Breaking Point - Pornografisk thriller

While American heteros had Cecil Howard (Neon Nights, Snake Eyes) and Jonas Middleton (Illusions of a Lady, Through the Looking Glass) and the American homos had Fred Halsted (LA Plays Itself, Sextool) and Jack Deveau (Left-Handed, Drive), the Swedes had Bo Arne Vibenius who, after working as an assistant director on Ingmar Bergman's experimental arthouse masterpiece Persona (1966) and making his directing debut with the family fantasy film (!) Hur Marie träffade Fredrik (1969) aka How Marie Met Fredrik, directed two strangely atmospheric hardcore artsploitation flicks—Thriller: A Cruel Picture (1973) aka Thriller - en grym film and Breaking Point - Pornografisk thriller (1975)—before giving up feature filmmaking altogether. While Thriller: A Cruel Picture has gained some popularity in recent years due to the fact that it was a major influence on Quentin Tarantino’s two volume fanboy mix-tape Kill Bill (2003-2004), Breaking Point, which is easily one of the most sardonically politically incorrect porno films I have ever seen, is somewhat more obscure, even though arguably a superior work in pretty much every way. Featuring a cinematographer-turned-porn star who opted for taking the dubious pseudonym ‘Anton Rothschild’—a name derived from the Rothschilds, the most evil Jewish banking family in all of human history that is responsible for funding both sides of virtually every single war over the past couple centures—in the lead role as a seemingly schizophrenic office nerd and toy train fetishist with what also seems to be an acute case of asperger syndrome who sees it as his god-given right to rape and, in some cases, kill beautiful young women, Breaking Point was certainly not produced by one of the Semitic smut-peddlers who have a monopoly on such work in the United States. Aside from the pseudonym ‘Rothschild’ adopted by lead actor Andreas Bellis (who, despite having only starred in one other film in a non-pornographic role, helmed the camera for over 40 different films between 1968 and the 2000s, including Thriller: A Cruel Picture), the stuntman of the film adopted the name ‘Turbo Man’, the Special Effects guy took the glorious name ‘Urban Hitler’, the Producer (aka director Bo Arne Vibenius) stole the name Stan Kowalski (the name of the fictional American Polack rapist from Tennessee Williams' play A Streetcar Named Desire (1947)), and the Unit Manager took the name ‘Oscar Wilde’, among various other charming pennames. While advertised as a ‘pornographic thriller,’ Breaking Point is also a scathing satire that maliciously mocks Swedish liberal democracy, the quackery of modern psychiatry (the antihero is inspired to serial rape after learning from a psychiatrist named ‘Sigmund’ that 89% of women have rape fantasies), urban decay, trendy left-wing terrorism of the 1970s, and government bureaucracy, as well as various other forms of contemporary post-WWII degeneracy. Of course, the film is certainly symptomatic of such degeneracy, but at least it is honest in that regard. Shot from the rather unreliable perspective of the renegade rapist/social retard, Breaking Point is a sometimes oneiric and ominous odyssey of oddball orgasms and literal lunatic libertinism in a rare film—be it pornographic or otherwise—where a balding bourgeois dork becomes a sexually savage action antihero of the master fugitive kind.

Bob Bellings (Greek-born cinematographer Andreas Bellis aka ‘Anton Rothschild’) is a nerdy middle-age officer clerk with a rather unimpressive appearance who has a reasonably easy time leading a second life as a loner that no one would ever suspect was a sex killer. Indeed, during the beginning of Breaking Point, Bob stalks, brutally rapes, and kills a chic and sophisticated blonde stranger named Suzanne Andersson by smashing in her skull with a glass ashtray. While at work, Bob calls a sexually suggestive secretary at his work a “bitch” under his breath, as he loathes ladies, especially the highly attractive sort that would most likely reject his romantic advances. While watching the news at work, Bob hears a cop complain regarding Suzanne Andersson’s unsolved murder, with the man in blue remarking, “A rape and murder committed by an authorized citizen,” as if rape and murder is ok if authorized by the government. After the cop does his silly spiel, a quack psychiatrist with the rather fitting name Sigmund comes on the news and hilariously states, “One thing to keep in mind when dealing with deviants like this is never to offer any resistance. Now, a man like this wants you to resist, so our advice is to keep calm and let him do whatever he wants to. Even if worst comes to worst, you’ll only get raped. And current statistics indicate that 89% of the respondents—the women who answered the surveyed—have one time or another in their lives have actually wanted to be raped.” After hearing Sigmund’s advice, Bob comes to the realization that he no longer has to kill his victims, but that he simply just needs to demand that they drop their clothes and allow him to bugger them. After a lonely night playing with his beloved toy train set and reading a magazine about said toy train sets, Bob goes to work and while on a ‘trip to the bank,’ he tries out Sigmund’s theory. Indeed, Bob spots a young chick (Irena Billing) at the local subway and stalks all the way back to her home in the woods in what seems like a dreamlike fairy tale scenario. Like a seasoned pro, Bob simply follows the girl into her house, demands that she take her clothes off (which she does without hestitation), has her fellatio him, and then the two proceed to make passionate love. After ejaculating on the young girl’s face and receiving a loving handjob, Bob leaves the lecherous lady’s home, smirks at the viewer in a knowing fashion, and walks away with a fiendish swagger. While at work watching the news, Bob learns that the Swedish government is now giving out free guns via the ‘citizen’s insurance plan’ (with men receiving revolvers and women pistols).  Naturally, Bob decides to take advantage of such generous government services.

After having an absurd dream about flicking a fly off his erect pecker with a rubber band, Bob forces another unwitting chick to strip and bend over, but she stabs him with scissors in rather painful moment of coitus interruptus. Needless to say, Bob chases her down in what ultimately evolves into a full-on car chase that results in the rape victim crashing into a house and dying after her car explodes. When Bob goes to pick up his government-ordained revolver, as well as some other more power weapons, a seemingly deranged gun salesman, who has a vocal affinity for vigilante justice, gives the rapist some special bullets, including ‘fragmentation ammo’ (which explodes upon entering a person’s body) and nuclear bullets (!), which are only authorized for use by the army. For whatever reason, Bob picks up a spunky prepubescent girl, drives her around the country in his car, and gives her some candy. When the girl asks Bob to bring her home, he does, but when the little lady asks him, “shall we meet again?,” he gives a firm “no,” thus demonstrating his annoyance regarding the little insignificant bit of power the small child held over him. After picking up a hot hitchhiker, Bob gets rather lucky as his strange yet salacious passenger soon asks him, “wanna fuck me?” and proceeds to drop her clothes and spread her legs. Of course, Bob gets his buggery on but not before the hitchhiker asks, “Wanna see me fuck the gear stick?,” which she does like a true champ. While on another ostensible ‘trip to the bank’ while at work, Bob is robbed by a hippie thug at knifepoint and is later kidnapped by a trio of swarthy far-left terrorists. After robbing him, one of the terrorists attempts to kill Bob execution, but he has no bullets in his gun, thus giving the rapist enough time to mercilessly gun down all three of the rock star terrorists with his atomic bullets. Not long after, a police helicopter shows up, which Bob blows up with an assault rifle and then swiftly carjacks a sports car from a young and dumb counter-culture type. That night, Bob has a pornographic nightmare in a surreal montage that recaps the rapist’s sex and violence escapades thus far, including a scene where he shoves his trusty pistol up a young nymph’s naughty bits. In a nice little twist at the very end of Breaking Point, Bob goes to an airport and is called to the information desk where he is reunited with his wife and young daughter. When his wife asks him what he has been up to, Bob ironically replies, “You know nothing ever happens in this shit town,” thus hinting that all the rape and murder he was involved with was merely a product of his discernibly damaged mind.

In one especially telling scene in Breaking Point, antihero Bob listens to a radio host as he discusses the theories of a fellow named ‘Burroughs’ (undoubtedly, a nod to William S. Burroughs), stating, “The instance of schizophrenia seems to vary in different types of societies. Urban societies show the higher instances,” thus underscoring the film's critique of modernism. More of a sardonic psychosexual/psychodramatic thriller of the genre-distorting sort than a simple ‘pornographic thriller,’ Breaking Point ultimately makes just as big of a mockery of the viewer as it does of the film/porn conventions it so playfully, if not perniciously, breaks. Due to its meager helping of sex scenes, not to mention its less than handsome lead, I think it is safe to say that this bizarre blue movie could not have aroused too many people when it was originally released and it certainly makes for a sorry masturbation aid for contemporary viewers, but of course, most people on the hunt for such rare works of idiosyncratic filmic filth are probably not just looking for a quick and easy way to spill some seeds. Combining elements from the thriller, horror, fantasy, and action genres with a small dose of surrealism in a porn flick with a quasi-arthouse essence, Breaking Point is certainly a cream of the crop work when it comes to vintage blue movies, but then again, one should expect more from a pornographer who learned his craft from Ingmar Bergman (indeed, aside from working as an assistant director on Persona, auteur Bo Arne Vibenius also worked as a ‘unit director’ on Hour of the Wolf (1968)). Made in a super liberalized and emasculated country where a couple years back a man attempted to breast feed his baby, Breaking Point luckily does not shy away from displaying a rather distinct form of post-Freudian/post-feminist misogyny that satires the very essence of the decidedly socially degenerate liberal democracy that is Sweden. The perfect pornographic antidote to the anti-male/anti-wasp sentiments of American Psycho (2000), which was directed/co-written by feminist Mary Harron (who also directed the putrid piece of crypto-sapphic celluloid trash I Shot Andy Warhol) and co-penned by lily-licking lesbo Guinevere Turner, Breaking Point is a rare piece of socially redeeming porn that spits in the wayward eye of political correctness while managing to be funny and reasonably aesthetically pleasing at the same time (indeed, Ralph Lundsten’s dreamy yet deranging soundtrack also immaculately compliments the tone and images of the film).  If you have ever have a bad day and are fed-up with all the feminist filth being shoved down your throat by work and MTV, give Breaking Point a watch because, while the film might not give you a sexual release, it will certainly have a therapeutic affect of sorts.

-Ty E