A brilliant, visually and sonically dazzling science-fiction-themed ultra-black comedy about the pretensions of ‘philosophical’ male cinematic auteurs, portrayed through the lens (and, entirely, male-gaze) of a po-faced ultra-luxurious veneer of future-rich spa-dwelling supermodels in lingerie as fridgable objects for the heroic male protagonist’s moral struggle with being MALE AND POWERFUL AND PURE, combined with achingly shallow ‘deep’ voice-over monologues, ending with the last bitter joke of said protagonist (named Vessel 17, for his and our sins) running in slo-mo along the seashore hand in hand with his previously murdered girlfriend after being involuntarily committed to this ‘care facility ( a lovely bit of architecture) by his mum, played by Abbie Cornish… though it’s all a simulation in his dying mutated mind.
It was that final sick gag that clinches it for me as the first great science-fiction postmodern parody.
The first truly great SF comedy of the 21st Century , I will explore how the way the film uses male gaze to dissect itself and its preferred conditions of women in peril as both muse and human sacrifice *to* the male…
*reads interviews with co-writer and writer/director*
Oh, they meant it seriously.
They seriously meant it?
Even the monochrome raping and baby-eating slo-mo scenes, all that Iron John Hunted The Mammoth shite??
The writers and director somehow chose this film, and that seashore finale particularly, put this film out there in full seriousness, and not to make the blackest comedy about modern HOLLYWOOD?
Nah, must be a joke. I will spend my life finding the truth of this!