Director Michael Fredianelli's loony, abstract comedy *splrrrrches* off the screen and throws enormous caution to the wind. This hopefully liberates the movie from post-modern geeks, yet may alienate fans of Fredianelli's linear dramas about rape and characters who subjugate one another to copious amounts of abuse with no redemption in sight. The director does include one on screen sandwich being made for film professors still seeking academic tenure through Fredianelli's work.
Some flaws threaten to break the momentum--bad acting, unforgivable and unlicensed repetition of Miles Davis on the soundtrack, and a middle section which suffers from pace and sound issues; likely the result of breathtaking stolen locations, from the frozen tundras of northern California to Vegas. But the movie's last half blossoms with hilarious new faces. There's also a 3rd act plot development which promises (and delivers) laughs and shocking, cathartic violence along the lines of "Exterminator 2". Aaron Stielstra provides the original funk score sopping wet with gurgly beats, bass lines, and squishy melodies commonly associated with sea beasts. Fredianelli, himself, is memorable, tragic, yet hard to watch as a swindled actor--as are Maralynn Adams and Jeremy Koerner. Truly funny moments come from Matt Singer and Shauna Richardson as desperate casting personnel, with Mike Dinsmore and Vanessa Leigh creating gut-wrenching horror as an acting duo who receive undue celebration. Still, it is the presence of the film's canine protagonist Martini who induces the most teardrops. This dog sustains as much on screen cuteness as any 1970s Disney mammal, and erases most unclean devotion to computer animated garbage like Finding Nemo.
Fredianelli's often clever camera-work supports the movie's cheerful design, while startling climate change lends considerable dramatic impact to the finale and Fredianelli's attack on filmmakers in general. Here, the satire is more pointed and not so tantrum-like. Furthermore, the always welcome doo-doo humor carries symbolism worthy of Tarkovsky and simultaneously packs plenty of lovable grotesque detail in its sound design.
A delightful, imaginative (and vulgar) romp. In this viewer's opinion, Fredianelli's best comedy since The Minstrel Killer.
