This heavily reconstructed scene is from that "P.a.l.i.m.p.s.e.s.t" motion picture of U.m.b.e.r.t.o E.c.o's novel "T.h.e N.a.m.e o.f t.h.e R.o.s.e." It is an epic film about knowledge and responsibility, and it stars an unacceptably modernist S.e.a.n C.o.n.n.e.r.y as W.i.l.l.i.a.m of B.a.s.k.e.r.v.i.l.l.e and a timeless babe in the person of the young C.h.r.i.s.t.i.a.n S.l.a.t.e.r as A.d.s.o of M.e.l.k. Nothing "C.h.r.i.s.t.i.a.n" has done since matches the purity of this role, and no subsequent revelation of his buttocks can invoke as this invocation invokes. In the present scene, he falls prey to the guiles of a local wastrel. The movie makes much of his inner urgings to remain and wed this mute near-idiot, something the more unlikely given the contrast between the realtively secure life of a monk as against the horrifying conditions of medieval peasant life. Despite what is obvious, I prefer to think of the object of the novice's sins as a local youth as beautifully bebuttocked as is young S.l.a.t.e.r here. Surely the guilt attendant upon a homosexual act would have the more tortured the boy; and surely their ultimate parting would have been the more touching given the greater mobility possible even for a peasant male.
More significantly for our present perorations, there is no punishment for this eggregious breach of the fundaments of monkly life! It is here that the C.o.n.n.e.r.y character exposes his intolerable modernism, for this breach of the rules left unpunished promised an eternity in hell not to mention a feint to the corruption of the contemporary church against which William was pitted not to mention an opportunity to inflict exquisite bodily pain on his hapless charge. The elder monk would surely have taken the occasion to whip the quivering cheeks of wee A.d.s.o, to put to him a lesson of terror and excruciating pain second only to the burning of the non-heretics with which the movie otherwise, and thus pointlessly, climaxes. Nowhere in cinema -- or in modern literature -- is a greater opportunity for gut-wrenching corporal punishment missed.
But, alas, we must content ourselves with watching his sweet ass roll in the hay when there would be so much more to gain from watching it roll with a whip.
More's the pity for this lost opportunity because it is more than evident that the present-day C.h.r.i.s.t.i.a.n S.l.a.t.e.r, affectionately if un-ironically known as "cs" by his numerous, mostly young female Web fans, needs his still curvaceous butt whipped but good. He got ninety days for a drunken orgy of beating up his girlfriend, then spent some time on work parole apparently cleaning cop cars. When he emerged from jail, he opined in sickening familiar tones of denial that "We all go through bad times ... it's a matter of ... how you take responsibility and open your eyes to all the good stuff that you've been shutting out." I'll tell ya how, bucko ... get those pants off, turn it up in the air, and take the whuppin like a man. Oh yeah, and give up on women ... all they do is cause trouble. Now if you'd tried to whack a boyfriend, he'd as likely a whacked you back and none of this would have made the headlines. Then, you could have spent a glowing evening trading belts instead of having to put together a string of femmy "sensitive" statements.
Here's the bad boy himself outside of court, looking besotted and bedraggled. Now where is S.e.a.n C.o.n.n.e.r.y's belt when you really need it, "cs"!
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