lukeanilsson

Any vague acknowledgment of a plot during any point of this film is a pure manifestation of the viewer's imagination. The total disregard for any kind of cohesive narrative is masked by eloquent visuals, grandiose motif, and the illusion of visual poetry. Narrative has been abandoned for a series of captivating images. This is an attempt to create an avant-garde film that can only be understood by whoever made it. A master in the rhetoric language of nonlinear storytelling has been replaced by a self conceded image-maker. The Tree of Life is nothing more than 139 minutes of self indulgence and mind numbing randomness. Terrence Malick wants you to feel as though you are experiencing an extraordinarily unique piece of cinematic genius. Sadly this is only a schmorgesborg cohesion of visually alluring sequences that beg to tell a beautiful story, but fail in the most elemental of ways. My former love of this director was all that made this bearable to watch.

Gummo is a nonlinear narrative centered around the residents of Xenia, Ohio. After a tornado devastated their town the surviving residents pass the time by any sadistic means possible. A long day of feral cat hunting ends with a brief discussion of crème brûlée before a session of glue huffing, followed by a visit to a local prostitute suffering from Down Syndrome. It's as if Deliverance and Apocalypse Now had a child, abused it, and left it to its own devices. Horrifying is a word that comes to mind when attempting to evaluate this film. Drunken chair-wrestling, random acts of molestation, and casual conversations ranging in topics from cat burnings to their general dislike of African Americans are pretty typical. The only thing more trash filled, filthy, and septic then their homes, is their gene pool. Life in rural Ohio has never seemed so nihilistic. Though disturbing, I found this to be a quietly beautiful film. Both hyper-real and utterly surreal, it's stylized aesthetic is perfectly suited for the subject and premise. Rich symbolism and unforgettable images demand ones attention in an unrelenting assault on the Status Que. Unsettling and humbling, we are given a glimpse of inbred Americana straddling the border of malignant sadism and total insanity. The story telling style of Harmony Korine reminds me of the work of Terrence Malick, with the addition of a little incest.