First writing--\ X U

[Keith DeWeese x422 <kpd000@dns.colum.edu>]

"It's really happening to me.  It's really happening to me!"

--Eleanor, THE HAUNTING (R. Wise, 196?)

                            APOLOGY

I apologize for any purple lapses I might make as I write out my 
impressions of \ X U.  Frankly, this is the first time I have ever really 
put forth my thoughts regarding Kate's work.  Questions such as "Why do 
you like her music?  What's your favorite album?" etc. usually frustrate 
me because I truly am thwarted, when trying to put into words, by what the 
Kate Bush phenomenon means to me.  Suffice it to say she helped me 
understand Stendahl when I was in her physical presence, and she never 
disappoints me.  

                                   ...

After watching \ X U so many times that my tiny thumb has practically 
fused itself to my remote control console (this makes keystroking rather 
tricky), I have come to the conclusion that I have been waiting for the 
film for a very long time.  I do not mean since I first heard that Kate 
was making a film.  No, I have been waiting since I first heard Kate 
speak of her appreciation of the film medium, of the inspiration with 
which her favorite films have provided her.  Of course, she speaks of 
film viewing always, even when she speaks of music making and listening.  
The moving image coupled with sound has fascinated her since she was 
"little Katey Bush" and first confronted by Cathy, the ghost orphan of 
the moors.

Yet, as deeply grateful as I am that Cathy found middle-c in the barn, I 
cannot but help wonder what turns the whole story would have taken had 
she found a Bolex camera laying in the straw, too.  I imagine...

My favorite Cathy film, CAMILLA [sic]/COMING UP...a child's vision so 
much more delicate than [Sangster's?] crass vampire lovers or Vadim's 
ponderous death pleasures...maybe more at Dreyer's vampire 
twilight...and, as usual, on to the LeFanu source just to make sure she 
got her research right...

I am certain, too, that I was waiting for Kate's film since first viewing 
Argento's SUSPIRIA and INFERNO, Jordan's COMPANY OF WOLVES, and 
Paradjanov's THE COLOR OF POMEGRANATES, all films that come to mind when 
I watch \ X U.  

And, thankfully, when I watch her film, I do not really think of NIGHT OF 
THE DEMON or THE RED SHOES.  That she should be inspired by the films 
only witnesses the brilliance of her imagination.  She draws the films 
together then practically chucks them in favor of their antecedants.  I 
am stunned.  Upon first viewing the film, I was taken in by the color, 
the dancing, the music--as usual, but thought, "Hmm, now that plot is 
something else. What? I'm not sure."  

Later, after a dozen more viewings, I realized that on my first viewing I had failed to cast out the 
film I had made in my mind in order to make room for Kate's.  I did the 
same thing back in 1983 when I first viewed the Hammersmith-Odeon show.  I 
also realized that, as savvy as I like to think I am with regard to certain areas of 
knowledge, I was hit hard by what I can only term Kate's embarassment of 
riches.  So many ideas, so many viewpoints, so many colors--it takes my 
breath away.  Indeed, that is what I was waiting for, it's what I wanted.

I am glad \ X U is not the the sum of the old chestnuts.  NIGHT OF THE 
DEMON has its specific time, its specific place, as does THE RED 
SHOES.  I cannot really determine where I am at or what time it is when I 
watch Bush's work, and that is what makes it, for me, marvelous.  

First, damn the lights, put them out and out again!  Mourn the past.  Call 
down the Symbolist's black bird, and, in a love-death, let it rest in 
state on red velvet.  

Second, conjure up a femme-fatale from a child's holiday pantomime.  
I do not know if it was first written by Andersen, Wilde, or 
Hoffmann--perhaps all three and Ovid, too, perched on Kate's shoulder, 
whispering the story in her ear. And, as a critical success, the story might 
be read another way: gynoerotikon.  Dear Angela Carter is happily weeping in 
her grave.

Next, call down Annie [Beasant?] and just try tangling with her over issues 
of political correctness inherent in the casting of mere men as genderless 
psychopomps.  

Truly, I do not even know where to begin with regard to the Jacobean 
devils and the Bosch Lucifer under winged-foot.

One might be quick to write off \ X U as a simple variation on Carroll's 
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS and Baum's THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ, but 
think more of the court fantasies of 18th century France...think of Beauty 
trapped in the Beast's chateau, looking into her enchanted mirror which 
enables her to view performances at the opera or ballet, then wishing she 
was there...but unlike Beauty who must be satisfied with the vicarious 
thrill, the unnamed, red-shoed dancer is forced through the glass and 
given a part in some old world vaudeville cum morality play.

Jolly, red devil-ettes of the dance-hall Hell mock the prostrate, 
writhing, and black Lucifer undone by both purifying water and the dancer 
suddenly translated like Mary in the Dormition.  Ave means wings, too.

	If you've read this far, thank you.  Have to go.  

Keith