It's depressing how prescient this film turned out to be - and I'm not even talking about that last sequence. The idea of a utopia in name only that came about because of a peaceful revolution feels a lot like the eight years of Obama that we just lived through. We were able to pretend that everything had changed overnight without all the messy business of addressing the racism, xenophobia, misogyny and homophobia that eventually made Trump possible. The future depicted in this film even had a Black President!
When we were watching this the other night 'Becca'lise proclaimed, "This feels like a zine!" and I don't think I could have said it any better. I was already thinking about how this felt like mid-60's Godard (when he was stating to get political but had not yet lost his sense of fun) but my wife's observation is really more apt. This film owes way more to punk and queer culture than it does to Bertolt Brecht and Nicholas Ray. Moreso than cinema, this is reportage. Dispatches from the future. Now, if only we'd really listened to Lizzie and the girls all those years ago. Anyone have a time machine?
No comments:
Post a Comment