TOTALLY zombi-ied me this morning. Took a minute. Or sixty.
I didn’t care for the acting in Sleepy Hollow – I have to get that out of the way. But I don’t watch Tim Burton movies for the acting. His decadently dreary visuals simply light my heart aglow, especially when they lean Autumnal (to my gothic heart, it seems his lenses are so seasonally tinted – perpetually, much to my joy!)
His eerie, throw-back town, cloaked in lowly fog and Samhain-style mise-en-scene is so my speed it’s ridiculous. The average human being, I daresay, seems to possess such desires as going to the beach, baking beneath a blindingly hot ball of fire. . . They like pop stars and malls and large gatherings of people… And there I sit – and always HAVE sat – with a heart yearning for the deep. For the drumming of the earth, the black of the night, the impossibly-incandescent burn of the moon and stars.
I’m scarcely morbid, and find myself often mistaken for a social butterfly. No. Nooo. I’m more like the little black bat flitting around at Dusk. The Morticia in the corner, carefully contemplating, and reveling in the shadows. While not so evident at this stage in my life, at least I’m not accused of loving pink – ah yes, at least that is obvious enough!
Tim Burton’s quirky characters, singularly macabre and always intriguing, enchanted me from the get-go – Each one more peculiar than the next, and ever placed in spectacularly vampish settings.
I don’t want to live in a City, my feet falling on hard concrete and my gaze stifled by towering man-made constructions. I don’t need to be in the center of things, encompassed by busy streets and bustling storefronts. Sure, I enjoy not being completely isolated – it’s nice to have some manner of life around! But I’d much prefer those ghostly streets, with their spectral, smokey vapor and stormy skies… A few lit Jack-O-Lanterns would be enough to brighten the mood for me. . .