It seems like you can pretty much use "art" as an excuse for sharing your darkest fantasies of hairless lesbians getting it on to the world. And I'm sure artists don't just talk about sex all the time. I mean, fuck, sex is just sex in the end, no matter how you dress it up in fancy words or images.
Maybe I'm just a prude. Maybe there was a reason why I was the only single male in the audience that didn't look vaguely like a creepy old man (I hope).
Graphic sex scenes apart though, it really is quite an interesting film. And the barbican's rapidly becoming my favourite place in london.
Monday, December 02, 2013
If you can distil your thoughts to a few characters, why utter a word more? Especially with this daily assault of senseless conflicting verbiage taunting, pulverising our overworked souls.
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