Pink Narcissus

Before Pierre et Gilles, before David LaChapelle, before Jeff Koons, before the neo-Pop movement there was James Bidgood and Pink Narcissus. This art film will not please everyone -- not for the shoot 'em up, blow it up, special effects craving crowd with a short attention spans.

This film is art, not just entertainment. It moves slowly at it's own dream-like pace. It's iconic campy fantasy is unique and the precursor of the artists mentioned above. The Pink refers to the gay sensibility, the camp stance and the prettier than life advertising imagery. The Narcissus of the title refers to Kendall's obvious self-love and the obsessive quality of his fantasies: himself as a sexy matador, himself as a sexy Greek slave, himself as Beauty and a voyeur's delight. The searingly bright color adds to the dreamy feeling. This is eye candy for those who appreciate art and beauty-- confection for the mind. Rarely do high style and content meld as beautifully as in this film. There is no dialogue. It would probably ruin the dream. This film is a "must see" for anyone interested in contemporary art, the pre-Stonewall sensibility or the history of underground film.

I don't know why the rating for this is so low -- well, that's not true, I do know: it's arty, it's got no dialogue (we have radio weather forecasts in lieu of that), it's in grainy pink, and it doesn't have a story. But it is a successful glimpse into a gay dream, and a successful passing on of that experience -- and the title character, a wonderfully objectified youth, is the perfect gay ideal: pouty lips, messy brown hair, dark features, a fantastic and well-exploited rear, and a sculpted body. And he's unclothed for most of it, a Caravaggio boy.

The film is a good example of ingenuity on the director's part -- it's a small-scale melodrama not unlike those of Guy Maddin, if Maddin was more lushly sensual and less manically comic. It's not a porno, but it is extreme gayness, and the mere essence of that is enough for some people to get it up. But regardless, it is very erotic; a number of scenes (stripping the boy's undies off, sucking his own fingers, slowly humping the ground in nature) push the right buttons. There are some inventive scenes, like the boy getting a beejay from a leather man swimming in a milky liquid (and then after that a urinal-fetish scene). I haven't seen "Un chant d'amour," so I don't know the degree to which this is influenced by Genet, but it does have its parallels to the Genet-inspired third of "Poison." 9/10

it is one of words who could define it. because it is not exactly a film. but a sort of experience. eroticism, colors, poetry, steps and gestures and the water of a state out of definitions. a lovely story who must be created by the viewer. this is all. a poem. bizarre. fascinating. cruel. old fashion and modern at all. it is piece from a period who seems unrealistic to the young public. or eccentric. but it is only honest confession about dreams, fantasies, desires and truth behind taboos. in delicate manner. as eulogy to the male body. as escape from reality. as fresco from an ancient time who has the form of nostalgia and self definition.

Possibly the most artistic movie I have ever seen. Beautiful Bobby Kendall (where is this guy now??) in a series of self-indulgent fantasies. The 'narcissus' theme carries to the end. And who could blame the guy? An arousing, provoking short film full of sexual, and more importantly, sensual scenes. Not quite hard-core gay, but right up there. Better. Filled with elements which porn lacks - beauty, art and eroticism. The viewer is treated to plenty of teasing shots, where things are actually left to the imagination. Colorful, magical, erotic. Recommended to anyone who wants to view a hot gay film which also asks things of you artistically.

This production fits into the category of art more than it does video, film or cinema. It's not something you'd see at the theater at the mall; there's no dialogue, and there's no "story," or at least not one that fits neatly into our cinematic paradigm. Rather, this is an hour-or-so-long kaleidoscopic arrangement of sounds and colors and forms in the background and teasingly partial revelations of the male body in the foreground. The "art," in imitating life, leads us to Bobby Kendall narcissistically looking in a mirror, being a matador, flying and fantasizing. Actually, you could link Pink Narcissus to one category in our cinematic paradigm: Suspense. Viewers who like the male body will be in suspense for an hour, dying to see just another inch of Bobby Kendall's body.