Kontextmaschine

16th September 2018

Post reblogged from Tumbs with 48 notes

Hate
Watched Burn After Reading. I feel like these days you rarely see something that radiates such utter contempt for every single one of its characters.
Each character, to the one, is depicted as a preening, narcissistic, self-centered, foul-mouthed sex addict. It’s not quite over-the-top enough to be silly; it hits the sweet spot of conveying this impotent, bitter rage and making clear that the writer-directors just consider these people scum.
The camera brutalizes them for being sophisticated (the ex-CIA who overenunciates every word of French origin in between outbursts of impotent rage), for being unsophisticated (the gym instructor thrashes his head to music we can’t hear with his mouth hanging open), for being lonely (the sad-eyed older manager whose fumbling attempts to ask out his coworker are timed like a punchline), for being loved (the ex-bodyguard who sleeps with every woman in the movie, who’s lampooned for showing emotion when his wife divorces him); for being poor (the underpaid older woman whose quest for cash is based on an obsessive demand for plastic surgery), for being rich (the suddenly-divorced old man who explodes in anger at his drained savings account from aboard his private yacht).
The movie hates these people, which gives a certain edge to a plot based on an onslaught of pointless indignities that culminates in spectacular violence. The message is: Just as well if they kill each other, right? And the scope of that “they” seems very inclusive.

The 90s causticity was why the 90s were so good; everyone was gatekept and shamed (hat tip William Bennett) but in accordance with pagan virtues of glory and mastery

“edgy”

(“bimbo boxes”)

Tagged: 90s90s90s