Do you remember that scene in Blue Velvet, where Isabella Rossellini appears on a front lawn completely naked? Her arms are outstretched like that girl in Vietnam whose village had been bombed by the Vietnamese Air Force?
I’m reading The Kindly Ones, by Anthony Powell. It has nothing like the emotional intensity of Blue Velvet or the photo of Kim Phuc, but I was struck by one scene:
Billson, the parlormaid, has found out that the man she loves is marrying another woman. She seems distracted for a bit, serving dinner poorly. Then, with no warning, she steps into the room completely naked and says that she’d like to give notice that she’s quitting. She’s not hysterical or anything, but she’s stark naked.
Being naked in Western culture shows an obvious lack of propriety. Sometimes that lack is sort of frolicky and fun. Skinny dipping and nudist colonies. But when it’s fun, it’s because the person has decided to throw off the shackles of society in order to enjoy freedom.
But that same lack of propriety is terrifying and sickening when it’s not a conscious choice. It’s not being naked that matters. It’s being so out of control that you can’t cover the very basics. I’m getting the willies, so I’d better just call this finished and head off to work.
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