I need to memorize this speech, just in case.
Damn ye! Let Neptune strike ye dead Winslow! HAAARK!
Hark Triton, hark! Bellow, bid our father the Sea King rise from the depths full foul in his fury! Black waves teeming with salt foam to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs til’ ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more — only when he, crowned in cockle shells with slitherin’ tentacle tail and steaming beard take up his fell be-finned arm, his coral-tine trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet, bursting ye — a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now and nothing for the harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Emperor himself — forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea, for any stuff for part of Winslow, even any scantling of your soul is Winslow no more, but is now itself the sea!
Come to think of it, that is a generally useful response to any complaint. A student tries to tell me my exam was too hard…”Damn ye! Let Neptune strike ye dead Amanda! HAAARK!” etc.
The Lighthouse is such a great movie — it, and Willem Dafoe, were robbed in the Academy Award nominations. They ought to swap out that boring, self-indulgent, overlong piece of mobster dreck, The Irishman, and replace it with this. It’s a disgrace that Dafoe has never won the award.