There is absolutely something so magnetic and charged and erotic about Benson forcing Randy to really feel his own humanity for the first time. Like he reduces Randy down to his most innate, primitive brain functions over and over again in this movie. He forces Randy to access death on such a primal, intimate level - to imagine himself dying a hundred times at Benson's hand, to clean the viscera of his coworkers together drenched in their blood, to see the way a man's face looks after it has been entirely beaten into itself. Randy, who was barely a real person at the start of the day, has now been confronted with the most graphic, base experiences humanity can offer. The smell of people he once knew's insides. The way his vision fades with Benson's hand around his neck, controlling the function of his airway. How his blood vessels break and leak their contents into the soft tissue of his skin under Benson's fingers. The smell of a man who just killed 3 people for you. The first time you've ever felt special. The inherent intimacy of wearing someone else's clothes. The wild desperation of knowing you're being controlled. I cannot get enough of them
literally cannot get enough of the idea of motel rats randy and benson. fake names and hemming and hawing over how many beds, at first. paying cash and dodging questions about who they are and who they are to each other. investigating each new place for bugs and amenities and sturdy locks on the doors. balancing on the mattress to disable the smoke detector. rooms too hot, rooms too cold. stripping off layers or huddling together for warmth. watching trash TV. ignoring trash TV. gun on the nightstand, smokes on the nightstand. shaking the shit out of the vending machine at the end of the hall. clothes all over the floor. candy wrappers and cigarette butts. showers with shitty pressure and short-lived hot water so they double up, just to be efficient. benson grabs the gun and watches through the curtains when it gets rowdy in the parking lot. randy catches spiders under cups and takes them outside. they take care of each other, protect one another. find hope and happiness amidst a rotating backdrop of bleak and grimy dead-end towns just like home. grow and heal in unexpected ways. they start to think the same way. communicate with fewer words. smoke the same brand. only get one room key. never go anywhere alone. wouldn't be themselves without the other. inseparable, halves of a whole, couldn't be any other way.
i hope you all know that the silly way i write/type shit on here like im a feral middle schooler is simply how i let loose from writing the meticulously crafted corporate business emails i write while at my big boy job.