The Brown Bunny

The Brown Bunny, Vincent Gallo's latest travelogue of sorrow, charts the journey of the sort of disenchanted hero one comes across in the obituary page of their local paper. America, as seen through the window of Gallo's hollow black van, merges into a singular one-story wasteland of Main Streets lined with reds, whites and blues. Here, where many entertainment-seeking viewers will have long left the theater, one suddenly realizes that Gallo's is not a simple indie flick; but instead, a floating canvas able to tap into a higher meditative consciousness within the viewer. By creating a film of singular vision perhaps only attainable by doing what few directors have the tenacity or perseverance to undertake, Gallo has achieved what has eluded many an 'independent' director: a film created almost solely by the director. Gallo's characters are ethereal spirits cast upon a harsh, unfriendly world. Chloë Sevigny, in yet another hypnotic role as Daisy, redefines the modern insistence on two-dimensional antagonists. For Bud, Gallo playing the sort of brooding innocent Marlon Brando once jarred audiences with, the American tapestry becomes a home movie of the banality of human existence. Cheryl Tiegs, the popular Seventies model, makes an unexpected cinematic comeback, delivering a beautifully poetic performance as a lonely woman in a nowhere rest stop. In a sterile, white motel room, Gallo's film culminates with a scene of erotic abandon. Yet here again, the Audience, as an extension of Bud's own painful emptiness, will find no release. The arid lovemaking of this star-crossed couple, in a room lit like an operating room before a lobotomy, appears so natural that at its' heart could only be the sheer necessity of moral and emotional collapse seeking salvation. To see The Brown Bunny requires the sort of patience and reverence reserved for museums and galleries. For those few who choose, it can open the heart and the soul as only a masterpiece can.

Stripped of all pretense, this movie is nothing more than a long, boring, pointless self-indulgent ego-trip. Vincent Gallo wants us to think he is a true artiste (you know... the type with the "e" at the end). But, how he thought anyone but him would find this entertaining or even thought-provoking is beyond me. Sure, you'll have your film-school drop outs that will label anything not Hollywood a masterpiece. But, let's be honest, if you had to sit through this pretentious snorefest one more time or watch "Raiders of the Lost Arc" for the 1000th time, which would you do? Heck, I am still convinced this was just a slick scheme by Vincent Gallo to get his ex-girlfriend to perform fellatio on him on screen. If that was his sole intent, then this film was a rousing success. If he actually thinks he made a good film, then he can keep pretending.

I saw a cut of the film on VHS a long time ago. I'm not sure if this was the Cannes version or not.

Many months later, I saw the film, again, in Santa Monica at the Nuart. Gallo was there to do q&a afterwards. I need to talk for a second about the groups of girls (young women) that were waiting to see, touch, taste, take a little bit of Gallo away with them. It made me feel so sad. Los Angeles does something to people. It hollows them out, at least a little bit. Then I snuck inside the theater and saw the empty cold movie theater till I was hassled to leave by the theater manager and get back in line outside.

All this happened before the screening. I watched the film at times sneaking glances with my best friend worried that the crowd was going to not get it and attack Gallo. For the most part they did. I wonder sometimes if people don't get a little more stupid in crowds. I think this was the case.

I really didn't know what to think of the film. I walked around afterwards wondering what the hell had I been watching. I knew why. The why is always because I believe in film as art and that it should be judged that way. But what had I been watching?

Now months later I think I'm a little more clear what that was. Gallo is a gorgeous technical filmmaker. He takes great leaps in his films in story assuming that the folks in the dark (the audience) is smarter than him. Sadly, these days most people feel that since they paid 11 dollars that the director is smarter than them. So they expect to be treated like a child and talked to in that way. Gallo is sadly living in this world and making films in it. He's more optimistic than I am, I guess.

I guess, if you couldn't find a review in the paragraphs above, that my review is, "well done, Gallo. it's not for everyone but none of can be and make movies like this."

Brown Bunny, The (2004)

BOMB (out of 4)

Vincent Gallo's controversial film was one that I was really looking forward to but at the two minute mark of the film I really wanted to turn it off. This is the type of film that should have been a home movie about a depressed maniac being alone and that's that. Instead Gallo tries to do an art picture but it doesn't work at all, although I certainly wouldn't call this one of the worst films ever made. As much as I hate to say it but it's clear by watching this bomb that the guy does have some talent and I think some of this talent shines through here but in the end the film rubbed me the wrong way and never got me involved in the story. I was annoyed by Gallo's character and really didn't care what was going to happen to him. It was also quite annoying because it seems Gallo is begging the audience to care and love him yet he doesn't give us a reason to do so. I can certainly understand how some would fall into the film but that didn't happen with me. I would be interested in seeing the Cannes cut to learn how Roger Ebert went from a BOMB to a three star rating.

Okay, "The Brown Bunny" is a 7 minute movie that is dragged on for 93 painful minutes. How does this happen? Well, it's pretty clear to me that Vincent Gallo really likes the look of his own stubbly face from really close up. I came to this conclusion when I realized it accounts for about twenty to twenty-five minutes of the movie. Then you add in that Vincent Gallo owns a very nice motorcycle...that he likes to show off. The motorcycle doesn't actually take up to much of the screen time (unfortunately), but it does allow some kind of premise. What really bugs me is that there are people who think that this movie was deep. It's not, I can see how the basic premise could be turned into something deep and artistic. But a bad motorcycle driver who has a thing for chics named after flowers and imagines his dead drug addict girlfriend giving him head is not deep by itself, and it doesn't help just to have long scenes of traffic and a not very attractive stubbly mans face. The only reason this movie has gotten any recognition whatsoever is the shock value of showing a blowjob in a non-skin flick. So once again, WTF?