Sir Thomas Sharpe

I saw Crimson Peak yesterday. I'm not a fan of horror at all, so it takes a lot for me to actually watch any horror film. I've only seen Sean of the Dead a few times because, despite the fact that it's a superbly funny critique of modern society and its fascination with the zombie genre, and that I really really like it, it's still a zombie horror flick. (I'm perfectly ok with watching limited doses of The Walking Dead" as long as I have appropriate unicorn chasers, because TWD feeds my existential angst about the futility of everything.) The lure of a new Guillermo Del Toro film with Tom Hiddleston in it was sufficient to get me out of the house, but only for a daytime matinee with a friend after being fortified with a sushi lunch.

It was an astoundingly beautiful film. There was so much texture on the screen that I could almost feel it. The fabrics of the costumes, the sets, the sound design, the color, all of it drew me in to the story so much I've been thinking about it all since leaving the theater. That's art's job. All that beauty isn't just window dressing. It's the bait that relaxes our guard and opens us up to feeling what the artist wants us to experience, especially in films. Emotions haven't been something I've been comfortable allowing myself to feel for the past four years, so caution is warranted. Which is why I choose very carefully what I watch, and frequently how I watch movies. Netflix from my sofa, with all of the distractions I keep round my seat, doesn't have nearly the power of a film seen from fifth row center in a theater.

So a day later after seeing Crimson Peak, and after a good night's sleep, I'm even more horrified.


Spoilers ahead


Minor and slightly obscured ones, but still, they're spoilers.



And also triggery.

( triggery minor spoilers here )