I swear to the gods, Dolniak, you ever send me an arthouse style film again, I will hunt you down, prop your eye lids open with toothpicks, and force you to watch Twilight on repeat for seven straight days. And then when you’re begging for mercy, I’ll put in From Justin to Kelly and leave you there for another seven.
Artspolitation Films (*eye roll*) brings us Meat, an independent award winning film (which means absolutely NOTHING to me if it’s rife with bullshit) about…I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA. It’s basically an art film that’s trying to be exploitation and fails SPECTACULARLY. Though I suppose it succeeded as an art film in which case IT JUST SUCKS MAJOR DONKEY BALLS.
Here’s the film description on IMDB: “A girl is awakened to a world of cruelty, shadowy passions and sensuality.” They forget to mention it’s via a fat, sweaty, lusty butcher while she films everything and all imagery is some kind of fucking metaphor for humanity or something. I get no sensuality off this film. I suppose the cruelty is the slaughter of animals and not getting love from some guy she hardly knows. I guess peeing on someone could be considered a shadowy passion - it’s not for everyone.
The characters in the film are odd. The butcher is already screwing some woman, who screws everyone else, but he constantly pursues Roxy, the girl who is ‘awakened’. Roxy is an enigma of film student, mute, and doe-eyed innocence. The Inspector (played by the same actor who plays the butcher so what the fuck is up with that, Netherlands?) IS ennui and I couldn’t care less about any of them.
The cinematography is all about the art - long mournful shots, off kilter angles, single color schemes, naked bodies, a moth on a flower. In one scene, the Inspector is being reprimanded by a younger cop but we are watching the young guy in the reflection of the Inspector’s glasses! Seriously?
|I'm pretty sure I had the same expression while watching this movie.|
Then things get weird. I know, right? The Inspector goes off his game a bit, death, a lot of dream-like sequences (or perhaps they were dreams of someone) that are supposed to be symbols or metaphors about something but that shit all goes right over my head, to be honest. And I don’t care to figure them out.
Also, the movie locked up on me with about 25 minutes left. I got it to work later but at that point, I would have been just fine not knowing how it ended. Unfortunately, now I CAN’T not know.
When an art film plays at exploitation, this is the pile of boredom you get. You want some real sexploitation? Go watch Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS. Otherwise, save this tripe for when you need constipation relief.
0 Hatchets (out of 5)