...in the short time that I have been scribbling complementary and critical cinematic verbiage for this most embraceably eclectic webpage (...oh yes, a motley crew, are we...), I have gleefully perused through a rather respectable gamut of cult movies...a whole spectrum of relishably lurid schlock, escapist genre classics, arousingly sizzling erotica, easily-digestible commercial oddies, and all point in-between, around the sides, over the top, as well as the slimy, abysmally darkened dreck, underneath (...what was it that Maxwell Smart once offered in response, on more than one occasion?? "...AND loving it!!", I believe it was...). In the midst of having viewed & viewed & viewed, and thusly offered commentary to such viewings, this...well, this viewer has since instigated in the back of his mind, a gage...a measuring device, not so very much unlike that of a meter, measuring a level of intensity, from left to right...an intensity, which reflects how much my face contorts and assumes a live version of the cartoonish Cinema Head Cheese logo, which you readers have come to know and recognize. Least to say, given the wide range of film-fantasique, which this viewer has been privy of, the needle on said gage has seen flutter well across the range of the scale...with the odd, occasional times, when the needle slams resoundly to the right, and this viewer's facial visage takes on the euphorically sado-masochistic and tortured look of this webpage's namesake logo. And it is those rare times when one finds that oh-so numbingly rancid, tantilizingly tasteless and wincingly brain-twisting vintage of Thunderbird...that rare, opportune piece of flickage, which makes one stare hypnotically googly-eyed at the end of the movie...at the screen...through the screen...while the final credits roll, and then, moments later, after the screen has faded to black, makes one shakes one's head back & forth crazily back to reality, blubbering spittle all around, like a Whammo Water Wiggle, and half-laughing/half-screaming madly, in the process...
...getting right to the point (...obviously, by way of Kookamonga, and all points beyond), given a most recent...and insanely outrageous viewing of director Quentin Dupieux's most recent surrealistic mental mind-****, 2012's simply and poignantly titled "Wrong", this hapless viewer remains beamingly adorned with the aforementioned facial contortion...which, given my regular profession as hospitality-based security, has actually worked to my advantage. After all, who the heck's gonna mess with someone who actually looks like that, right??...
...an already quite skewed and twisted universe is driven even further so, when drearily routine suburbanite Dolph Springer (Jack Plotnick) awakens one morning (...at 7:60 am...and no, that's not a typo), only to find that his beloved dog, Paul, has disappeared. In the midst of a desperate search for his inexplicably missing pet, and finding no solace at his workplace, where he ritually shows up, despite having been terminated, some weeks earlier, Dolph encounters an eclectic number of the most outrageous people...some strangers, and some, being regular 'fixtures' in his life, but all randomly interactive with him, as well as each other (...such wildly rampant character interaction might remind the cinematically privied of Martin Scorsese's 1985 outrageous comedy cavalcade, "After Hours") , and all willing to offer insight and direction, with regards to his desperate search, including his hired yard worker, a French-accented fellow, who embarrassingly offered no logical explanation, when a palm tree in Dolph's yard, becomes a pine tree, overnight. Later, a nymphomaniacal phone-in pizza parlor operator becomes sexually attracted to Dolph, as the result of a stimulating phone conversation, involving the advertised vagueness of 'speediness' associated with a pizza box logo. Then, there's Dolph's neighbor, across the street, refusing to admit to himself that he is a jogging junkie, despite having been seen running obsessively around the neighborhood; in trying to come to the realization of his compulsion, this self-same neighbor takes off and aimlessly drives toward the horizon, to parts unknown...with the intent of 'discovering himself'...and always keeping in touch with Dolph, via the occasional wayward phone call, appraising his progress...
...meanwhile, a grizzled and determined pet detective, hired to investigate the disappearance of Dolph's dog, enlightens and assures Dolph with leads and clues to the animal's whereabouts...including the use of technically mechanized equipment...the sole use of which is meant to psychically link up with the missing dog's most recent bowel movement. And of course, there's the suspiciously virtuous and pig-tailed Master Chang (...a marvelous performance by character actor William Fichtner, the film's clear show-stealer, who's unusual foreign accent here, reminds me of when I was a kid, having just been disciplinarily spanked by my parents, and would huff & puff, and try to talk, at the same time, afterwards), self-proclaimed zen master, author of several best-selling self-help books, and practitioner of an ancient telekinetic process, whereby pet owners can metaphysically and psychically link up with their beloved companions, in order to instill greater appreciation for the domesticated animals. Despite all of these encounters, and the applicably engaging, wildly desperate, screwball dog search, there most assuredly appears to be more afoot here, than meets one's glassy, twitchy, dilated and psycho-maniacal eye...
...yeah, this viewer can tell already, that you curious readers out there, are already stern-eyed and gape-mouthed, adorned with a quietly whispered 'WTF'. Let me assure you, ladies and gentlemen...boys and girls, that despite the ever-so-slight taste of insanity hinted above...the equivalent of which, being the grabbing one's spinal cord, at the base of the brain, and tightly wringing it, like a damp washcloth (...by comparison, think of what a willingly ingested spoonful of raw horseradish'll similarly do, as well), this is only the free sample bag of what encompasses this quirky, mind-scrambling film excursion...and like the dubious wares of any good 'pusher', the next hit'll assuredly cost ya'...cost ya' your mental stability, that is. And yet, amazingly enough, once these insanely bizarre proceedings come full circle, everything seems to amiably come together, and the end result justifies the nonsensical meanderings & logic-defying psychobabble. Director Dupieux (...remember the slightly less insane, though no less bizarre flick from 2010, about the psychically armed serial killer...which just so happens to be a discarded automobile tire...called "Rubber"?) instills genuine heart into the visually rendered, mad-as-a-hatter events, as in the midst of the outrageousness, we sympathetically observe...and possibly even relate to the turmoil, which befalls the befuddled, though intrepid Dolph; in fact, it is the overall likability and relatable-ness of all of the characters herein, which keep the film's jarringly disheveled insanity from outright alienating the viewer...
...to speak and elaorate further would only serve to diminish the delightfully crazed impact of the film; it's a viewing experience that works best, having been told very little, given the wildly unexpected surprises, twists and turns that lie within (...rest assured, what has been described thus far, hardly scratches the surface). It is also suggested that going in, one should best avoid trying to make any real sense of the 'Welcome to Wacky Land' zaniness of the proceedings (...though, the actual reasoning and unconventional imagination behind the film's conception is a relevating enigma, which the creative powers that be, in front of the camera, as well as behind, waxrapsonically examine quite amusingly, on one of the DVD's/Blu-Ray's behind-the-scenes extras). At one time, not too long ago, the height of outrageously surreal comedy was a mantle proudly and unapologetically upheld by the literarily imaginative likes of filmmakers, such as Charlie Kaufman and Spike Jonze; with "Wrong", writer/director Dupieux has clearly assumed that mantle, and carried it forth, into a level of euphoric mind-scrambling dementia, which defies explanation and logic. But then, in applicably quoting actor William Hurt's character in the 1984 dramedy, "The Big Chill", he once said, "...sigh...you're so analytical. Sometimes you have to let art flow over you..." Sound advice, considering the character he played...and in contrast, considering the clearly more-than-slightly-bent psychomania, which makes up the artfully unconventional and head-cockingly goofy substance, that IS "Wrong"...
...after having viewed this hilariously embraceable trifle of amassed absurdity, you may well find yourself looking in the mirror...and catching a glimpse of that ol' Cinema Head Cheese logo, staring bug-eyed and teeth-clenched back at you...uh, sorry; that IS your reflection, leering maniacally back at you. No worries, though; it'll wear off in a couple of days or so. Until then, feel free to applicably wrap yourself in an 'I Love Me' jacket, relish the instilled insanity, and spread it amongst the masses, OK??...
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