Clean, Shaven

Peter Winter is a young schizophrenic who is desperately trying to get his daughter back from her adoptive family. He attempts to function in a world that, for him, is filled with strange voices, electrical noise, disconcerting images, and jarringly sudden emotional shifts.

I do not believe this is a very well-known film. I say this because despite it being released by the prestigious Criterion Collection, it was not a title I was familiar with. And I like to think I know movies. (maybe this is naiveté.) Although this went under the radar, I think it deserves a look by anyone who is interested in mental illness, especially as depicted on film. This is not sappy, or starring Sean Penn, or anything we might expect from Hollywood. this is a serious attempt to show the problems the mentally ill face... and it does not leave room for too much happiness.

Peter Winter is travelling across an US state to find his daughter who was put up for adoption following his wife's murder. He suffers from some form of paranoid schizophrenia and is gaunt and haunted looking. Meanwhile a detective is following a trail of murders and believes that the trail leads to Winter.

This is a very edgy little film. I didn't know what it was about when I watched it - I don't know I would have watched it if someone had described it to me. The story unfolds with very little dialogue and doesn't exactly have a plot to speak of. Instead the film puts us in the head of Winter and also comments on society's view of these people.

The audio track is the most disturbing part - full of electrical crackles over strong dialogue (from his life? From movies? We don't know). Most likely these are his `voices'. We also see things through his jumpy eyes are have visions like he does. The most disturbing part is where he removes his own nail to get the transmitter `they' put there. The relentless pursuit of the detective represents our mistrust of these people and the ending makes a clear judgement on his (our) actions. The final shot is a fine summing up of a child's innocence.

Greene (best known for Usual Suspects or Zed in Pulp Fiction) is really good in a role that a big star would have hammed up. He looks totally believable in the lead. Robert Albert is good as the sheriff and mixes his character's morality really well. The film is not a fun time to be had by all! It's plot is weak and the lack of dialogue, weird happenings and lack of explanation may frustrate some. However it is only 80 minutes long so it never drags, it captivates by being so very different and it is very thought provoking.

Overall it's worth a watch - it is edgy and interesting, not the most fun you'll ever have, but then it isn't meant to be.

one of my alltime-favorites!! I´ve seen it years ago and it still haunts me. this is what real film-making is about, this is how it is supposed to be. lodge kerrigan is a true master, and it´s a pity he hasn´t done anything in years, except CLAIRE DOLAN which is true genius as well. peter "zed" greene gives a landmark performance and it seems that he suffers the same fate like malcolm mcdowell after CLOCKWORK ORANGE: being one of the best but underrated actors of his time but without a second chance to prove it.

anyway, if you wanna "feel" - not just see - what mental illness is all about, check this out.

I will never forget this movie - it chills me every time I see it. What I like most about it is that it contains very little dialogue (unlike "Cube") and is not very visually stylish (unlike "Pi"); the buzzes, static, and blurred radio broadcasts allow direct access into the protagonist's schizophrenic mind as he tries to remain somewhat sane while searching for his daughter given up for adoption by his mother. Peter Greene gives a stunning performance. Only a slightly formulaic ending mars this intense work of art; I cannot wait to see what director Lodge Kerrigan does next.

This is a small indie by Lodge Kerrigan made in 94. Kerrigan's recent film Keane was astonishing (as was Damian Lewis). Like Keane, this film features a genuinely real and captivating performance by an actor playing a schizophrenic. The film's movement is fragmentary, roped together by a soundtrack that reveals the voices we might suppose are echoing within our character's unbound mind. His actions are confusing to him, and make us increasingly reluctant to watch, as watching makes us complicit with what he does, which is bad.

The use of sound in this film practically makes it worth watching in its own right, pun intended. In the critic's video essay that accompanies the Criterion release of this film, which is pitched to grad level film students (and that's not a complaint), Michael Atkinson remarks that the director uses "objective" sound, not "subjective" sound. It's true that the sounds that fill the film's soundtrack are given us from the external world, often through the protagonist's car radio and sometimes simply through the ether. But I'd disagree with Atkinson. I don't think this is just use of objective sound to a parallel the film's fragmented and "subject-less" subject and narrative. Yes, it's a different use of sound, but it's a complication of subjective sound, not a departure from it. After all we hear the soundtrack, and therefore we can't but believe that the subject hears them.

The use of sound here is interesting, I think, because the protagonist is not hearing them but producing them. We're given the sounds as he hears them, but they echo and resound within his schizophrenic mind, as they are the schizophrenic's world. Voices unattributed, perhaps real, perhaps recollected, but certainly not sounds that anchor the schizophrenic to reality. Rather, sounds that divorce him from the world, catching him as abruptly as an unexpected blow to the head. Short, sharp, shocks that knock about and bring into consciousness commands, put-downs, and other forms of verbal punishment that trouble us for their detachment. We don't know who's saying them. Which means we don't know why they are being said, which means (as Atkinson notes), we don't know what to think of them.

Where Atkinson hangs these sounds on a reel of film though, my sense is that they should be hung on memory, which is not a reel of film, is certainly subjective, if not multiply subjective, and is not objective in the slightest for the simple reason that memories can't be. Our schizophrenic protagonist's relation to sound is that he's caught in a compulsive listening, but cannot hear. The coup in Kerrigan's sonic genius, I think, is that in memory is the protagonist's pain, and it's a pain he suffers, often, without making the slightest of sound. But for the one that we hear.