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Goth's Dinner

26 February 2001
Make a right one out of this with Victor.

Steven Katz, screenwriter for Shadow of the Vampire, has got it spot on. Vampires should be vampires. You can't have people pretending to be vampires if they're not. It's a gross infringement on self-definition. One problem - distance. We know that Willem Dafoe plays Max Schreck as a vampire playing a vampire. As moviegoers we are acutely aware that, whilst what we get is what we see, what we see does not exist - even in a biopic it does not exist NOW. Illusion broken. Shame. If we're looking for bloodhucksters to fulfil our reality fantasy, we need look no further than Goths. Not leeches, they already meet the criterion.

There are not enough real vampires around. The collective psyche needs them, just as they need bogeymen, werewolves and chimerai (mental note: scope for diversification?). Meanwhile we have hordes of Goths - not to be confused with Vandals. Before you start protesting that I'm pointing the finger all too readily yet again, let me tell you: I KNOW GOTH. My mum's one. My stepfather's one. My five year old brother is potentially one (he likes make-up - that may be something else). A brief description for the Unaware:

Goth, aka Gothic Rock: music inspired by the work of Mary Shelley, etc. and the revival of Gothic architecture in the 19th century; a moody, ethereal drone charting the lives and loves of the Undead; classic sujet the mortal male's obsession with a vampiric temptress ("suck me in your double coffin"); itself responsible for a unique clothing fashion drawing on horror, New Romanticism and fetishism: so, mixture of frilly/fencing shirts, shiny, shiny trousers and corsets.

Adherents have a very distinctive appearance. Generally, although not unilaterally, long hair dyed black, white foundation, very black eye make-up, black lips, black nails. A word in favour of real Goths. Real Goths are immaculately turned out; their clothes pristine, their make-up flawless. Messy, smelly kids bored with Limp Bizkit are not the same. Nor is Marilyn Manson, pantomime gimp. Real Goths are aesthetically pleasing, but they're not vampires, not even the ridiculous but oh-so-popular Cradle of Filth. Not by a long chalk.

But there are vampires, who are not necessarily Goths. "Real" vampires, oh yes, mentally ill people who have to use sites like the Blood Drinker's Resource Page. It can't be very good for you. A few years back there was some bizarre story, greedily snapped up by the likes of "issues" mags like Marie Claire (cue reminiscence of articles about poor, downtrodden women in Mexico who risk life and limb smuggling illegal immigrants over the border with the Land of the Free) - the "mysterious" disappearance of the young Manhattan journalist Susan Walsh. Walsh had been investigating, nay, infiltrating a ring claiming to practice vampirism. The Gaze of Suspicion fell on the weirdos who styled themselves as erotic murderers. No shit.

As always, I have given careful consideration to the possible consequences of vampire representation/reality enforcement:

Sales of white make-up will plummet; no longer a necessity as lack of food and hellish diet will ensure "drained" look.

Daylight curfew; Goths will no longer be allowed to hang around the city centre looking tense and pensive, or frequent Mediterranean restaurants.

Equal opportunities: Goth will never again be the province of the white Caucasian. No stipulation of white make-up, no stipulation of white.

Eventually, of course, there will be no-one left to eat. Even if we start breeding victims, there will be so many instances of blood rape, so many new Undead, that there will be no mortals left. Incidental universal immortality, but not enough food to go round. A small price to pay for eliminating the gap between representation and reality.

Who wants to live forever? Goths do. People who profess to be vampires should be vampires. Except my mum, who would no doubt eat my little brother. If I didn't get there first.


Previously on upsideclown


Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
11 December 2003. Dan writes: Spinning Jenny
8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
20 November 2003. Dan writes: Rights Management
17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

Also by this clown:

8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
27 October 2003. Victor writes: Our Tune
6 October 2003. Victor writes: Sucking face (in a public place)
15 September 2003. Victor writes: You got any ID?
25 August 2003. Victor writes: Blood on the Boulevard
4 August 2003. Victor writes: In (paren)theses
10 July 2003. Victor writes: Island Fling
19 June 2003. Victor writes: Back (back) and forth (and forth)
2 June 2003. Victor writes: 300 clowns, 13 eight-year olds
12 May 2003. Victor writes: The swings and roundabouts of outrageous fortune
21 April 2003. Victor writes: ...just sitting there quietly contemplating suicide
31 March 2003. Victor writes: Victoria
6 March 2003. Victor writes: Relevant experience
17 February 2003. Victor writes: You will eat chips and go nowhere
27 January 2003. Victor writes: A bushy fish for fishy Mr Bush (after Juvenal)
6 January 2003. Victor writes: The Accidental Voyeur
16 December 2002. Victor writes: Gripper goes bang
25 November 2002. Victor writes: Bediquette
4 November 2002. Victor writes: Where have all the spastics gone?
14 October 2002. Victor writes: An Immodest Proposal
23 September 2002. Victor writes: Fastscan masterplan
2 September 2002. Victor writes: Dry Humping Social Club
12 August 2002. Victor writes: Beat the Mongol
22 July 2002. Victor writes: What life is not
1 July 2002. Victor writes: Stupor heroes
6 June 2002. Victor writes: Dry
13 May 2002. Victor writes: Muppet Suite
18 April 2002. Victor writes: gingermingeninja
25 March 2002. Victor writes: Sodomize with Pukka Pies
28 February 2002. Victor writes: Dave's problem
4 February 2002. Victor writes: King of the Aisles
10 January 2002. Victor writes: Here come the decorator gimps.
17 December 2001. Victor writes: Make war, not supper.
22 November 2001. Victor writes: Cough
29 October 2001. Victor writes:
4 October 2001. Victor writes: Green Gauges
10 September 2001. Victor writes: Blind weed
16 August 2001. Victor writes: Snout!
23 July 2001. Victor writes: You're not going to put this in a clown are you?
28 June 2001. Victor writes: What is a droll?
4 June 2001. Victor writes: Burt Pakamak
10 May 2001. Victor writes: Board to Death
12 April 2001. Victor writes: Tricolon with anaphora?
22 March 2001. Victor writes: Point of View
26 February 2001. Victor writes: Goth's Dinner
1 Feburary 2001. Victor writes: Les Miserables
4 January 2001. Victor writes: Flat-packed furniture
14 December 2000. Victor writes: Deliverance
20 November 2000. Victor writes: Bottomry: Exorcising Ghosts
26 October 2000. Victor writes: Body Art
2 October 2000. Victor writes: Disney must die
7 September 2000. Victor writes: Ice-cream in Offworld
14 August 2000. Victor writes: I like sweets that taste of medicine
26 June 2000. Victor writes: I've seen the future, and it's feathered

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