool and tries to locate his friend on the dance floor, sees that he’s grinding against another girl, and then turns back to Susie)
Steve— I’m sorry. Tom is just a little… well, he’s an urban kinda guy you know… wherever he lays his hat and all that…
(Susie doesn’t say anything, just looks at Steve with that dead stare)
Steve— Say, um, do you like the Alien movies?
~
Steve— Exhibit B: We have sexual trauma and a merciless pursuer, okay? Alien blatantly develops Freudian imagery to its advantage. The alien itself possesses a unique androgyny. The skull is phallic in shape, smooth and translucent in texture and gleaming with K-Y jelly— a penis ready to penetrate, right?
(Steve gestures to the bar tender to hook Susie and him up with more alcohol)
Steve— What you havin’?
Susie— Whatever you’re havin’
Steve— Two Budweiser. Okay, so, where was I? Oh yeah— so this extra-terrestrial
antagonist has several female qualities also. The lubricated orifice of its mouth owes more to the female anatomy than to the male. One must reflect on the feminist Latin mythology Vagina Dentate and the implications that come with it, right? Alien seems to be an amalgamation of sexual deterrents.
Susie— You wanna fuck me?— Susie asks noncommittally.
(Steve knows this will only be a grudge fuck but the girl has an almost supernatural quality. At least this time he’d get to fuck her and it would be consented. Steve follows Susie to the alleyway)
ACT-TWO
(In the high-rise of lost souls)
Steve— Mr. Larson, please…
Larson— Shud up boy ’n’ get down there ’n’ suck ma cock!
(Steve is already on his knees. His face is wet with tears and he’s hyperventilating. His bald head is red with slap marks)
Steve— Please sir…
Larson— Oh yeah! Hell, gi’ me more oh that. It’s turnin’ me on! Tha’s right, beg me you li’ll fuckin’ bitch! Cum own!
Narrator— (Steve wipes his cheeks with the cuff of his shirt. Mr. Larson has been imposing sex on Steve for over a week now. He’s only been in the job for a fortnight. This is part of his internship. Everyone just tells him to go along with it. Eventually Larson will get tired of him and a new bitch will come along to divert his affections. Sally in editing even said it was a compliment. She said— He only makes the ones he likes suck ‘is big ol’ dick yano!)
(Steve makes his mouth into an O and Mr. Larson puts his fat choad into it. Steve knows this is part parcel of the TV trade. He knows you have to suck a few dicks. He just didn’t think it was literal. Larson grips Steve’s skull with both bear claws and slams it against the airbag of his gut. The solid rod pole axes Steve’s oesophagus. It hurts really bad. Steve tries not to gag, even though this is his first cock (or his first deep throat at least).
Narrator— (It’ll be over soon— he keeps telling himself. The dangling avocado pears of Mr. Larson’s ball sack strike Steve on the chin repeatedly. He focuses the best he can. Then he comes, finally. In a gushing maelstrom that emerges from Larson’s cock-eye like blood spouted from a severed artery)
Larson— Swallow faggot
(Steve feels the gob of hot, salty fluid fill his mouth. He closes his eyes and chokes it down. Larson releases Steve’s skull)
Larson— Get back ta work you li’ll faggot before I bust you up.
(Steve scrambles to his feet and tears open the boss’s door. In the hall, Steve sees Lucy Sutter. She’s a junior exec now (after she had sex with Larson and a couple of his “out of town” buddies). Lucy is a short woman who married a Jewish accountant. Her hair is in a bunch and her breasts are always hunched up to her chin. She gives Steve a sympathetic look.)
Lucy— He fuck you in the ass?
Steve— No, deep throat — Steve became aware of a raw feeling in his throat. Larson had done some damage.
Lucy— Too bad, coulda been worse though huh?
Steve— How?
Lucy— Well… like I say he coulda fucked you in the ass.
Steve— Yeah?
Lucy— Sure! You’re lucky his friends from New Jersey weren’t due over cos lemme tell ya, when Mr. Larson entertains guests, he entertains ’em with anal.
Steve— I see…
(Lucy suddenly seems rushed, she has a stack of files clutched close to her chest marked “NEW PILOT.” Steve knows better than to ask about things that don’t concern him)
Lucy— This is Hollywood huh?
Narrator— (Steve smiles. When Lucy is gone he goes to the bathroom and gulps down a handful of faucet water. He stares into the mirror. Can he really keep this going? Is the dream worth all this? Steve’s reflection tells a grim story. He’s already starting to look like a beaten up rent boy. If it weren’t for the shirt and tie, he’d be a dead cert. Steve is young and he looks young. Men find him more attractive than women. He decides that yes, it is worth getting fucked in the ass.
Steve is barely even a human being anymore. He is the scum that floats on top of sewer water, the stained ceramic of a communal toilet bowl— a.dumb.little.bitch…)
~
(At the bar that night, Steve’s buddy Gil is too busy flirting with the waitress to listen to his problems. Gil is a contractor. He knows about getting fucked up the ass. The waitress isn’t interested. She can sense the desperation in him, the dormant feeling of self-loathing, the shame and dissatisfaction that comprises his very fabric. Steve gives off a similar stink. Eventually Gil takes the hint and returns to his friend)
Gil— You gotta realise something Steve-O, this is only temporary.
Steve— It is?
Gil— Sure! People take all kindsa shit off their bosses. It’s the order of things. Then once you’ve suffered enough you get promotion!
(Something doesn’t sit well with Steve)
Steve— I don’t know if I can face going in tomorrow.
Gil— Then pull a sicky. Come get totally plastered with me. Pose as my catamite for the evening
(Gil places his hand on the inside of Steve’s leg. Steve’s groin twitches, more in recoil than arousal)
Steve— Nah, I should go.
Gil— Okay, you want a tip?
(Steve leans in to hear the pearls of wisdom)
Gil— Practice on yourself.
Steve— What?
Gil— Loosen the purse strings…maximise your threshold…
Steve— I have no idea what you’re talking about…?
Gil— Here— Gil brings out a small ruby red sex aid, a dildo big enough to conceal fully in a clenched fist.
Steve— It’ll help…
Gil— You want me to stick this up my ass?
Steve— Just till you get used to your bosses schlong whaling in and out of your sphincter!
(Steve snatches the small, ceramic dildo and sticks it in his pocket)
Steve— You know, I love the movies but I’m really a writer at heart.
Gil— Jesus…
Steve— I’m tellin’ ya. I got a bunch of stuff I been sending out to publishers.
Gil— Uh-huh, and how’s that been goin?
Steve— No bites yet, but I’ll get there.
Gil— Hold on a sec, you ain’t talkin’ about that Alien shit again are you?
Steve— No…
(Steve is hesitant)
Gil— You are!
Steve— It’s a deep film, it hasn’t been properly probed.
Gil— And you think you’re the schmoe to probe it?
Steve— Maybe, I mean why not?
Gil— Don’t take this the wrong way Steve-O, but no one gives a shit about what you have to say.
Steve— We’ll see.
Gil— Yeah, we will. I mean who cares about analysing movies? Any dingbat with two brain cells to rub together can see that the Alien is just a big cock metaphor.
Steve— Ah, see that’s where you’re wrong!
Gil— Give it a rest will ya!
Steve— The Alien is androgynous, it’s the evil of men and women!
Gil— So?
Steve— So when the alien stalks the crew, it’s a threat to everyone. The sight of each Nostromo crew-member sends the creature into a terrifying display of salivation. The notion of a sexually motivated being absent of gender is the embodiment of most people’s worst nightmares— the unknown pervert in the shadows.
Gil— Here we go…
Steve— The fact the creature has no eyes, no windows to the soul, also intimate that it is without mercy or consideration for its victims.
Gil— I thought it was a feminist film?
Steve— It is…
Gil— OK…
Steve— Exhibit C: We have a womb.
Gil— Correction, YOU have a womb!
Steve— The Nostromo itself is symbolic. The dimly lit craft is a prison of shadowy compartments and murky hallways. When Ripley jettisons herself from the Nostromo airlock in the movies harrowing fourth act
, the accompanying sense of catharsis and escape is akin to a new-borns emergence from the womb— Ultimate freedom!
(Steve’s cell phone buzzes)
Steve— Excuse me a second, I gotta take this.
(Gil goes outside for a cigarette)
Steve— Hello?
Tom— Yeah, it’s Tom…
Steve— Hey man…
Tom— Steve, Jesus…
Steve— What is it?
(Tom sounds frantic, breathing too heavily into the mouth piece)
Tom — It’s my roommate, Paul, he’s dead!
Steve— What?
Tom— I woke this morning with that Lana girl, the one I dated years ago, when I was making breakfast I went into Chase’s room to see if she wanted eggs. Then I went into Paul’s room and he was just laying there, his gut bust open.
Steve— Fuck…
(Steve feels a little funny himself. His stomach is contracting below his belt buckle)
Tom— What should I do?
Steve— Call the fuckin’ police man.
Tom— Are you kidding? Do you know how long it would take me to get rid of the drugs in my apartment? Paul was probably toking from the weed I sold him, what if it gets traced back to me
Steve— You don’t internally combust from smoking bad weed…
Tom— How do you know, huh? How can you possibly know that?
