Pussy is a target for all sides. The RUC (Royal Ulster Constabulary) sees her as a pervert and a potential informant. The IRA sees her as a frivolous distraction. The church sees her as a moral contaminant. In one of the novel’s most harrowing sequences, Pussy is picked up by a sinister magician named Bertie Vaughan, who tortures her in a sadistic reenactment of a medieval morality play. This scene is not a random act of violence; it is the logical endpoint of a society that punishes ambiguity. Pussy’s fluid identity is an affront to the binary certainties of sectarian conflict. She is neither green nor orange, neither man nor woman in the traditional sense, and therefore she must be punished.
When you first hear the phrase "Breakfast on Pluto," your mind might drift to a surreal, sci-fi landscape—perhaps a silver-domed space station with floating cutlery and alien waiters. In reality, Breakfast on Pluto is something far more intimate, chaotic, and deeply human. Released in 2005 and directed by Neil Jordan, the film is an adaptation of Patrick McCabe’s 1998 novel of the same name. It is a glitter bomb of a movie—part tragic Irish odyssey, part psychedelic pop musical, and entirely a landmark piece of queer cinema. Breakfast On Pluto
Jordan uses Kitten’s obliviousness as a satirical tool. While bombs explode in pubs, Kitten is more worried about the tear in her fishnet stockings. This is not naivete; it is survival. By refusing to let the politics of men define her reality, Kitten reclaims her agency. One of the film’s most heart-wrenching sequences involves Kitten accidentally dating a gunman. When she discovers his bombs hidden in her room, she isn’t afraid for her life—she is heartbroken that he didn’t buy her nicer earrings. Pussy is a target for all sides