Water breaks. Babe emerges head first into crowd of angry onlookers, who are upset to be reminded (in this tailored town of latte cafes and jewelry shops, of Neiman Marcus, ballet schools and boutiques, a pristine habitat of gazelles in print leggings and matrons carefully coiffed) that their lives began wet-headed, ***** and helpless, expelled from ****** orifices of screaming women. Forced to view this reminder from sidewalks, Subarus and minivans, they register complaints.
Perhaps in the future there will be no wet babies nor screaming mothers. Fetuses will be grown in carefully calibrated aquariums. The female experience muted and rendered obsolete. A brave new world in which "woman" is no more than a pose adopted.
Only a dying world rejects the blood and screams of life. Over Kubrick's horizon perhaps a new baby will be born, rising from an unexpected place, as the decayed earth is swallowed by an exploding sun
This piece of art was controversial because people thought it was too intrusive, according to what I've been told