Perhaps it was a weather-weary languor that prevented me from making the trip to IFC Center Wednesday for Dead of Night, the Ealing Studios classic that preceded a discussion-to-the-death with hyperkinetic cultural theorist Slavoj Zizek. You may have heard of Zizek, whose sweaty, rambling lectures are the subject of Astra Taylor's forthcoming doc bearing his name (also opening soon at the theater) and who tends to connect aesthetic dots the way most people chew food.

Kindred NYC film spirit Looker was on the scene, however, and he reported some of Zizek's breathless flashpoints (Home Alone as an anti-abortion film? Well, obviously) today:

Zizek never pauses. He has a cute way of pronouncing "film"—"feel-um"—and a lisp that makes his references to Lacan and Bakhtin less intimidating. His Dead of Night argument, which took off from the notion that British horror films of the '40s were a psychological substitute for the real horror of World War II, was full of fun tangents—the intersection of Buddhism and capitalism ("today's capitalism is so crazy that you have to treat it as an illusion or you go crazy"), a friend's operation that involved his eye being pulled out of its socket under local anesthesia and turned around, so that he could momentarily see himself—but it was awfully tough to follow. Maybe I was distracted by the Vader-like snoring of the guy behind me, or maybe I was transfixed by Zizek's constant fidgeting and the streaks of sweat decorating his cheeks. Or maybe it wasn't just me; after all, he hadn't seen the movie in twenty years. When Astra Taylor ... politely interrupted to say that there was a line outside waiting to see a movie in our theater, he apologized for his jet-lagged vagueness. And then he continued talking.

Holy fuck! His movie opens when? Get the stanchions and hire another usher! Cook up some more truffle-butter popcorn! Plug in the second cash register! I smell big B.O.--and I ain't talking about the guest of honor!