Pisolino

Although I respectfully agree that the film makers have brought a graphic novel to the screen with great respect and panache, I left this movie sickened and infuriated. Not only was this an exercise in futile idolatry, but I felt I was watching the work of male filmmakers who had directed with a camera in one hand while the other was vigorously stroking below the belt.

Not a reader of Miller's graphic novels, I found nothing to engage me in this cinematic world--no characters, no themes, no story, not even an aesthetic (after ten minutes, the movie's look frankly lost its sheen; I needed more). Why make a slavish photocopy of the books when the film makers had an opportunity to translate this material into something that truly lived in the cinematic genre? And also, in this day and age, why hew to the stereotype of women so simultaneously nasty and beautiful that they have to be degraded and/or killed? To the men who made this movie and to the men out there who liked this movie, grow up!

One of only three movies I have ever walked out of in my life. I imagine that there must be some sort of cliffhanger revelation at the end, but nothing about this wan, tonally confused and hopelessly misdirected and misedited mess made me want to stick around longer than I had to (and I stuck it out for an hour and a half). It veered sharply between sitcom humor and high-camp melodrama, all while it desperately tried to churn the wheels of the thriller it wanted to be. The writers would have done well to find some kind of structure--any kind--to give this story some shape. Instead I felt like I was going around in circles, completely unable to engage on any level with the protagonist. My friend and I could not even piece together a convincing narrative. Sequences were edited together in such a way that it was impossible to determine which event led to the next.

Yes, there were some hot man-on-man scenes, but people, people!: We must expect much, much more from gay cinema. I have nothing against the darker side of gay male sexuality and obsession being portrayed on screen (I was in fact excited that the central character was far from mentally healthy), but directors, producers and distributors (shame on you, Strand Releasing) should work harder to earn the gay buck. And gay viewers, men in particular, shouldn't be so eager to part company with their hard-earned $10 just to see half-clothed actors roll around together or to glimpse Antonio Sabato, Jr.'s wee-wee. Go rent porn for a couple of bucks instead! Were I attached to this film in any manner, I would be mortally embarrassed.

One of my favorite movies of the last couple of years. I happened to see it in a movie theater in Argentina, so I have no idea whether it plays well on a smaller screen. That said, it's a haunting meditation on the transitory and ineffable nature of life, on the tiniest of joys that in the end are all we can rely on to make our existence meaningful. The cinematography is breathtaking and does justice to the desolate beauty of the canyons of northern Mexico. Don't expect a rollicking narrative. This movie invites you to enter a lingering dream.