Irreversible Movie Review:


Irredeemable

With the American Congress childishly changing the names of all things Francais, from fries to toast, it's probably not the best of times for the distributor to leave une crotte on this side of the Atlantic. I'm surprised the French tourist bureau allowed this feature to be released outside of Paris. The only thing worse than this video verite of vanity and vigilantism would be a cinematic tour of all the McDonalds and WaloMarts in the entire Metro area.

Monica Bellucci's last tango in Paris sans butter begins at the end and ends at the beginning because "time destructs everything." Well, not Bordeaux Reds, items at Sotheby's, old growth forests, and too many other things to mention in a tome. But logic is beside the point here. This is French "underground" hipster philosophe, so you better get with it, Cheri. As becomes clear early on, the scene presentation isn't the only thing ass-backward about this film noir memento to Memento via Dr. Demento.

After watching the end credits displayed backwards and a brief visit with the Greek Chorus, we descend into Dante's inferno aka Club Rectum, at a dizzying pace via a floating camera to the hypnotic techno beat written at the behest of some Satanic Majesties Request. We are in a mad search of a faggot. Marcus (Vincent Cassel) irritates us because he is a coarse homophobe and crazy to boot. We are wrong. Earlier in time and later for us, we learn the soon to be victim is the "bad guy." Our PC attitudes blinded us. Our punishment is not being able to enjoy the revenge killing. We are losers.

As we are led back in time by our bloody noses, scene by scene, the violence lessens, but not before we get to sit through the 10-minute anal rape of a "spoiled rich girl who obviously deserved it." While it may be fun for the pornographic voyeur, what does this tell us about modern day Paris? Avoid the underground and the underpasses. Stay in your hotel and don't drive with Dodi Al-Fayed.

The rest of our journey takes us back through the ménage et trios relationship that leads to the traumatic events caused by a wrong turn. While the lazy afternoon bedroom dalliance plays true and it is unusual that a film dawdles long enough to catch all of the love play that these interludes entail, the chemistry between the characters is lacking. Events leading up to this are common and nondescript, and most offensively, tres banal. Now we have reached the end, which is only the beginning, a white pulsar of a screen beckoning us to disco with the director and take a stroll under the strobe that is Gay Paree after dark. Whoopee! Let's do it again, Daddy!

No way, Noe! Gasp, Gaspar. It seems director Gaspar Noe has had a hard-on to humiliate uber victim Monica Bellucci since her noted performance in Malena. He has his way with her but what do we get? The sloppy seconds? This film is only for restless teens that don't get enough in-your-face mayhem from video games and for tourists that long for more decadence than The Musee du Louvre and 5-star restaurants have to offer. Unfortunately, all this film will do for the rest of the American filmgoers, is add to the current Francophobe tendencies, perpetuated by the myopic clods in Congress and the current Administration. C'est la vie!

Copyright T R Black 2003

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