The Trial ★★★★★

certainty comes with the crackling glee of prevailing over paranoia and confirming your sanity through pain. hurt is sought as confirmation of a shared reality, it confirms the existence of the world from which it originates. causality is obfuscated and accusations shrouded in shadow why am I always in the wrong without knowing what for or what it’s all about? will you be told the truth? made to know? yes yes, welles tells us, there’s escape yet: let your guard down, let the pain you knew was coming consume you- you were right all along, we’ll hurt hurt hurt you. in your end you’ll be free from the haunting of doom.

welles’ men quiver queerly, standing on the mouths of corridors lined with infinite seeming straight stripes. they plead for the mercy of violence, of a direct offense that will confirm their anxiety. along corridors of repeating square sequences, of dreamlike inescapable association, of papers and cabinets, our Joseph K is as unhinged from his surroundings as the paintings he clasps. that void sucks accusations from the insides of the persecuted themselves. they scramble to confess, they give us their earnest rot. 

the eyes of unfounded accusations surround and confront us with their attraction. why do all of welles cast men who are so easily accused of queerness, why does he make us (his audience) complicit in these accusations? who is the pursuer, who will shape shift into a predator? why does welles cast men who can be made preys, whose bodies display deviance? 

accused men are attractive. not that being accused makes any immediate change in a man's personal appearance. but if you've got the right eye for these things, you can pick out an accused man in the largest crowd. it's just something about them, something attractive.

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