How about this one, for a touch of possession and enchantment unto the swaying palm-trees of the south-seas, like Caribbean nights and hoop-skirts and strumming ukeleles as you’ll never see another movie “like this”.
So many screwball elements came together to make this movie– from Claymation, green-clicked Styrofoam rubber that you’d maybe see on the ole’ “Flintstones” show, to creepy creatures from the depths of the subconscious, to the twisted-around rules of ghostly haunting– like normal life, but “deader” with an incredible stretching of known physical laws.
You wanted-it, you had to see it– the ole’ banana-boat song by Harry Belafonte. Never a dull moment but filled with “lively” ones.
Maybe possession is a bit like karaoke, or dancing as a puppet at the end of its traces like a willing participant to the uncanny as you feel yourself propelled-along, as if by some unnatural force– to sing south-side standards.
Call it “the muse” as a celestial tape-recording literally comes down “and plays through your head” as I wonder about that, myself as a writer. Sit in front of the computer and the words magically arrive. Whether ideas exist all around in the universe like chains-of-secret-information and you somehow “tap into the source” like wireless contact through time & space to play-out an idea, like maybe an mp3 playing-out from beginning to end.
Certainly, when I’m on storytelling-kicks “it seems to write-itself”. Like creative lip-synching “as you make it up, as you go along”. Like being inside the walls of a story and swelling-out pleasantly, a ponderous swell of verbosity unto its concomitant state– another smooth post as that’s it for today, and we’ll be back soon. . . . .