The most common evil is indifference, and it’s the form I practice. Sure, there are the more glamorous types, like serial killing, oppressing the citizenry, and being Michele Bachmann, but those take too much work. Indifference is passive. I can be indifferent to suffering the same time I’m watching Restaurant Impossible on Food Network. Work smarter, not harder, I say.
Almodóvar tries to figure out what the hell goes on inside a woman’s head once and for all.
That’s why I get along with my family doctor: He’s indifferent. It’s not that he lacks knowledge; he just doesn’t care if I live or die. I mean, some other patient will swoop in to fill the void, right? He’s the kind of doctor who tells you, “It’s nothing,” when you show him that mysterious dark blemish that recently appeared on your skin. Which is perfect for me, because that lets me avoid follow-up tests and treatment, thus saving time and effort while also encouraging me to ignore reality. Who knew conspiring in evil was such a breeze?