In scrawling Flash Pulp, I try to walk the line between titillation and good taste. I’ve said before that I’d like the stories to be something my children could read when they grow old enough to be interested, but there’s another barrier that I sometimes bump up against while deciding how to approach a story.
There’s an old adage in the fiction churning business,
“Write as if your parents were dead.”
I’ve always found that one a bit tough, although I’m not sure that, even if they were, I’d suddenly start throwing out human genitalia like candy. Bless my mom, and her French Canadian, Roman Catholic, heart – if she hadn’t unintentionally taught me to be creatively salacious, I’d likely only possess half of my current vocabulary.
Now, these things certainly weren’t on my mind while watching Anatomy of a Murder last night – no, I was simply engrossed in a court room drama being handily presented by the always genial Jimmy Stewart.
It’s an intense film, which deals relatively openly with rape, a topic not often touched on in its time –
Upon its original release, the film was banned in Chicago, Illinois.
– but it’s an important piece, in utilizing entertainment to bring a spotlight to dark social corners, and who could resist the charms of Stewart, feasibly the most inherently likable actor of the last century?
James Stewart’s father was so offended by the film, which he deemed “a dirty picture”, that he took out an ad in his local newspaper telling people not to see it.