Modish posturing with little substantive to say while director Derek Jarman learns his craft, practices his esthetic and indulges his penchant for skin & bone White boys. It is in the latter arena that this film becomes quite an impressive ode to the polymorphous perversity of its maker – as well as that of his audience. This is emphasized with a style that is often super 8 amateur porn yet sometimes quite beautiful.
Infused with a solid punk sensibility, this is a fairly neat apology for the so called Blank Generation – those without ambition, culture or purpose. Its anti establishment, no future attitudes, however, become wearying too soon and yet the film is essentially true in its take on the esthetic limitations of a philistine nation like the United Kingdom and of its most virulent critic: Punk Rock itself. 'As long as the music's loud, we won't hear the world falling apart'. (And punk was nothing if not loud.)
Despite regular flashes of artistic brilliance, this is best approached as a work by a great director in the making. Much of the attitudinizing expressed within it can only lead to destruction of the kind that regularly threatens to sink the film itself. However, this state of the nation melodrama still possesses the power to shock with its metaphorical relevance to the voter ennui of the contemporary political scene.
Copyright © 2009 Frank TALKER. Permission granted to reproduce and distribute it in any format; provided that mention of the author’s Weblog (http://franktalker5.blogspot.com/) is included: E-mail notification requested. All other rights reserved.
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