I sure love David Cronenberg and 1977's Rabid has long been one of my favourite of his films. I suppose it's my soft spot for beautiful vampire women. But Cronenberg's irrepressibly strange yet undeniably rational approach to storytelling is always captivating.
I've heard him say in an interview that he sees no separation between mind and body; he doesn't believe in the soul, he believes the brain is one physical organ among all the others. Watching one of his movies, I find myself contrasting this idea with Saint Augustine's idea of the sexual organs functioning independent of the human soul. There's something to be said for that. Just because a girl physically excites a fella doesn't mean it's a good idea for him to have sex with her, for a variety of reasons. So his physical urges may indeed conflict with his true best interest, and I think it's healthiest to recognise physical attraction as something that functions independently of the mind.
On the other hand, can we really trace all the intricate ways the two are intertwined? Most of the commentary I've read on Rabid is that it's a sort of indictment of hypersexualised media and its effect on the culture. The film stars Marilyn Chambers, a former porn star, who, after a motorcycle accident, is treated to experimental, emergency surgery at a plastic surgery clinic. The result is that her body mutates, becoming only able to sustain itself on blood obtained through a new appendage that has formed in a new orifice in her armpit. The people she feeds on then become essentially mindless zombies. So the natural beauty of a woman's body is perverted by an exploitative male doctor and she finds she must play a predatory game in order to survive.
She's at first unaware of what becomes of her victims and she commits her first assaults instinctively, embracing men who come near her out of concern or lust. But is she really innocent of the harm she causes or is she just kidding herself?
Videodrome does a much better job of making a connexion between sexually stimulating media and psychological manipulation on a massive scale. Rabid, to me, functions more like Hitchcock's The Birds in which the delicate, subtextual rules of civilised romance and sex are overturned by the unpredictable permutations of nature. The plastic surgeon may be exploiting the opportunity to try out a new surgical technique, but it also happens to be the only way to save the woman's life. And while I'm not interested in cosmetic surgery myself, I don't consider it morally wrong, nor does the film effectively make the case that it is in any way.
Rabid is available on The Criterion Channel this month as part of a surprisingly small David Cronenberg playlist, only his earliest works. It's been ages since I watched Naked Lunch or Crash, I'd like to see one of those again.
X Sonnet #1891
A lack of sense became a zombie curse.
Or something took the mall behind a car.
A better sale occurs for something worse.
You know our planet's sun's a quiet star.
Refining fuel requires space to fly.
The clearest choice could hatch a plastic egg.
But choices fall behind the running guy.
I noticed leeches stuck around his leg.
A dozen watchers screamed for service trays.
With pudding running low, we gathered cream.
A fashion model blinks in many ways.
But nothing good evades the greedy team.
Comparing moons has blinded nights of bliss.
Obnoxious heads would butt before they kiss.
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