2 Answers

  1. Actually, I've never met anyone who likes to kill their own kind, except in movies and books, but there it's hyperbole. (hunting for our smaller brothers is, I believe, just a disease of the soul). by and large, the task of art (books, movies, theater, painting) is to explore the human soul in a critical situation, because in such situations all the qualities also become convex, obvious. And in a critical situation, a person shows his qualities in full. It doesn't have to be Jack the Ripper, let it be nibbler, or a stray asteroid, or Mata Hari, or a vicious syphilis. But it seems to me, or am I mistaken, that lately the emphasis has been on murder? Still, I remember that there used to be books and films where a person engaged in deadly sadomasochism in the name of some highly humanistic goals (“How Steel was Tempered”, “Gadfly”, “Aelita”), and now the main thing is to kill a competitor. Are we raised in this way? Quite possibly. Should I go kill the evil conspirators? Or is it already in our blood, hammered into our reflexes, to laugh at a successful killing blow? Life is devalued, and this, to look at the most expensive as cheap, we are already dragging various stalkers into life from the screens and pages. But it's interesting, isn't it? And beautifully shot…

  2. Hunting. We're not predators after all.

    running around the corridors with a gun on the edge is actually a home version of hunting mammoths.
    Excitement, joy of the chase and so on.
    at heart, we are all conflicting beings.

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