 Cremaster 3 (2002) An artist friend of mine had been trumpeting these films for years, so when I saw that the five-movie cycle was being released theatrically, I was excited. Now, having sat through the three super-tedious hours of Cremaster 3, said to be the most beautiful and coherent of the five, I can't say I am any bit interested in catching myself up on the others. Now, I know it's beside the point to review this film as a "movie." That said, I'm probably in the top percentile of people who might like Cremaster 3 as a "movie." I've watched many a Peter Greenaway film in the theatre, smiling and chuckling with enjoyment even as the audience trickles down to two or three remaining. I can stomach the most pretentious shaggy-dog joke David Lynch wants to foist upon me. But Cremaster 3 is an entirely new cinematic endurance test. It makes Peter Greenaway or David Lynch look like they're directing Police Academy movies. Now, it is possible to "get" Cremaster 3 and still not like it. My problem is not that it's too arty, or unintelligible, or too slow, or mind-numbingly repetitious, or overly self-indulgent … although it is all of these things. For art can be all of these things. My objection is simply that the film is just no fun to watch. Immediately after seeing it, I was fantasizing about running into Matthew Barney and letting him know that I'd gotten more out of Sorority Boys. Which is not to say that every movie needs to pander to the lowest common denominator. But Cremaster 3 is so entirely inaccessible that I didn't even feel challenged – I just felt like I was being harangued into listening to a very long monologue with no point, and with no means of escape. Except that the same scenario, like when some homeless guy insists on telling me his life story when I'm on the train, is at least guaranteed to have a shorter running time. The first half of the film presents an interminable repetition of beautifully-shot scenes in and around the Chrysler building, positing some kind of conceit about civilization as both extension and destruction of pagan ritual, with artists enslaved to a power structure that will always end up using them and spitting them out.
Or something like that. The whole thing could have been accomplished in about fifteen minutes of more tightly edited sequences. I'm all for dragging something out if you ultimately go somewhere with it, but this was just a fidgety nightmare. The intermission was great – I had a smoke and got a refill of Cherry Coke, even though you're only supposed to get a refill on the large size, and I had a medium. That concessionaire was a good guy. The second half had some movement to it, something like "Super Mario Bros." by way of Buñuel. Visually, it was incredibly engaging, depicting Barney scaling the interior levels of the Guggenheim Museum trying to make symbolic sense of his own place in society. This is where you get to see some soapy-breasted girls, an attractive double-amputee wearing fabulous clear lucite boots, a kickline, and a couple of punk bands. Some of the hipsters in the audience chucked at the presence of the punk bands (Agnostic Front and Murphy's Law), but I contend that they mostly just wanted to laugh at something, and this was as close to a point of accessibility as could be found. My real objection to Cremaster 3 might simply be that I wish I had millions of dollars in grant money to make a pretentious-ass film. But mine would at least be funny. This movie came off like the work of a snotty rich kid who needs to be told no.
Review by La Fée |
