I am not sure how someone came up with this idea but it is brilliant.
I have no reason to believe that the man who imagined it did so while reading sad letters-- many of them--but I have no reason to believe he wasn’t.
you may say: “perhaps a woman wrote it.” cautiously, I would reply, “I have no reason to believe” and then would interrupt myself to say: ”no, she didn’t.”
who is she?
the woman who didn’t write the screenplay for ATTACK OF THE 50 FT WOMAN.
I would very much like to meet her.
meanwhile, the other woman, this 50 ft. woman, is apparently very angry at her husband who is committing hanky panky left right and center and she is determined to find him and take him in one of her huge hands and crush his whole body like a walnut.
I believe that the trailer even shows a picture of him, dressed nicely in a suit, in her hand, squirming. you can almost feel the anticipation, which is delicious.
the walnut part I added myself. I tried to crush one years ago during a strange and interesting flight of fancy but it only left a reddish impression in the palm of my hand and little aching in my fingers. I felt foolish and alone.
later that night, and far away, I dreamt that I was living in babylon and listening to marduk the short-tempered god of babylon talking on and on about floods. “then I will make this flood” and “then I will make that flood” until I fall asleep in my dream and wake up and see
that I am right in front of the t.v. and there is the 50 ft woman in front of me.
it’s just as well that she’s there. we live in a society today that would not honor or respect a 50 ft woman, who, once upon a time, would have been likened to a god. it’s all in the dream.
even though the 50 ft woman was made fifty years ago, truthfully, they didn’t care for her much even then. they liked things like spoon bread. and 5 cent cigars. not fifty foot women. and there was only one of them.
my doctor says: “you must learn to stop romanticizing. it is bad for the internal organs.”
still, someday I will leave this world without a word and go to a special place that would embrace the 50 ft woman, even if she is attacking something. I am certain that it would be unlike any place that I have ever imagined, although I do imagine
that there would be palm trees but no, no, it would not be babylon.
there would be walnuts, in abundance, and a bed of grass in which to sleep,
there would be more than enough room for everybody, scoundrels would be there, and hope would
flourish, and televisions would work miracles as they often do
and the grass would stretch out before you, or me, for much much more than
“Jim,” I said to the hippo. “Why are you so glum?”
Jim rested his large, deep grey snout on the stony beach. The light was opaque and unpleasant. His eyes were half-closed, suggesting, paradoxically, both concentration and rest. Tufts of skin folded over his strong back and his forelegs were folded beneath him.