In which conscious recovery from trauma is impossible. Only total inhalation of your past is the way to not be insufferable.
Recovering from a violent crash that’s left him with partial amnesia, we meet Rio Dewanto as a kind, hunky artist who cries all the time. His at-first frosty wife makes it clear their marriage has been in trouble and he has no friends because he’s usually a sullen asshole. Asking why she’s even with him, she explains she was…
“Childhood memories are sacred.”
And/or profane, Luis Buñuel implies in his blackly funny thriller. A small child and is enthralled by a story, a death fantasy, and his mom’s music box when his governess is suddenly shot dead by a revolutionary’s stray bullet. Thrown to the ground, her skirt has flown up to reveal her stockings while blood pools around her neck… turning him into a little fetishist. Born into incredible wealth and privilege he grows into a handsome man…
“I’m femme-aggressive. I’m a beautiful aggressive woman.”
“It’s fun. It’s really fun. Being a lesbian is fun.”
“We’re not bashing you. We’re not saying men are no good. We’re just saying we’re better.”
“I prefer older women. 20 and up.”
Some of the most effortlessly witty folks I’ve seen on camera in a while talk about their sexualities and identities. They embrace and sometimes later tweak or reject certain labels, and share ups and downs with incredible honesty and charm.
I adore them all, but someone should really tell Flo not to leave her sponges in the sink while she’s cleaning raw chicken.
This does a disservice to Donna Summer, Giorgio Moroder and dance music in general, and the entire LGBT community. But hey, at least her adult kids get a lot of screen time. Fair trade?
Seriously, stop letting children own the narrative of their deceased, iconic parent. However well-intentioned, they don't have the distance to do it properly. Like the lousy Poly Styrene doc this film contextualizes nearly all of Summer’s life and work from her kid’s point of view. There’s…
