Regissören

Regissören means "The Director" in Swedish. I know this, because I asked Ronny Carlsson, director of The Director (aka Regissören) what the hell it meant. I also asked him what the hell Regissören (aka The Director) was about. Because I had no f*****g idea. I also really didn't care what "The Director" (aka Regissören) was about, but since I'm apparently a professional film critic (hahaha!) I thought I'd at least make an effort to find out, just in case somebody else cares. However, it is my humble opinion that, if you really want to understand what "The Director" (aka Regissören) is about, what exactly it's trying to say and what all of those underlying metaphors really mean, you probably shouldn't be watching this movie at all. Don't try and figure this out, just go with it.

Regissören (aka The Director…okay, I'll knock it off now) is (in Carlsson's own words: "a result of time going too fast. I didn't want to be left without a film made in 2011." Part writers block, part Cronenbergian infomercial and at least 5% caffeine overdose jitters, Regissören is a psychotropic trip through Carlsson's head and all of the clutter therein. From philosophical discussions and sobering rape statistics, to boobs and squirrels ("that little bastard was keeping me from coming up with ideas for the movie so I had to make him part of it"), its scattered pieces all eventually come together, weaving a delicate tapestry of timeless storytelling, in that it really f*****g doesn't do that at all. It's a lot like The Human Centipede Part 2 in that it has absolutely nothing to do with that film in any way shape or form. In the complete body of films released this year, Regissören is the extended middle finger. On both hands. I've had ICU-induced morphine-drip dreams that were more coherent than this film, and far less disturbing.

You see, Carlsson doesn't make scary movies, he makes nasty, squirm-worthy disturbing movies, all gangrenous and festering with pus. There's no linear plot, no designated Bad Guy or Final Girl, just a series of freakish images held together by soggy used bandages. It's a distorted Hell of static snow and oozy open sores. There doesn't seem to be any kind of a story present until, amazingly, you realize that there is. Sort of. Uh, I think.

If you're wondering why I haven't offered a synopsis yet, it's because I can't. I don't know how. This movie is for those unfortunate individuals who lack a crippling hereditary psychosis of their very own. It's got all of the knives and necrophilia that any budding serial killer could wish for, as well as a reminder about the importance of scheduling those annual mammograms posthaste. Word up: check your lumps, or they might check you.

Filmed around the autumnal forests of Sweden, Regissören is Carlsson's first feature length effort, a sort-of companion piece to his films Video Geisteskrank and My Monster, neither of which I've seen. But that's okay, according to Ronny, who said: You don't need to, this is a stand-alone thing. Only thing that would make you wiser is that you'd see some recurring themes. Mainly video violence changing a person. In the two first it's my character, in Regissören it's the director of the films (me). Before Regissören I don't think I've done anything personal. I don't really like telling stories based on opinions or anything, but stories that are just their own world. Video Geisteskrank is about how video violence makes someone kill. I don't believe any of that. Lots of people do, but I don't. VG was simply about one occurrence where it happened."

So there you have it. You are now as confused and as unenlightened as I am. But I can think of no better recommendation than Carlsson's own: "Smaller budget, worse equipment, longer runtime (my first feature), lots and lots of experimenting, has dialog, me doing most things (even holding camera, which I suck at) and made with intention of being slightly annoying. It's s***!"

Carlsson outdid himself with his latest film. He's pushed the no-budget art-house film about as far as it can go, with this pseudo-documentary, horror, art-film. Carlsson plays the director, creating a documentary about making a film which you are already watching. There's a lot of insight to Carlsson's artistic choices, but whether or not those are Carlsson's actual motivations or a fabrication of the characters' is up in the air, but I feel there's some meaning in the diatribes and 2 minutes of black besides utter frustration of his audience.

It's forceful and bold. It's a strong film, but doesn't try to woo it's audience. It's like Stockholm syndrome; it beats you mercilessly until you love it.

Oook I've heard a lot of really nice things said about this director. And hey I have a lot of respect for him because you can tell he working with a very low budget. But man his movies are bad!! These films come off like a really poor artsy man August Underground. Now those movies are barely tolerable to begin with but their main draw to them is they atleast look semi real. This movie is the exact opposite in all ways. Even though it's trying to show things in a real found footage way their still showing things in this static edit nightmare inducing editing. It's quite horrible and annoying to be honest. And this movie goes for way too long. Trust me the only good is some of the fx and hot chick that's naked. Besides that stay away from this and the directors other seizure inducing garbage.