Valerie's Letter

I wasn’t expecting much from V for Vendetta, as the previous screen translation of creator Alan Moore’s comic book project, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, was just disappointing and ineffectual. I think he had his name removed from this new film’s credits, so you just see “based on the graphic novel illustrated by David Lloyd”. Having read the V trade paperback last year, I, along with friends, wondered if certain key scenes and characters would make it to the Wachowski brothers’ script, and how radically transformed Moore’s story would be. It was surprising that the compression was watchable and penetrating.

Well, as with other comics-to-film projects, it’s not entirely gripe-free. It’s glossy, made contemporary and toned down, not surprisingly, and several character elements have been simplified or excised to fit the running time. But it took the essence of Moore and Lloyd’s gritty and pulsating masterpiece and made it a timely film that’s both stylish and substantial. They didn’t scrimp on the dialogue, and the action parts were well-placed, practically storyboarded by the existing material.

One of the more powerful scenes is Valerie’s letter. I remember reading an issue of V for Vendetta back in 1993 (I’m not sure if I borrowed it from John, who bought it from Gerry, who was selling his comics back then). But If I remember correctly, I bought a copy myself after reading it years later, when I saw it at Booksale. I’m not sure which branch anymore, but it still has its P 12 price tag. This was issue six, which had young English woman Evey (played by Natalie Portman in the movie), suspected ally of masked vigilante V (Hugo Weaving in the movie), imprisoned in the concentration camp for minorities--gays, non-whites, non-Christians--and activists.

Evey discovers a short letter written on toilet paper (that strangely looks like thick tracing paper in the film, but one’ll stop being nitpicky in a bit). That's the tragic story of Valerie, slipped through the cracked wall between their cells. It detailed how the lesbian woman, a former actress, discovered her sexuality and how she ended up tortured because she’s gay.

When I read it originally as a comic book over a decade ago, it made me sad. It was one of those stories that further convinced me that comic books can really be a vehicle for compelling, mature content. When I finally read the compilation last year, I was reminded how real she was. And that sent some tears rolling down.

When I saw her story told within that bigger, sprawling story last Tuesday, that left me quite stunned. The filmmakers didn’t remove it or clean it up. They shortened it a bit but expounded on some of the nuances. It still made me sad and shed some tears, seeing Valerie’s brief story unfold vividly.

I copied this off of the original comic book. While typing this, I still feel the source material’s power:

V for Vendetta # 6: Chapter 11: Valerie

“I was born in Nottingham in 1957, and it rained a lot. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl’s grammar. I wanted to be an actress. I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen but we were both in Miss Watson’s class. Her wrists. Her wrists were beautiful.

I sat in Biology class, staring at the pickled rabbit foetus in its jar, listening while Mr. Hird said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew…

Sara did. I didn’t.

In 1976, I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later, I moved to London, enrolling at Drama college. My mother said I broke her heart… but it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us… but within that inch, we are free.

London. I was happy in London. In 1981 I played Dandini in Cinderella. My first rep work. The world was strange and rustling and busy, with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. It was exciting and it was lonely. At nights I’d go to Gateways or some of the other clubs, but I was stand-offish and didn’t mix easily. I saw a lot of the scene, but I never felt comfortable there. So many of them just wanted to be gay. It was their life, their ambition, all they talked about.

And I wanted more than that.

Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 1986, I starred in ‘The Salt Flats’. It pulled the awards but not the crowds. I met Ruth while working on that. We loved each other. We lived together, and on Valentine’s Day, she sent me roses, and oh god, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life.

In 1988 there was the war, and after that there were no more roses. Not for anybody.

In 1992, after the take-over, they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us? They burned her with cigarette ends and made her give my name. She signed a statement saying I’d seduced her. I didn’t blame her. God, I loved her. I didn’t blame her. But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn’t live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh Ruth.

They came for me. They told me that all my films would be burned. They shaved off my hair. They held my head down a toilet bowl and told jokes about lesbians. They brought me here and gave me drugs. I can’t feel my tongue anymore. I can’t speak.

The other gay woman here, Rita, died two weeks ago. I imagine I’ll die quite soon. It is strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and apologized to nobody.

I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish. Except one. An inch. It is small and it’s fragile and it’s the only thing in the world that’s worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. I don’t know who you are, or whether you’re a man or woman. I may never see you. I will never hug you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you.

I hope you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.

Valerie”

Babyng Mataba


Inosente pa at may gilit-gilit ang legs. Napaka-'70s nung headboard, o.

Bloody Heck

Got this Jay Hernandez-Hostel pic from Hollywood.com. There was one of him gagged and about to be tortured, but I didn’t feel like posting that here, so I chose this one. Saw the movie last Tuesday too. Was able to catch one of the afternoon previews. Jay's the Latino boy from Crazy Beautiful, I think. All I gotta say for now is, if you have the stomach to watch his character get beaten up, vomit, or get real bloody… well, watch it. But worse things happen to other characters. I’d rather not say anything about that. It’s R-18, damn gory and uncut, so it’s only screening at non-SM cinemas next week.

Some young women entered as the end credits were rolling. They brought food and drinks with them. Big mistake, ladies.

Good Mourning


X3: Beast, Colossus, Kitty, Iceman, Rogue (photo from Newsarama)

Don’t know who the lady at the left is or the character she’s playing. But it’s safe to assume the assembled people are mourning a dead friend. Friends? X-Men? According to some rumors, a few will bite the dust. The second trailer is out, but I’ve only seen some screen caps so far. In another scene, Magneto leads a mutant army, with Callisto, Pyro, Madrox (I think that’s him) and a resurrected Jean Grey/Dark Phoenix walking beside him. Hmm… where is Mystique? She’s there in the movie but I wonder why she’s not beside her boss this time.

This opens on the last week of May worldwide. Hope to watch it two weeks before that. I’m a little excited.