“Time to meet the Devil”
Billy.
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| New meaning to the phrase "mother fucker"... |
Pace; 0/2
Acting; 2/2
Aesthetic; 2/2
Originality & Intention; 1/2
Final Score; 6/10
Again, I’m at a bit of a loss as to how I can evaluate this one. On
the one hand, it’s an aesthetic triumph of style; a lavish neon -nightmare of Oriental cityscapes
and a kaleidoscope of surreal and sparse imagery. On the other hand, the plot takes forever going nowhere
and makes as much sense as a bucket of pink eels. Instead of a movie in the conventional
sense of narrative and character, this is more an experiment in tone and unspoken words,
all disguised as an unpleasant crime thriller. And unpleasant is definitely the
word for it; hardly any of the characters are what you’d call likeable, which
makes relating to anything on screen (already alienating because of the intentional style
of the film) almost impossible.
This is the kind of fever-pitched dream you might
expect if you watched Drive, Hamlet and Scarface back-to-back under the influence
of narcotics. The film hints at a depth beyond all its surface polish, but I
think in reality that depth is either an illusion or wishful thinking on
the part of art-house critics, eager to applaud something they cannot really understand, so as not to look dense to their peers.
“Billy raped and
killed a sixteen year old girl.”
Julian.
“I'm sure he had
his reasons.”
Crystal.
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