Reading the reviews of this movie, even the positive ones, you might get the idea that this is one of those impenetrable stream of capriciousness flicks. It's not, though repeated viewings are recommended for the full effect. The film Liquid Sky presented us with a pop-culture stepping from the steamy emotional jungle of hemp and hallucinogens into the bright, shiny, scientifically specific land of cocaine and pharmaceuticals. This film symbolically dishes up the dilemma faced by hardcore anti-hippy reactionaries who dove back into the pre-Pepper past and have been stuck in two decades of time for 40 years. I'm about 15th reviewer in line, so I won't rehash the lunatic plot. From the moment a flying saucer right out of PeeWee's Playhouse Morphs into a Candy Color red '56 Chevy Bel Air on a back road in red-clay farmland, you're in for a wild ride. The world you're in is a world dead-set against Hippies from God on High to the lowest of the low, but the dang things won't go away no matter what's thrown at them!(It's significant that this is made in Memphis. Punks and freaks got along quite well in the S. East) Once we meet the protagonists, a lowbrow Americana road trip ensues, sidetracked by general mayhem, supernatural encounters, two sets of Men In Black, Zombie Mom, Bokononian foot sex, flashbacks, strip clubs, the Gubment, Hippy massacres, and X-Ray Specs. As the alien assassins stumble on, the arbitrary rules and punishments guiding their mission start to wear on them, and they begin to sound positively Hippyish themselves! (Now think of the Clash's Sandinista, or Johnny Rotten's PIL). Every scene, no matter the budget, is a delight of design. There are moments of quiet beauty as well as jarring EC Comic style violence. Pop culture references abound, slyly enriching the narrative. The women are amazing, the soundtrack inspired. This movie should have reached many more people in a timely manner. Why it took so long to arrive in my reach says much about the collapse of the creative media universe. I live for this kind of artifact. Until mom and pop rental shops closed I could support and share significant indi efforts. No longer. I'm reduced to digital dumpster diving. Watch and wonder. Sure beats the crap outa "Spun".
