Bellflower (2011)

Bellflower (R)

"Slacker Max: Beyond Pretentious-dome"

The internet buzz is high for this indie flick, with critics and viewers alike falling over themselves to praise it. Two friends, DIYers with a penchant for muscle cars/Mad Max fanboyism and flame throwers, have moved to L.A. to live out their pre-apocalyptic post-pubescent fantasies among the other white middle classed unemployed cliques. The main c haracter Woodrow (who is also the writer/director), falls in love with the wrong girl and everything comes crashing down around their moronic ears after the inevitably violent breakup. Supposedly shot for 3 years with a budget of only $17,000 on an impressive camera rig hand-built by the director, I can understand why the film has gotten some attention, but to laud it and speak of it as as the next Tarrantino/Resevoir Dogs is quite absurd. The acting is pathetically amateurish, the editing and pace woefully inadequate, the characterization so hip, cool and clichéd it should be held up as the whipping boy of the “alternative lifestyle” archetype. The cinematography (highly praised by many viewers) is both colorfully striking and at times completely unprofessional. There is nothing mesmerizing about a shallow depth of field; every shot is a tedious exercise in overuse of focus pulls. All of this would be fine if the movie had stayed as a student film; as such it is a very impressive stepping stone to a potential career. As a professional piece of entertainment it ends up laughably bad, like what Ed Wood would make now with a prosumer DSLR and a couple of PBR tall boys inside him. Unsatisfyingly vapid in almost all its film techniques, its emotional heart works somewhat, cheaply feeding off the overly angst filled misogyny of the trendy American young male (its not hard to get genuine blood with an audience by scratching at such a common scab as heartbreak). Uniquely fetishistic and yet disturbingly self-pleasured by its own narcissism, Bellflower deserves a fraction of its acclaim but its criticisms twofold. I feel Lord Humongus himself would be displeased with his inclusion, throwing down his half eaten box of Rasinettes after the long boring first act, slightly on the edge of his seat for the second, but the finale having him throw up his hands in complete disbelief while his mo-hawked minions howl to their chief “Why oh Humongous? This movie looks so rad and sweet!?”. Humongous can only bow his head in shame, dragging his leather clad sycophants by their dog chains behind him, a grown man among silly boys.

 3 petrol tankers out of 10 (BAD)