Does anyone remember Mannequin? The 80s movie starring Andrew McCarthy as this dork who falls in love with a hot department store mannequin played by Kim Cattrall? Freaked me out!
In retrospect there were quite a few sketchy things going on with the premise of that movie – par for the course, I suppose, for plots based on Pygmalion – and I’m now old enough to think of all those insidious sex doll references I missed first time around, but that’s not why I was horrified by it. It was the thought of an inanimate object coming to life that really pushed my buttons.
I like the dark even if I do check under the bed for hidden monsters before I fall asleep in strange bedrooms; I have no problems with closets although I do like their doors to be closed before I put the lights out, so I can have a second’s worth of warning by the door creaking open just in case someone really is hiding in there; and I like to keep my curtains parted in spite of possible lightning strikes and Peeping Toms. But never, ever will I tolerate the presence of anything inanimate with a face on it in my room.
I will not be looked upon, especially while asleep, by photographs, the covers of books, posters, artists on CDs, cuddly toys and so on. If it has eyes, they must be turned away, hidden, covered or removed immediately. I insist.
Get. It. Out. Of. My. Goddamned. Room.
So I guess Rue McClanahan’s apartment with women moving through its doors is not for me. The boobies (and the butt, which is apparently on the other side), weird looking as they might be, are cool. Interesting as a concept, even! The face? Yeeeargh!
Tell it to stop looking at me! Me is neurotic.