It's a vivid mix of Vaclav Vorlicek, Russ Meyer, Pedro Almodovar with a splash of Vera Chytilova and Kira Muratova. An incredible delight in bad taste! Baroque kitsch! A cascade of images!
The film has slow-motion, homoeroticism, piranhas, fake plants, shrill disco music and drink driving in a sports car. The film mixes the sexual excess of Almodovar with the fantastical inventive silliness of Vorlicek. It is a radical postmodern piece worthy of Chytilova and Muratova with a brave, political commentary typical of both women.
I won't reveal the plot. It is delightful in its bizarre zigzagging. It possesses a strange internal logic where each unexpected turn of events seems natural.
Dusa Pockaj, the aunt, is incredible! She reminds me of so many insolent European women bursting with life and irreverence.
It is an elegy of smut, filth, decadence and madness!
How the hell are smaller European cinemas hiding such stunning works? The Stone Cross, Vilarinhos das Furnas, L'Homme au Crâne Rasé. Why are post-Yugoslav cinemas sitting on masterpieces without promoting them? Valley of Peace for Slovenia, Frosina and Wolf's Night for Macedonia, The Tough Ones for Serbia, H-8 for Croatia and The Life of a Shock Force Worker for Bosnia. How many more are waiting to be rediscovered? How could we have imagined European cinema without these gems?
