Rabbits

The easy verdict - it is a David Lynch ! This explains all and offers some comfort to viewer.

In fact, it is a Ionesco play. Or a sitcom reduced to its essence. Three rabbits in a room. Their words, without sense, prepairing the audience for a presumed revelation of a secret. But, except the entries of father/ husband, the laughts from public and the rolling words saying just nothing, in fact, but offering powerful images , maybe , nothing.

So, easy to see another show. But fascination / curiosity just works well in this case, the rabbit heads - and their shadows - , like the creepe voice in dark are good points and you have the privilege to craft the coherent story, from the recipe of The Others bz Alejandro Amenabar to Who s afraid of Virginia Wolf ? Or. Waiting for Godot .

This is one of the more bizarre films featuring humans in fluffy bunny suits.

David Lynch juxtaposes Sartrean existentialism and American sitcom with an eerie, industrial-noir soundtrack to create a compelling, hellish universe like only he can.

Also, this is maybe one of the greatest uses of bunnies in storytelling, since Lewis Carroll (with the exception of Hugh Hefner).

With the recent influx of rabbit suits in other indie films, like Gummo and Donnie Darko, one can only expect this trend to grow and explode on the catwalks of Milan and Paris.

The rabbits are us in the way we live our entire lives separated from death only by our domestic routines of normalcy and our denial. Rabbits are bred for the slaughter; they live their entire lives in their little cage, surrounded by, and fed by, the very same people who will someday unthinkingly break their necks.

They're traumatized by the collective memory of past relatives being snatched from their cages while the characters themselves were still too young to fully comprehend the severity and reality of what was happening. The horrors they witnessed so long ago are now just an underlying feeling that something is wrong. They, and we, live their entire lives among death, ignorantly and purposely oblivious of it, until the one day when they are able to ignore it no more, until the day it is their turn.

That's what sense I made out of it anyway.

Here, we get a David Lynch-ized sitcom set and our three characters, dressed in Rabbit suits. The "mystery" is knawing at these characters although what they say is often incomprehensable. On top of this, the piece is supported with a laugh track. I know what you're thinking. It's an absurdist film, right? No.

I don't know how they did it with these elements that would seem laughable from afar, but you know what? You turn off the lights in your room and you watch all eight parts to this, and you'll have nightmares for a week. David Lynch can make anything terrifying. A complete surprise in mood. You won't forget it.

The single camera is fixed on a wide shot of a sparsely-furnished, eerily-lit apartment, a subdued den of deco and menace. Yes, a glance confirms, Mr. Lynch is caretaker here.

For five minutes, as Badalamenti's synths sigh over distant fog horns and muted thunder, we watch the rabbit people--actors in cheap rabbit suits worn under drab human clothing. Their day is winding down. They work at an ironing board, sit on the art deco sofa, rise, sit down again, exit, return, sing some verses about "dark, smiling teeth," and trade dark, smiling dialogue. The rabbit people play to an unseen studio audience, which greets their entrances with on-cue applause and their oblique lines with canned laughter. Minutes pass. . . Then: a superimposed mouth begins a demonic incantation. A huge match burns. The camera blurs out of focus, and then--you'd better believe it!--refocuses.

That's it. The result is weird, beautiful, unnerving, and, frankly, never far from being boring.