In SW's blandly evenly-lit, faux-naturalistic and unstylized universe recalling more the world of late 80s generic comedies than the mid 70s art house provocation for which it aims, a nearly mute beauty undergoes the gilded-penis taking of her flower and a subsequent degeneration into wallflower irrelevance as Otto Muhl's commune takes over for the final and most dramatic segments of this unsurprisingly over hyped litany of elbow-to-the-gut 'shock' tactics. Meanwhile, Ann something, a Polish ex-partisan eccentric commandeers a funny kindofa sailing vessel laden with candy and mischief down some river. Pierre Clémenti's singularly watchable performance of the film accompanies. The whole marshmallow creme-stuffed, chocolate covered, coconut-flaked ball of waxy fakery is appropriately delivered as if by the jittery hands and farting giggling demeanor of an overstimulated, overexposed and yes, sugar-highed 8 year old lad caught with his grubby mits in the cinematic cookie jar. Or maybe by a much younger raggamuffin, elated after taking its first real shit in a toilet. Sufficing to say, his imbecilic enthusiasms are not contagious. Except perhaps during the vaguely Tomato Kecchappu Kôtei-recalling stripping seduction of a handful of preteen boys by Captain Ann. Yummy! Muhl, however was right to subsequently and fairly regretfully dismiss this irritating piece of taffy stuck to the molars as "downright kitsch" as no amount of found holocaust corpse or weird baby exercise footage or 'zany non sequitur' or sexual hijink can slap the idiotically saccharine smile from this fool's face.
2 comments:
that's alternately hot and gross. it keeps shifting in my eyes between chocolate and shit.
Or both.
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