Ahoy, squirts! Quint here to present our own personal pharmacist Psychedelic who has a bunch of reviews from the AFI Fest in LA of films from all over the world. But even more entertaining than Donnie Yen and Sammo Hung in SPL, it appears that the red carpet this year was... unique. I better double check that allergy perscription Psychedelic wrote me last week... Anyway, here's the good man with the good word on a ton of flicks. Enjoy!
Hey Harry and Transgressive Pioneers,
The vain blonde starlet posed for photographers. Flashing bulbs brought on a seizure. She leaped on a photographer, hiked up her skirt, tore open his pants, and ripped his dick off with her fang-toothed vagina. Screams. Hopping from one to the other. Crotch blood soaked the carpet. I bolted into the next screening at AFI Fest 2005 in the Arclight Cinemas hoping for safety.
The Wedding Party
A wedding reception turns into a battlefield standoff in this terrific German black comedy. Director Dominique Deruddere deftly handles an outstanding ensemble cast. A mob boss wants to buy the countryside inn where his son’s wedding reception is held, but the owner/head chef won’t have it. The disagreement escalates to gunshots and explosions thanks to the boss’s unhinged violent ways. There’s a menace to the violence that makes it genuinely threatening. Much humor is wrought from the absurdity of the situation which conversely makes it more real. It becomes a tad predictable toward the end resulting in a slack pace even though the action keeps coming. Armin Rohde is particularly good as the unstable boss. It’s thoroughly enjoyable and worth seeking.
Fuck
This is a fucking documentary about the word fuck and how fuck has found its fucking way into legal fucking battles concerning the first fucking amendment. There’s some fucking discussion about the linguistic roots of fuck and how fucking pliable fuck is in the English fucking language. For fucking example, one fucking whore said to another, “You fucked my fuck you fucking fuck.” Director Steve “Fucking” Anderson keeps Fuck moving though Fuck gets fucking redundant in the last fifteen fucking minutes. How-fucking-ever, I fucking applaud the free fucking speech issues. In fact, Fuck got more fucking applause than any other fucking movie I’ve seen at this fucking festival. Fuck makes you want to yell fuck, go fucking out, and get a good fuck. Fuck, yeah.
Addiction
Basically, this is an R-rated Lifetime movie-of-the-week, except from Finland. The subject: sex addiction. A married yuppie in her 30s with two kids, a great job, and work-focused husband screws any strange man. She’s guilt-ridden but doesn’t stop. Directed by Minna Virtanen, it’s a long plodding journey to when everything cracks. Addiction aside, there’s nothing unique about these characters or how her addiction unfolds. There are no probing questions, multiple psychological layers, or black humor about weird sex situations. Why does it have to be about professionals with money? How about a single mom with two kids and two jobs who can’t stop screwing? Addiction—whether sex, drugs, or shopping—affects all cultures and walks of life. I’m sick of yuppie problems.
Princess Raccoon
82 year old Japanese veteran director Seijun Suzuki delivers one waaaaacked out movie. Imagine Fellini tripping on mushrooms while watching kabuki theatre as random American-inspired Japanese pop songs play. A prince and princess fall in love, but the prince’s father wants them both killed for he is convinced he is “The Fairest of Them All”. Suzuki throws stylistic curveballs every five minutes getting on-purpose giggles. In one memorable instance, a battle between old and young “witches” turns into a childhood game. Theatricality is the word with bright slashing colors popping onscreen. Words don’t do this justice. Princess Raccoon is maybe the most unique film I’ve seen in a long time, even compared to Suzuki’s last effort Pistol Opera.
Dark Horse
Assorted oddball outsiders bounce around Copenhagen, Denmark. Director Dagur Kari’s film is very reminiscent of early Jim Jarmusch, especially Stranger Than Paradise. A graffiti artist on eviction’s verge might be forced to get a job. His friend is like the comic book store owner on The Simpsons except he’s into soccer refereeing. They’re infatuated with the girl at the bakery who’s on mushrooms when they first meet. Shot in grainy black and white, this is one of those small movies you can cuddle next to your chest and lovingly stroke. It drags in the last third, but the ruminative atmosphere is so compelling that I didn’t mind too much. If it was American and playing at Sundance, people would hail independent film’s new find. As is, it’ll be lucky to get American distribution.
SPL
For a Hong Kong movie starring Donnie Yen and Sammo Hung there are relatively few hand-to-hand fight sequences. A group of hard-boiled cops are hell-bent to bring a mobster, played by Sammo, down by any means, including planting evidence. A constant theme of fathers and Father’s Day feels forced. They commit violent crimes for their children, though it’s ultimately death. Director Wai-Sun Yip (aka Wilson Yip) brings high production values while Donnie Yen is the action director. There’s plenty of gruesome bloodshed and a nasty car crash, but the middle drags. Jackie Wu (I think, feel free to correct me) makes a strong impression as a young punk assassin. Finally, at the end are two kickass fight scenes worth admission’s price or at least a video rental.
Next Door
Norwegian writer-director Pal Sletaune creates a kinky and violent psycho-sexual thriller much in the vein of Polanski back in his heyday. A man breaks up with his girlfriend. Then two sexy women next door trap him into their deviant games. They know an unsettling amount about the man. The line between victim and perpetrator blurs. One seduction in particular gets really vicious. I figured out what was going on about half-way through. But the direction and acting is so good that I enjoyed it nonetheless. Sletaune shows promise but needs to evolve beyond derivative material to find his unique voice. The score is even derivative of Vertigo. I can’t hold this too hard against him since many directors who begin Hitchcockian go on to better things.
Amputated penises littered the hallway. I crept down the corridor hoping she was gone. She hissed. A tangled nest constructed of vaginal fluid and pink mucus had spewed from her fecund crotch. She reclined like an expectant goddess. I ran. Maybe I should lay off the ‘shrooms.
-Psychedelic
