Anyone who's been to the Tate in London or MOMA in New York finds themselves facing an interesting dilemma: am I being ignorant or is this some joke I'm not getting? Do I not understand the importance of having a canvas all one color, or is someone getting paid for a much easier job than I have? Should I publicly deride this load of nonsense, or get rid of my briefcase, buy some square black glasses, and get short spiky hair? And so it is with this glorious practical joke of a movie that has Mr Jarman laughing to the bank, Tilda Swinton getting so surreal that at some point her body is going to evaporate from the implausibility of her entire career, and once more goodbye to another ten dollars wasted on a popcorn-less experience at some new weird Village cinema.
I'd really be interested to hear if anyone disagrees at me, but first please qualify your comments with a disclaimer guaranteeing that you've not taken Class A drugs recently, and don't have said square glasses and spiky hair. Gentlemen, the floor is yours.
I'd really be interested to hear if anyone disagrees at me, but first please qualify your comments with a disclaimer guaranteeing that you've not taken Class A drugs recently, and don't have said square glasses and spiky hair. Gentlemen, the floor is yours.