currently engrossed in :: a clockwork orange

stills fr. google
If I had to select a single film that held my head in such bizarre clouds as when reading Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass, A Clockwork Orange will undeniably be the choice reel. Directed by Stanley Kubrick (i.e., Lolita, 2001: A Space Odyssey, The Shining, Barry Lyndon) in 1971 and starring Malcom McDowell, its tagline rested upon "the adventures of a young man whose principal interests are rape, ultra-violence, and Beethoven," and focused on satirizing a Utopian society where ordinary citizens embraced drugged milk and sexuality. I cannot surpass the celestial underlying theme of this concept, that when a being's right to choose between right and wrong is taken away by a governing state, he has been essentially shelled like a walnut, left with an humane coating that really occludes a mottled heart. Watch it. Watch it and be frightened, watch it and think for a moment or two. Get past the lush, violent, sadistic, sacrilegious, overly-indulgent images and find your way to the movie's core. 
To end on a lighter note, as when sampling experimental musk and wood at a scent counter at arms-length of a canister of Colombian coffee beans, I rather take a fancy at the pseudo-retro-future-nineties-jazzercise-pauper mode of dress that the characters have taken up. It's refreshing to see such free creativity in stylists and costume designers. And let me promise you that any subsequent detection of "Singin' in the Rain" will slowly but surely render your nerves paralyzed. I know you've already predicted by now that Anthony Burgess' dystopian novel looms on my summer reading list.
Great bolshy yarblockos!

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