Ah, A Serbian Film. What could I possibly say that many of the sickened festival attendees haven't? Even the news of a disgusted film distributor leaving the theater only to stumble and fall breaking his nose scrapes the controversy of the film. Strangely, I'm not here to talk about the controversy because frankly, I don't care what others think about this film. This Serbian film is something that isn't an argument of taste or ethics. What you see is what you get and in this case, close your eyes, swallow, and accept your gift of pure and unadulterated venomous misogyny wrapped in a crunchy shell coated with a (so called) political allegory. A friend of mine coolheadedly recommended me to view this maelstrom of cruelty with no previous knowledge of the events or mishaps that may occur within. Much to my chagrin, A Serbian Film not only impacted me into a state of realized delirium but shook me to my core as I sought out to insure the stability of my future nuclear family.
Even for the jaded business-casual wreck, this film should offer something contemptuous to feed upon your psyche. To redefine the plot within a spoiler-free confine, A Serbian Film offers up a family's story on a burner of esoteric deception. Milosh is a hardly working retired porn star who is struggling to support his beautiful wife and cheerful son, who is experiencing a sexual awakening in part of his dad’s films, and is bleeding out his revenue on silly things like singing lessons. Scared of his family’s future, he agrees to film a final piece out of retirement, one that is wholly unknown filmed by a mysterious man named Vukmir. As the “official” synopsis would treat it, the director’s intention might not be as peachy and straightforward as the art would have it. As far as Milosh’s odyssey of sexual humiliation is shown in graphic detail of ambiguity, I too have been in a situation entirely interesting and chilling to the bone, but not so much as depraved as this experiment in film-making. Some time ago on a forum, a beautiful woman began speaking to me in philosophical tongue. She had been new to the forums and keenly dismissing most of the horny teenagers making passes. As she private messaged me and our conversations raged on for days, she inferred me to a organization (cult?) known as Yellow-1. After much searching the Internet and not coming up with nothing, I linked my friend to the website and he returned with an IP. Tracing that and the location, we discovered that this organization was apart of Neurocam, which is known secretly as a strange affiliation that plays cryptic games of delivering and receiving anonymous packages. Almost like a real life courier game that is bizarre and unknown to most.
After inquiring on their own personal web-board, I was plummeted with woefully profound messages asking me to question my own goals and needs, that brand of horseshit. After acquiring an application to join Yellow-1 in my mailbox, I dropped the topic with chills down my spine and moved on. Much of what I experienced cannot be transferred into mere words as it would rain down skepticism and diatribe on my end. We all fear something and it's always lurking. This story of mine is very congruent to Milosh's feelings as well, without the sodomy of the peculiar. What I ravished in was the descent into madness that this male, like many males with their formidable lust and power, have fallen victim to. A Serbian Film isn't the kind of film an overweight loser from Pittsburgh can make. While this film has a body count, it doesn't act as an exclusive accessory. Take the cult "classic" August Underground for example. With a mere mention it sparks a communion of underground horror fans chanting about "severed penises" and "cut-off nipples." While these facets do occur within Fred Vogel's creation, you must understand that these scenes make the film and the hype. When you mention this pseudo-snuff trilogy, you don't say to yourself "Oh, that's that movie with the climatic character-intrusive depth and ravaging climax?" Those compliments are reserved for an endeavor worthy of the title "art." Taking what I know and what you don't, it would seem that the only fitting label for A Serbian Film is high-velocity punishment. Vukmir would have been so proud of what his creators have created for this is what art is - Consequential.
What Irreversible is largely know for is its brutal rape/fire extinguisher scene and the music. Thomas Bangalter (half of Daft Punk) created for Noé was a collection of the finest and grittiest electronic music ranging from the glitch-pop repetition that is Spinal Scratch then onto the bass-thumping dominance of Outrun. Surely the composer of the eclectic soundtrack of A Serbian Film took notice to this soundtrack, at least enough to incorporate grinding low frequencies in order to churn intestines. For all you noise fans as well, there are better sequences of clenched-teeth dispositions of transgressive savagery marked to the sweet sound of what could be Aphex Twin with unleaded gasoline and vinegar destroying its engine. For what it's worth, Vukmir rants and raves mid film about the languorous state of his mother country; art, film, life. The ravings of a cinema obsessed lunatic have never been detached so clearly from a perspective planted in reality to a character created and given life from a sheet of paper. While he screams about the fragility of being a victim and how victims sell, he reassures Milosh that he is the only one in the picture that isn't a victim. I believe after viewing all what this film has to offer, that his assertion is intelligently correct because whether we like or not, we all fall victim to the seething nihilism that A Serbian Film has to offer.
Creativity is a divine force in the directorial business. You can take any idea and shift it towards either a gifted individual or an inexperienced twit and the result would always show of quality or deterrence. Had any other director taken this film, I'd imagine the end result to pop up of Cinemageddon with observations of its Z-grade no holds barred trash aesthetics. Gladly, I gloat the artistic exhibitionism of this fine barrel ride into a disparage of sadism and Twin Peaks infused scenes of degrading fellatio and cock prosthetics. What really drags me to me senses is the display of disheveled and abused women, crawling towards another cock to suck, another man to please. In this account of what 8mm could have been like had Joel Schumacher been on more coke, the folds of misogyny are ironed out into something so irrevocably clear and direct. The several disenfranchised women throughout A Serbian Film are real women - bitchy, painted, and repulsive in their impulses. For better or worse, A Serbian Film is a real organic piece of hatred with a genre dividing atmosphere for better placement. This is the definition of love it/hate it and I can only give this my highest recommendation. This being the film containing the ending that nearly got me in a car accident on recollection and which killed my sobriety as I wanted, no, needed to consume copious amounts of rum just to get the images out of my head.
Even for the jaded business-casual wreck, this film should offer something contemptuous to feed upon your psyche. To redefine the plot within a spoiler-free confine, A Serbian Film offers up a family's story on a burner of esoteric deception. Milosh is a hardly working retired porn star who is struggling to support his beautiful wife and cheerful son, who is experiencing a sexual awakening in part of his dad’s films, and is bleeding out his revenue on silly things like singing lessons. Scared of his family’s future, he agrees to film a final piece out of retirement, one that is wholly unknown filmed by a mysterious man named Vukmir. As the “official” synopsis would treat it, the director’s intention might not be as peachy and straightforward as the art would have it. As far as Milosh’s odyssey of sexual humiliation is shown in graphic detail of ambiguity, I too have been in a situation entirely interesting and chilling to the bone, but not so much as depraved as this experiment in film-making. Some time ago on a forum, a beautiful woman began speaking to me in philosophical tongue. She had been new to the forums and keenly dismissing most of the horny teenagers making passes. As she private messaged me and our conversations raged on for days, she inferred me to a organization (cult?) known as Yellow-1. After much searching the Internet and not coming up with nothing, I linked my friend to the website and he returned with an IP. Tracing that and the location, we discovered that this organization was apart of Neurocam, which is known secretly as a strange affiliation that plays cryptic games of delivering and receiving anonymous packages. Almost like a real life courier game that is bizarre and unknown to most.
After inquiring on their own personal web-board, I was plummeted with woefully profound messages asking me to question my own goals and needs, that brand of horseshit. After acquiring an application to join Yellow-1 in my mailbox, I dropped the topic with chills down my spine and moved on. Much of what I experienced cannot be transferred into mere words as it would rain down skepticism and diatribe on my end. We all fear something and it's always lurking. This story of mine is very congruent to Milosh's feelings as well, without the sodomy of the peculiar. What I ravished in was the descent into madness that this male, like many males with their formidable lust and power, have fallen victim to. A Serbian Film isn't the kind of film an overweight loser from Pittsburgh can make. While this film has a body count, it doesn't act as an exclusive accessory. Take the cult "classic" August Underground for example. With a mere mention it sparks a communion of underground horror fans chanting about "severed penises" and "cut-off nipples." While these facets do occur within Fred Vogel's creation, you must understand that these scenes make the film and the hype. When you mention this pseudo-snuff trilogy, you don't say to yourself "Oh, that's that movie with the climatic character-intrusive depth and ravaging climax?" Those compliments are reserved for an endeavor worthy of the title "art." Taking what I know and what you don't, it would seem that the only fitting label for A Serbian Film is high-velocity punishment. Vukmir would have been so proud of what his creators have created for this is what art is - Consequential.
What Irreversible is largely know for is its brutal rape/fire extinguisher scene and the music. Thomas Bangalter (half of Daft Punk) created for Noé was a collection of the finest and grittiest electronic music ranging from the glitch-pop repetition that is Spinal Scratch then onto the bass-thumping dominance of Outrun. Surely the composer of the eclectic soundtrack of A Serbian Film took notice to this soundtrack, at least enough to incorporate grinding low frequencies in order to churn intestines. For all you noise fans as well, there are better sequences of clenched-teeth dispositions of transgressive savagery marked to the sweet sound of what could be Aphex Twin with unleaded gasoline and vinegar destroying its engine. For what it's worth, Vukmir rants and raves mid film about the languorous state of his mother country; art, film, life. The ravings of a cinema obsessed lunatic have never been detached so clearly from a perspective planted in reality to a character created and given life from a sheet of paper. While he screams about the fragility of being a victim and how victims sell, he reassures Milosh that he is the only one in the picture that isn't a victim. I believe after viewing all what this film has to offer, that his assertion is intelligently correct because whether we like or not, we all fall victim to the seething nihilism that A Serbian Film has to offer.
Creativity is a divine force in the directorial business. You can take any idea and shift it towards either a gifted individual or an inexperienced twit and the result would always show of quality or deterrence. Had any other director taken this film, I'd imagine the end result to pop up of Cinemageddon with observations of its Z-grade no holds barred trash aesthetics. Gladly, I gloat the artistic exhibitionism of this fine barrel ride into a disparage of sadism and Twin Peaks infused scenes of degrading fellatio and cock prosthetics. What really drags me to me senses is the display of disheveled and abused women, crawling towards another cock to suck, another man to please. In this account of what 8mm could have been like had Joel Schumacher been on more coke, the folds of misogyny are ironed out into something so irrevocably clear and direct. The several disenfranchised women throughout A Serbian Film are real women - bitchy, painted, and repulsive in their impulses. For better or worse, A Serbian Film is a real organic piece of hatred with a genre dividing atmosphere for better placement. This is the definition of love it/hate it and I can only give this my highest recommendation. This being the film containing the ending that nearly got me in a car accident on recollection and which killed my sobriety as I wanted, no, needed to consume copious amounts of rum just to get the images out of my head.
-mAQ
I`ve always genuinely believed that girls are "INDEED" just there for the sexual gratification of rampantly heterosexual geezers and to be nothing other than the sexual playthings of rampantly heterosexual geezers its just that at this point in history we unfortunately live in a hideously sexually repressed society that is in denial about that. By the way, Joel Schumacher must be destroyed because he is a dirty pansy queer bastard.
ReplyDelete