I Clowns

About 7 years ago, I managed to find a VHS copy of Federico Fellini's TV movie I

Clowns at a Mom and Pop video store. At the time, I had already viewed most of Fellini's greatest works and felt that watching I Clowns would grant me one step closer to finishing the Italian maestros entire filmography. Aside from remembering that it disturbed my girlfriend at the time, I pretty much forgot all about I Clowns and wrote it off as Fellini's most forgettable work. The other day, I was quite grateful to receive a digitally remastered DVD edition of the film from RAROVIDEO. I figured that by watching the new release of I Clowns in a remastered form, I would finally be able to properly assess the cinematic merit of the film in context with Federico Fellini's large and extravagant collection of cinematic works. After opening the box to the handsomely packaged new release of I Clowns, I immediately inserted the disc into my DVD player, and to my surprise, became ecstatically engaged in the carnivalesque cinematic bliss of I Clowns. I must admit that it has been sometime since I watched a film by Federico Fellini, but after watching I Clowns for a couple minutes I soon remembered why I, as well as a good portion of film critics, consider the legendary Italian director to be one of the greatest filmmakers to have ever lived. Whether featuring a circus of extra peculiar looking clowns or a voluptuous blonde bombshell dancing in a water fountain - with his knack for dreaming up a combination of spectacular surrealism and a baroque aesthetic - Federico Fellini's films provide the viewer with a metaphysical experience that champions any live circus or local high-class strip club. In I Clowns, Federico Fellini personally takes the viewer on a pseudo-cinéma vérité journey into the lives, times, and fantastic activities of an eclectic group of circus clowns that gave the director some of his most notable childhood memories. 

Although the legacy of Italian Fascist leader Benito Mussolini has faded into obscurity in Italy, the artistic legacy of Federico Fellini is here to stay. In Rimini, Italy, an airport named after Fellini reminds the world that the Italian filmmaker is one of few artists that gave his patrons the opportunity to cinematically fly. In I Clowns, Fellini pays tribute to performance artists that inspired his love of the fantastic; everyday circus clowns. The subjects range from a farcical fascist clown to legendary silent clown Charlie Chaplin's daughter Alice. Stylistically, I Clowns resembles Fellini's Roma (1972), as both films take the viewer on an abstract autobiographical journey, colorfully illuminating the events and people that truly touched the Italian maestro's majestic life. I Clowns also features Swedish beauty Anita Ekberg, the lovely lady whose iconic appearance in Federico Fellini's La Dolce Vita is often considered one of the greatest moments of cinema history. Many film critics have criticized the Italian director for being too "self-indulgent", yet with the wonderful life and fantastic dreamlike portraits Fellini gives for these highly personal events, I have never found the director's cinematic "narcissism" to be worthy of harsh criticism. After all, watching a film by Federico Fellini is probably the second best thing to actually taking a trip to Italy. Fellini's love for the people and places that consumed his charmed life are more than apparent in his films. One scene in I Clowns that I found to be especially reflective of Fellini's empathetic character occurs when the filmmaker watches stock footage of his favorite childhood clowns at a museum. Upon viewing the footage, Fellini is immediately taken aback by the fact that the film stock is deteriorating, thus seeing famous clowns from yesterday symbolically fading from memory before his weary eyes. 

"The Clown was always the caricature of a well-established, ordered, peaceful society. But today all is temporary, disordered, grotesque. Who can still laugh at clowns? Hippies, politicians, the man in the street, all the world plays the clown, now." -Federico Fellini

Even though the stock footage of clowns featured in the Italian museum has deteriorated from history, Fellini has guaranteed the immortality of their legacy with I Clowns. Like many of Fellini's other films, I Clowns ends on an extremely high note with a spectacular clown pageant. Despite taking a behind-the-makeup look at clowns, I Clowns manages to retain the mysticism of its subjects. Federico Fellini once considered being a ringmaster during his early years of adulthood, yet in a way, the Italian auteur fulfilled this desire when he decided to direct performers (including clowns) in the form of filmmaking. I Clowns is Federico Fellini's most literal cinematic circus, an extravagant collection of clown vignettes which grant the viewer a household circus without the atrocious smell of elephant feces. From his greatest masterpieces (I Vitellini, 8 1/2, Amacord, etc) to his less notable works (City of Women, Intervista, etc), Fellini stands out as an auteur in the truest sense; a cinematic author who has graciously shared his most intimate autobiographical moments, ranging from teenage group masturbation (Amarcord) to the most revealing moments of self-doubt. Although I Circus is certainly one of Fellini's minor works, any true fan of the Italian filmmaker will find the film to be a memorable experience that involves the viewer from beginning to end. Federico Fellini is known for being a notorious liar, yet the fictional elements of his cinematic autobiography give a truthful account of his jestful soul just the same. 

-Ty E

Caniche

This started out without a word; a review without text. I brainstormed upon how I would handle this film in particular, given that it is otherworldly compared to Bigas Luna's other works. Caniche (1983) is unlike any that I've seen of his, created in the beginning of his career, raw and abrasive beyond question. It also happened to be the first picture of his that I had seen. Caniche ultimately turned me onto Bigas Luna's archives as a whole.  From his critically acclaimed stylizing of cuisine and intimacy, Bigas Luna has evolved into quite a contemporary and effeminate force to be reckoned with. From the past comes spilling something blank and furious - Caniche is Àngel Jové's testament to his internal abscess, proving with flying colors that rarely an actor can achieve the impassivity of many of his filmic manifestations. I remember this night very vividly. I swallowed sleeping pills as to ensure an early night. I find myself often being distracted by thoughts of film or perusing various resources on the Internet, always expanding my horizons. With promises of a simple experience, I played Caniche to a weary host and enjoyed the images so much that I fought the effects of the medication until the film was over.

 

Without even mentioning, I'll admit that Caniche required an additional viewing as what I was feeling and fighting may leave me described as senseless. Caniche, as you might know, translates to poodle, as to, Danny the poodle, who might be described as the main character of this little number and the catalyst for the whirlwind to come. Making up the near entirety of the film is a study of the bored bourgeois. Two siblings live under the financial stability provided from their wealthy and withering Aunt Linda. As per usual, man plays beast more than ever and Bernardo (Àngel Jové) wishes death upon his ailing relative. No reason is permitted other than Linda's scolding of his hypochondria and his alikeness to his mother. In choice moments, we are given sight at Àngel Jové's character complaining about his teeth and how they pain him. This probably isn't the first situation of unnecessary medical treatment he has found himself in. The rival sister, Eloisa, flaunts and flirts about the small cast of characters and lands a sordid rendezvous with a local veterinarian whose big plans to erect a dog park also lends to the finale of sexual desolation and debauchery. What turns the mixture black is Bigas Luna's incorporation of the ever-foreign zoophilia. This is displayed in many scenes but the most introductory and spoiler-free can be summarized with Eloisa smearing honey on her cunt and beckoning Danny to lick it off, sending Bernardo into a furor. Mutual care taking of Danny is then applied vigorously with Bernardo's jealousy. Asking simple things of Bernardo such as to remove a flea, we witness, clenched teeth and all, excessive force with a set of tweezers as to ensure suffering on Danny's part.

I derived pleasure from listening to the mongrel howl in pain, I'll admit. Bigas Luna has this way with grafting fits of emotion from his lead characters unto you. While Bernardo was naive and an over-aggressor, he was also human and victim to his own desires, however inhuman they may appear. This also leads to my assertion that Caniche is one of the strangest films in his oeuvre (Still need to see Bilbao) as it's more adept in masculinity than other film following. Bigas Luna is especially known for his preaching of the feminine art form, whereas Caniche is a materialization of his most debased and primal of taboos. Despite being such a minimalistic film, Caniche has much subtext of the pathology of deviance. While it might not give scientific reasoning behind the nature of these siblings' actions, it explores this dark crevice and gives it a fitting tribute while not coming off as a hyperbole. For an example that doesn't strafe into spoiler territory, it is implied that the meat these silver spoon-raised brother/sister pair eat is the flesh of minced puppies. In a scene expressing the sorrows of every activist, Eloisa is shown adopting a handful of barely month old puppies and quick-cuts to a chopping block. Subtlety may be utilized but it is hardly compulsory. Caniche is a twisted gem, this is for certain. It serves as a collection of deviations so awry that it is hard to swallow and certainly harder to see it for what it really is - poetic. If your temperament can permit constant bickering between siblings then Caniche might be right up your alley. Don't expect too much aesthetic, however. Early on in his career, Bigas Luna seemed to favor style and design as opposed to polished imagery. This is certainly a diamond in the rough and wholly experimental in contrast with his more refined, modern works of art.

-mAQ

Umshini Wam

It seemed like a match made in degenerate art heaven when I found out that Nashville's greatest Jewish filmmaker Harmony Korine and Cape Town's greatest white rap group Die Antwoord collaborated on the short film Umshini Wam. After watching the short, I was left aghast by this touching tragedy-turned-triumph regarding wheelchair-bound white Negros Ninja and Yo-landi Vi$$er. I make no lie of the fact that I am completely repulsed by all forms of Rap music, especially the kind featuring white-bred-play-thugs, yet Die Antwoord seems to be something different; or as the homeboyz say, "they bee real." Umshini Wam may not be a conventional biopic regarding the turbulent trials and tribulations of a group of proletarian white rappers from South Africa, but this short film seems to be the most intimate and realistic portrayal of the real personalities behind Umshini Wam. Ninja and Yo-landi Vi$$er would never claim to be true connoisseurs of high Kultur; be that as it may, they are certainly fresh with zef, mixing disposed and previously rejected cultural ingredients, ultimately concocting the highest grade chronic of white trash flavor. In Umshini Wam, Ninja and Yo-landi Vi$$er ride around in pimped out wheelchairs and enthusiastically unleash bullets from their fully automatic firearms. To fit in within the wild habitat of Afrikkka, the free-styling duo sport colorful animal costumes whilst passin' a phat joint that is larger than a baby elephant trunk.

My home-Nigga Jescie felt the following rap lullaby by Yo-landi in Umshini Wam carried the best zef, "I'm old enough to bleed/I'm old enough to breed/I'm old enough to crack a brick in your teeth while you sleep." I have to concur with Jescie, especially when I consider the sweet manner in which Yo-landi unleashes such loathsome words. In Umshini Wam, Ninja seems to have lost all of his new zef flow, even acting aloof from his baby momma ho Yo-landi. Unlike his audacious music videos and live performances, in the beginning of the short, Ninja acts like a down and out white boi that mopes around in a way that seems like he was drained his Faustian soul. Of course, as shown so eloquently by a pretentious South African Bourgie, Ninja is despised by his own racial brothers. After being told by an uptight white South African that he is "A waste of a white skin" and a "white nigger", Ninja and his homegirl Yo-landi unload their pistols on the middle-aged man and steal his designer wheelchairs. Now owning what is considered "the Rolls-Royce of wheelchairs," Die Antwoord rises triumphantly in a gangsta state of fleeting self-confidence. Near the conclusion of Umshini Wam, Ninja mentions that he once had a dream where he was the greatest rapper in the world. Although Die Antwoord is far from the most revered rap group in the world, the group has already gained international preeminence, which is not bad considering they are a group of white degenerates playing Negro music in an African homeland.

Umshini Wam is an artsy (yet not too fartsy) metaphor for the rise of Die Antwoord. Just as Ninja and Yo-landi kill a group of whites in the film, in real-life they have rejected the fruits of their own racial forefathers culture. The German philosopher Oswald Spengler once wrote something along the lines that if the white race were to become collectively passive, certain whites who still contained the fighting spirit would join the nonwhites and help them take over the world. I certainly see what Spengler described in the spirit of Die Antwoord; a group that brings true organic Nordic flavor to a style of music that is Negro to the core. When Ninja raps, his rough hyperactive rhymes sound like a Germanic tribesman calling out in preparation for a tribal war. Apparently, "Umshini wami" is the name of a popular Zulu "struggle song" that was commonly used by the military wing of the African National Congress during the battle against Apartheid in South Africa. Now in post-Apartheid; racial discrimination has been reversed. Black South Africans brutally rape and murder white Afrikaan boer farmers everyday, yet the mainstream media (in both South Africa and the U.S.) totally ignores it. In post-white-power South Africa, Die Antwoord raged a cultural war and won. At the end of Umshini Wam, I felt like saluting Ninja and Yo-landi as they gallantly rode across a dark South African road in their pimped-out wheelchairs (featuring alien head and pot leaf holographic rims). With Umshini Wam, Harmony Korine has created an innovative work that will indubitably be revered as one of his greatest cinematic efforts. Forget Eminem's 8 Mile, Umshini Wam is the most eminent hard-knock-life-white-rapper-turned-Negro-approved-freestyle-champion story ever told. 

-Ty E

Cold Fish

 

Following hot on the trail of Love Exposure is Sion Sono's newest film, Cold Fish. This odd horror film is quite a departure from his previous works because unlike most directors, Sion Sono embodies his own work  with diligence and depravity. Cold Fish isn't very aesthetically similar to Love Exposure as it is more focused and budgeted on a single strand of narrative as opposed to the labyrinthine construct of Sono's absurd romance epic. Undoubtedly situated with tension, one glance at the poster should inflict mental side-effects akin to a bad omen. I could probably sit here and gush at the mere mention of Sion Sono and how spoiled and content I feel after viewing his films one after another but I will fight the affliction at its source while attempting to keep my composure. It would also become apparent that Sion Sono has gotten a handle on his cinematic deviance, even going as far as to be comic in nature. Now I pray you'll excuse the pun but Cold Fish, at its very core, profits with a morbid take on a "fish out of water" tale and like several of his films, is based on a true story. This story, in particular, being the case of Gen Sekine, a 59 year old dog breeder who conspired and poisoned four people.

Cold Fish opens up on with a very go-getting display of bright pastel colors and a delicate piano tune spliced with an ominous pounding. You can compare the introduction of Cold Fish to Gaspar Noe's Enter the Void as they both feature a very similar iconographic vortex, alike to being siphoned for every ounce of attention. We are then guests in the home of Shamoto and we watch their daily duties which include vomiting from nervousness. It is then when a chord is rung that highlights an estrangement so bizarre for being that close in proximity. Shamoto is the timid husband and proprietor of the squalid tropical fish shop they live out of, Taeko is the caretaker of the fish, and Mitsuko is the obligatory rebellious teenage girl. The events of Cold Fish pick up rather swiftly as Shamoto receives a phone call from a supermarket; the manager asking for his presence as his daughter was caught shoplifting. After some humility is passed evenly to the fragmented family, the situation is diffused when a Mr. Murata makes his presence known and talks the manager down from police intervention. After revealing that he, too, is a fish trader, Shamoto and Murata quickly bond over a stretch of peculiar and intrusive methods that leave Murata's true intentions masked. Here in lies the magic of Cold Fish, as per Sion Sono's evolution of character, this film is no exception to dizzying violence and absurd and utterly uncomfortable moments from the start to the twisted end. Shamato; shrewd and laden with cowardice. Murata; kind man whose costume is shed to reveal a sinister side - not one with the remove of, say, a greater evil. No, Murata's sickness lends much more to the promise of financial gain.

To properly describe Cold Fish, you'd have to step back and analyze each character and their behaviors. Sion Sono has learned much throughout his career. Breaking into the mainstream with J-Splatter success Suicide Club then tip-toeing through with films like Hazard, Strange Circus, and the Soiled Sinema favorite Love Exposure, Cold Fish demonstrates perfectly well the talent and mutability of his direction. The confidence that permeates on screen appeals so broadly to me. I feel as if I am invincible heading into a film of his, knowing full well that I will not be disappointed. Some might argue the fact of Noriko's Dinner Table being stale and mundane but I will refrain from commenting until I can devote my absolute full attention to it. To break down what I mentioned earlier, take the character of Taeko for example. Shown in the beginning rampaging through a grocery store, frolicking amidst the isles, gathering the necessary ingredients for a traditional Japanese supper, Sono then time-lapses through the process of preparation only to rival the exertion on her behalf with a scene of silence. Later on that evening, once Mistuko is rid from their domicile, Shamoto sits nervously with Taeko while watching a romantic late-night programme on the television. Obviously inspired by the affection, Shamato decides to make a move on Taeko only to be sternly rejected wielding the "she might come back soon" line. This catapults the common case of an unfulfilled marriage into sadistic grounds, spanning murder and infidelity. One could argue the cause but then again, Shamato never seemed to have luck on his side and this one chance meeting was enough to derail all fates featured within. 

Throughout the entirety of Cold Fish, I was teased and satisfied with Sono's wonderful handling of the oft-unappreciated eccentricity of the Japanese. This ranges from extreme bouts of enthusiasm and the more commonly recognized over-emphasis of their words. This soon trickles dry, though, when Cold Fish switches the safety off half-way and turns into a dark and brooding horror film. I was unsure of how Cold Fish could end. No, how it would end. Immediately upon starting the film, you can never be sure of how it will close and upon seeing it and coming forward for another round, you simply cannot believe the curve-ball it is so prepared to hurl at you. I will refrain from mentioning a thing concerning the finale of Cold Fish other than this; it will terrify you, move you, shock you, and appall you. The violence featured in Cold Fish is something I had taken for granted. I did not realize I could still be shocked by something as novelty as "blood and guts" but alas, I found myself mortified, staring blankly at the screen. In retrospect, what I experienced was very similar to my first initiation to, say, the Guinea Pig series - namely, Flowers of Flesh and Blood. It was simply a spark that no words could recreate for a third-party member. To summarize all these conflicting emotions I can only muster a gasp, exhausted and drained in part of Sono's rape of character - Cold Fish is a flawless depiction of a soul dying. Sion Sono also happens to be a musical genius. He may not be so hands-on as to create his own melodies but as far as juxtaposing images to a classical score, there is no competition. Now as I ruminate on this ghastly thriller, I humbly request that you wait patiently and look forward to the R2 release from the prodigious Third Window Films and if you haven't, acquire a copy of Love Exposure through them.

-mAQ

Anguish

In all honesty, Anguish (1987) tastes best as a blind leap of faith so if you have any conviction and wish to see this film with its intended effect, stop reading now. For those who have either seen it or just don't give a damn, allow me to divulge many of the visible secrets to Bigas Luna's only straight-laced horror film. Anguish is essentially a Spanish envisioning of classic Italian horror tropes, namely Stage Fright and Demons. Opening up with a black screen emblazoned with a warning, the screens threatens the possibility of being victim to subliminal messages or induced hypnosis. We then meet "the Mommy", Alice Pressman (Zelda Rubinstein), as she scolds her large son, John (played by Michael Lerner), for accidentally releasing a bird to flutter about the house. After the two stumble after and catch the flying rodent, Alice then puts on a spiral record and hypnotizes her son to kill and fetch eyeballs from victims. You see, poor John is far gone being myopic and his mother has hopes that stealing the eyes of the city will gift her son with new sight and vengeful sight. This is where the cord is pulled, so to speak. Anguish reveals its true(?) intentions by retreating the camera past the screen and revealing that these instances are a popular horror movie known as The Mommy being watched by a live audience; an audience that is equally disgusted of John's retina retribution.

I cannot deny the fact that cinema has largely impacted who I am today. Each and every viewing shapes new morality out of me and leaves impressions spanning from fetishes to general outlook. So it comes as no surprise that as I watch out of intrigue, I can understand, even embrace, Patti's nauseousness due to the horrors and blood-letting of the film. During the radical hypnosis spells that The Mommy volleys at the screen, Patti's hands clench her side and she surveys the auditorium begging for an exit. It is at this point when she notices she is not the only one reeling from the effects of the reel. Here is where Bigas Luna introduces a favorite among his career, Àngel Jové, reprising since Caniche and Bilbao. The surprise spills in rather unexpectedly. You watch the screen, playing sick voyeur to Patti's breakdown. It's easy to pass off as a case of paranoia inflated by fictitious slaughter. Once a madman within the theater begins systematically murdering the theater employees and guests to mimic the on-screen shenanigans, however, well, that's when fears are realized and Anguish dives into its own wonderful excess. The intricate rhythm of Anguish is reflected nicely with the gorgeous poster art. In a retro backdrop using Zelda Rubinstein as an instrument of fear, "The eyes of the city are mine!" scowls the poster. This, of course, is but a glimpse at the brilliance of Bigas Luna, a director who manhandles and breathes life into genres as often dull and formulaic as romance and horror - which also appear at the opposite ends of each other in the genre spectrum.

Inherently, Anguish is a film expressing the woes and sorrows of every mother whose children peep at objectionable material in the cinema. Anguish is worry incarnate. The very topic of sensitization is toppled as Anguish features not one, but several swayed by the effects of cinema and they are not all psychopathic. What Patti begins to succumb to may very well be the early symptoms of the sickness that has spread to Àngel Jové's killer character. As the concessionist exclaims right before she meets her fate, "Boy, you must know this picture by heart!", a seed is planted that which, upon further musing, sprouts a sapling of an idea. It is ultimately an idea that flourishes into what one can call fanaticism. Could someone like you or I be driven into madness as easily as some of the more susceptible viewers? I won't argue the case against fiction but Anguish hits all the right notes as it spirals into some bizarre, radical new demonstration of old concepts. The terror of Patti and her once-daft friend Linda turns tangible and I must comment on Àngel Jové's excellent performance, Comparing and contrasting his roles in Caniche and Anguish, I must express admiration for his daunting performances, as simple as they seem. Both characters express a degree of psychopathy but Anguish removes the compassion and replaces it with a terrible mother complex that begs to question his upbringing. Anguish cuts a swath right through the definition of meta and sutures the wound with tight-knit execution and minimalism within minimalism. For an even sweeter treat, stay through the credits and gasp when you realize that the "reality" is victim to another critical audience, who may or may not be stars in their own right.

-mAQ

The Loveless

When it comes to topnotch renegade motorcycle gang films, it seems like only the world of independent film has contributed notable works to the highly neglected leather-bound genre. Sure, Hollywood gave us the iconic biker gang flick The Wild One starring Marlon Brando, but unfortunately the film has aged in a less than a graceful manner. With his masterwork of risqué biker art Scorpio Rising, Crowleyite auteur Kenneth Anger gave us a film that exposes the most esoteric of desires, which only an artistic individual with an instinctive knack for psychoanalysis could have visually dreamed up. For their dark and gritty biker film The Loveless (1982), co-directors Kathryn Bigelow and Monty Montgomery re-invented The Wild One in a most culturally subversive manner, thus creating what I have come to believe is the definitive motorcycle gang film. After having seen Bigelow's subsequent psycho-sexual vampire film Near Dark (1987) many times in my life, I can say with the utmost certainly that the female filmmaker's fetishistic auteur signatures also vividly resonate in her first feature-length picture The Loveless. Although Bigelow's directorial stamp is obvious in The Loveless, co-director Monty Montgomery's contribution to the film must also be noted. After watching The Loveless, it will be no surprise to the viewer when realizing that Montgomery was also responsible for co-producing David Lynch's TV series Twin Peaks, Hotel Room (TV Miniseries) and Wild at Heart. Like the surly Americana works of David Lynch, The Loveless is a picturesque joyride through a cryptic-subculture left virtually forgotten by Hollywood filmmakers. 

Kathryn Bigelow

Although Willem Dafoe is certainly no Marlon Brando, he does a wonderful job portraying the main protagonist Vance in The Loveless. Despite being a novice actor while acting in the film, Dafoe radiates such a high potency of suaveness that it becomes totally believable when he effortlessly manhandles every lady that passes his predatory gaze in The Loveless. During the beginning of the film, Vance nonchalantly gropes an older woman he calls "Mom." Vance, a young man that makes no lie of the fact that he disdains work, more resembles Marlon Brando's character Valentine from The Fugitive Kind (1959) than Johnny from The Wild One. And just like the anti-heroes from The Fugitive Kind and The Wild One, Vance comes under attack from a group of townie rednecks that don't take kindly to strangers who wear stylin' jackets. In a manner comparable to David Lynch's Wild at Heart, the reverb-laced soundtrack of The Loveless - which includes a complimentary mix of blues, rock, and rockabilly tunes - accentuates the overall wildly audacious aesthetic of the film. Robert Gordon, who is a rockabilly musicians in real-life, plays the vehement biker Davis in the film. Unsurprisingly, Gordon also composed most of the music for The Loveless. Eddy Dixon, who composed the anthem "Relentless" for The Loveless, would also go on to play the character Rex in David Lynch's Wild at Heart. As someone who has always had an affinity rebel greasers and rockabilly/psychobilly music, I regard The Loveless as a motorcycle gang masterpiece worthy of the leatherjacket sporting gods of rockabilly heaven. 

I am not exaggerating when I say that The Loveless concludes in a manner comparable to a holocaust of bikers. Like most decent films, The Loveless guides the viewer into an unrelenting climax that will stay with you until your life ends. I credit Kathryn Bigelow's female touch as giving The Loveless the distinct sensuality and wild sexuality the film so naturally reverberates upon the viewer. The Loveless is no small effort when you consider that it was originally created as Bigelow's film school thesis. It will be apparent to the viewer that Ms. Bigelow fell in love (as you will too) with characters that she created for The Loveless. This seems especially true for the character of Elena; Vance's tragic love interest. Unlike Brando's love interest in The Wild One, Elena is a multifaceted lady, whose life of misfortune finally erupts at the conclusion of The Loveless in a way that will shock even the most desensitized of film fanatics. Before watching The Loveless, I always wondered how much of Kathryn Bigelow's auteur signature was discernible in her films. After watching the film, I know that Bigelow has been using many of the same themes throughout (from The Loveless to The Hurt Locker) her notable directing career. I can say with sheer sincerity that Kathryn Bigelow is now one of my favorite female film directors, only second to Leni Riefenstahl. If you fancy aesthetically pleasing nihilistic rebellion, you will certainly love The Loveless. 

-Ty E

Evil

It has been some time since I saw a movie that was able to provoke such an adrenaline rush in my body that I felt the need to engage in a battle with imaginary villains. After watching the Swedish film Evil (2003), I even felt like a braindead football fan whose home team had just won the Super Bowl. The film stars Andreas Wilson, who also happens to moonlight as a model for Abercrombie & Fitch, a preppy clothing company that the pseudo-suave aristocratic antagonists (the Sixth Formers) featured in Evil would be indubitably fond of. Of course, those individuals that find themselves adoring the latest line of Abercrombie & Fitch clothing might also find themselves feeling vulgarized by the anti-upper-class sentiments of Evil. The film is based on the semi-autobiographical novel Ondskan by Swedish author Jan Guillou. Falling in line with Guillou's political views (he was a member of various Communist organizations during his life), Evil examines institutional violence and class exploitation inside the vacuum of a private boarding school. The protagonist of Evil, Erik Ponti, is forced to enroll in a private boarding school after he is expelled from his previous school for brutally beating another student. After expelling Erik for his barbaric actions, the headmaster calls him "Evil", hence the title of the film. Upon enrolling at his new school Stjärnsberg, Erik is determined to refrain from violence, but soon realizes that violence is a longstanding tradition at his new school of residence. 

Apparently, due to the popularity of the best-selling novel Ondskan, plans for a cinematic adaptation of the book had been in the woodworks (including various failed attempts) long before the 2003 feature-length film Evil was ever conceived. Director Mikael Håfström was originally expected to create Evil as a television series, but held the production in limbo for such a long time that he eventually able to convince the producers to allow him direct it as a feature-length film. The best way I can describe Evil to an uninitiated viewer is by stating that it is the polar opposite of Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited. Instead of acting like a gentleman by attempting to fit in with members of the aristocratic class (like the protagonist of Brideshead Revisited), Erik almost immediately decides to engage in a battle of class war against the Sixth Formers (the older aristocratic classmates). Due to the unnecessary beatings he has taken from his sadistic stepfather, Erik can unflinchingly endure the worst forms of punishment from the Sixth Formers. Erik forms a strong friendship with his physically weak yet intellectually superior roommate Pierre, making for a truly humorous odd couple. When the Sixth Formers realize that they cannot break Erik's glaring stoicism, they go for the easy target of Pierre, a softy that finds all forms of punishment intolerable. Erik also begins a sexual relationship with a beautiful Finnish proletarian worker girl (an expellable offense at his institution) who also becomes a target of the Sixth Formers. Inspired by Gandhi's resistance to tyranny's through nonviolent civil-disobedience, Erik strategically battles the Sixth Formers through a variety of unconventional methods. Of course, Erik soon realizes that his pacifist stance is somewhat futile and eventually engages in the sort of violence that he originally hoped to abstain from. 

I must admit that it has been some time since I saw a film like Evil, where I found myself deeply empathizing with the protagonist. I can especially sympathize with Erik's one-man crusade against an unjust (and ultimately irrelevant) system. I have always been bothered by the all too common situation where - although a person finds a particular institution or school to be at odds with their own worldview - they rarely act accordingly and wage war against it. Not only does Erik battle his enemies; he immediately gets back up again after being beaten and fights even harder than before. Despite finding myself at odds with the political message of Evil, the film left me flabbergasted, in such a content state that I could not find anything lacking in the film. Evil may not be an innovating work of cinematic art, yet the film conjures up a rollercoaster of emotions, from the beginning to end - inspiring me to write this review in gratitude to the marvelous writer, director, and performers, who have created what I consider to be: my latest, greatest personal cinematic fling.  

 Evil might contain a nihilistic message of destroying institutional violence by engaging in violence, yet the dubious moral seems even more pertinent as I re-watch the film and once again experience how the plot thickens. In Evil, Erik is perturbed by a teacher (who ironically uses Erik to illustrate to his class what a fine Aryan specimen looks like) who is the last remnant of the fascist curriculum that used to embody the institution. With the help of a "progressive" swim coach (who is rumored to be a social democrat), Erik is inspired to win a big swim match, thus humiliating a group of Sixth Formers. Throughout the film, various students and professors have committed themselves to social democracy, illuminating that times are changing and a new political era in Sweden is about to begin. With the recent international popularity of communist Stieg Larsson's Lisbeth Salander novels/film adaptation, it is apparent that the revolutionary actions of people like Erik in Evil have radically changed the political climate of Sweden from within. The modern radical equivalent of Erik would probably be a Swedish nationalist - whose motivation would be to battle against the new institutional tyranny ("political correctness") and revamp the political persuasion of Sweden, once again installing traditional values that earlier subversives fought so eagerly to end. Either way, Evil is a superb cinematic testament as to how Sweden - the land of Vikings - became the land of marxists, feminists and male breastfeeding.

-Ty E