Suggested Audio Candy
Chet Baker “My Funny Valentine”
Recently I announced my ultimate True Scream Queens of horror and it may have come as a surprise to some that I plumped for a relative newcomer when stating my overall preference. When you consider the strength of the company she was keeping, it was certainly a bold move to place Diane Foster at the top of the pile, but I stand by my decision defiantly. The reason for this is simple: I believe that horror has itself a true first lady in Lady Die and she matches any other on-screen beauty, with bags of raw talent to boot. In addition, she engages with her fast-blossoming fan base intimately and works tirelessly to give her fans precisely what it is they crave. We live in a new age and it is time for a new tact I feel. Diane gets that and is at the forefront of the revolution, with bloody heart on lapel. So you see, it really was something of a no-brainer to me.
I know that the mighty Matt Farnsworth won’t mind me saying this – there is no other female horror icon on the current circuit as regal as she. Diane positively oozes sensuality from every pore and displays her spread of crimson feathers with genuine majesty. Her eyes are like whirlpools of cruel yearning, those balmy lips of hers have tasted blood many times over, and indeed, she habitually bathes in deep red coulis for her distended throng of lusting dependents. I simply have to mention her magnificent breasts, protruding exquisitely like vivacious orbs, with perky pink pellets leading us to her bed quarters like beacons of delight, and her supple pelt which wraps around her exquisitely. Pound for pound, she is pretty damned close to sheer perfection.
Diane is at one with her intimate centre and exhibits all of the following effortlessly. Prowess, honesty, integrity, warmth, affection, and vulnerability. There simply aren’t sufficient superlatives to make strong enough point here and it is quite some ask ticking quite so many boxes as she does effortlessly. Her addressees lust after her but, all the while, we respect her ferociously as her performances display intrinsic worth not visible since the seventies in my opinion and, as Audrey Miller, she evokes every last drop of our empathy, imploring we take the pilgrimage alongside her, however ominous it might appear.
When she finally unfurls her lavish wings, they open like a bird of paradise, one significantly more predatory than we’re accustomed to on the likes of Blue Planet. She’s the prohibited apple, polished and discharging both succulent sap and, in the same moment, shadowy essence. Should we choose to sink our teeth into her forbidden fruit, then our souls will no doubt be retained for eternity. Naturally, I bit into that sweet ripened apple the first time she washed onto the screen, inundating the Rivers of Grue in a second. Indeed, if I could bottle her lasciviousness and hoard it in a small velvet trinket receptacle by my bedstead, I would unfasten Pandora’s Box with embarrassing regularity. I’d likely go so far as strapping that shit to my belt like a pager. That way, come break of day or dead of night, she would know precisely how to reach me.
That being said, now that she is my bloody sibling, it is more than just that rush of blood to the hub of my loins. I desire to ensure her safe passage, support her vision, and serve her loyally. She open-handedly offers a memento no other scream queen has ever bequeathed by supplying her audience everything, chronicling her life, and holding absolutely nothing back in the process. More than simply a pretty face on the screen to salivate over, she’s greasing the cogs assiduously and getting her hands bloody in so many ways behind the scenes.
The rise of social media provides the very prostrate she milks frequently and it isn’t all about personal gain. She wants to share her infatuation with the free world and the free world is beginning to sit up and take some damn notice. During my recent tête-à-tête with this scintillating succubus, it was revealed that she beat away competition during her senior year in high school from front-runners including Oscar winner Anne Hathaway to win the State of New Jerseys’ prestigious Rising Star Award. That supplies clarity on her acting chops. Oh! And she can sing and dance to top it all off with a blood red cherry.
In The Orphan Killer, she felt every last twinge of our beloved Baby Sister’s suffering and each tormented cry of desolation was delivered with startling authenticity. She doesn’t pompously sit on a pedestal like so many others; if you show enthusiasm and commitment to her cruel cause she will, in turn, grant you access to her inner sanctum and it is a vault of voraciousness, a quim for the quenching, carnal keepsake, and a serene shrine sopping with sensually stirring salaciousness. Diane Foster, as the freshly crowned scream queen of horror, the Keeper of the Crimson Quill offers a short poem as a token of my gratitude and unconditional endearment, before we climax any further.
You dance with the poise of a bloody ballerina
The grace of a cygnet on water
You’re our Katherine Hepburn, our true señorita
And we bask in your glorious slaughter
I bow before you with intentions so true
My sibling, no quibbling or question
With you, it is true, my goblet of grue
Overspills with the darkest affection
So, what next for Diane Foster? A sequel no less. The Orphan Killer: Bound X Blood is looking to enter production in 2014 and this will allow her following even more intimacy as it looks to elaborate on her personal journey into darkness. We have witnessed her suffering in no uncertain terms and something tells me that next time Audrey will be far more than simply victim. This is a fascinating prospect as it will afford her the chance to exhibit the other side to her game. There are few more mouth-watering notions than watching her writhe around covered from head-to-toe in deep red, only this time in ecstasy rather than agony. That is the direction it is looking like taking and I believe this will be her opportunity to step out of the shade, surge forth, and cascade.
She positively drinks the camera every time she reveals her angel soft skin and commands the lens with the prowess of a proud lioness. Mark my words, there is going to be a change of personnel and, as horror aficionados, I believe we are more than ready for the change of guard. Diane Foster has buckets of belief but, by sticking my neck out and proclaiming her my number one True Scream Queen, I bid to offer her a little more. You watch her fly. This bird of prey soars with unflappable purpose and very soon the world will be aware of her lengthy wingspan. I, for one, will be busy dissolving at the very prospect.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013