Da qualche tempo è uscito nelle sale cinematrografiche ‘Shame’, film drammatico del regista inglese Steve McQueen. La pellicola racconta di un uomo ‘deviato’ emotivamente e vittima di un’insaziabile dipendenza sessuale che non risparmia e seduce la sorella minore, coinvolta nell’incesto tra sensi di colpa e vertiginose isterie. Questa un’attenta e sofisticata recensione del film: Zettel Film Reviews » Shame: Steve McQueen – victimhood and the medicalisation of lust.
Il tema dell’incesto,  ricorda una tragedia di cui mi capitò leggere ne The theatre and its double, di Artaud. L’opera in questione è Tis Pity She’s a Whore, del commediografo inglese John Ford, e racconta di Giovanni e Annabella, fratello e sorella, consumati da un amore blasfemo e immortale, che non è peccato ma limite e sublimazione. Idealmente c’è molta più tensione, più coraggio, più carattere, in questa tragedia che nei piagnistei di Michael Fassbender. McQueen si limita ad accusare, Ford a interpretare un istinto e soddisfare una passione, senza giudizi nè morale
Dice Artaud
‘As soon as the curtain goes up on Ford’s ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore’, to our great surprise we see before us a man launched on a most arrogant defense of incest, exerting all his youthful, conscious strength both in proclaiming and justifying it.
He does not hesitate or waver for one instant, thereby demonstrating just how little all the barriers mean that might be set up against him. He is heroically guilty, boldly, openly heroic. Everything drives him in this direction, inflames him, there is no heaven and no earth for him, only the strength of his tumultuous passion, which evokes a correspondingly rebellious and heroic passion in Annabella.
‘I weep,’ she says, ‘not with remorse, but for fear I shall not be able to satisfy my passion.’ They are both falsifiers, hypocrites and liars for the sake of their superhuman passion, obstructed, persecuted by the law, but which they place above the law.
Revenge for revenge, crime for crime. While we believed them threatened, hunted, lost and we were ready to feel pity for them as victims, they show themselves ready to trade blow for blow with fate and threat for threat.
We follow them from one demand to the other, from one excess to the next. Annabella is caught, convicted of adultery and incest, she is trampled upon, insulted, dragged along by the hair but, to our great astonishment, instead of trying to make excuses she provokes her executioner even more and sings out in a kind of stubborn heroism.
This is final rebellion, exemplary love without respite, making the audience gasp with anxiety in case anything should ever end it.
If one is looking for an example of total freedom in rebellion, Ford’s ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore’ offers us this poetic example coupled with a picture of ultimate danger.
And just when we think we have reached a climax of horror and bloodshed, of flaunted laws, in short, poetry consecrating rebellion, we are obliged to continue in a vortex nothing can stop.
At the end we tell ourselves there must be retribution and death for such boldness and for such an irresistible crime.
Yet it is not so. Giovanni, the lover, inspired by a great impassioned poet, places himself above retribution and crime by a kind of indescribably passionate crime, places himself above threats, above horror by an even greater horror that baffles both law and morals and those who dare to set themselves up as judges.
A clever trap is laid; orders are given for a great banquet where henchmen and hired assassins hide among the guests, ready to pounce on him at the first sign. But this lost, hunted hero inspired by love will not allow anyone to judge that love.
He seems to say, you want my love’s flesh and blood, but I mean to hurl it in your face, I intend to splatter you with the blood of a love whose level you could never attain.
So he kills his rival before his execution, his sister’s husband who had dared to come between himself and his mistress, slaying him in a final duel which then appears to be his own death throes.
Text entirely taken from The Theatre and Its Double, by Antonin Artaud, 1938