Punishment de Sade-style is always a weird time.
What does one say about a dancing steak, a puppet show featuring raw meat or a migrating group of tongues and eyeballs? Oh yes, of course, it must be the work of renowned Czech master of surrealism Jan Švankmajer. His new film, inspired by the Marquis de Sade and based loosely on
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two poems by Edgar Allen Poe, is not a work of art. Art, in Švankmajer's opinion-which he shares briefly in the opening of the film-is all but dead, leaving behind only the self-made mirrors of narcissists. This insight becomes invaluable when experiencing the tongue-in-cheek exploration of the insane asylum that is
Lunacy
. A bit tedious, a touch shocking and a dash humorous, this is a film cult enthusiasts will appreciate and conventional moviegoers will abhor.
The endless ravings of Švankmajer's Marquis (played by Jan Triska) require tolerance. The Marquis heads a strange commune of people of questionable mental health and holds forth endlessly on the dichotomies of man versus God and nature. He exploits every opportunity to torment protagonist Jean (Pavel Liska) and thrust his philosophies on the young man who has been coerced into visiting his chateau.
Jean suffers from reoccurring nightmares of being committed, a fear brought on by having an insane mother who recently died in a mental institution. The Marquis seizes on Jean's teetering instability, using visually disturbing techniques to seduce him into embracing a view of the omnipresent state
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of lunacy. He attempts to convert Jean first by exposing him to a blasphemous orgy modeled after church rites and later by faking his own death and forcing Jean to take part in the funeral.
As fun as all that sounds, their reckless, unrestrained existence is harshly nipped in the bud by the equally demented Dr. Murlloppe, who has a penchant for corporal punishment. He imprisons Jean and the Marquis in his asylum and employs his dogma with icy resolve. The different styles of ineffectual mental treatment represented by Dr. Murlloppe and the Marquis are alarmingly similar in their creepiness, highlighting the undervaluing of the patients' humanity.
Švankmajer continues this theme of dehumanization through symbolically mirroring the transitions of his protagonist Jean with stop-motion vignettes featuring all manner of poultry and raw flesh. At first Jean appears as a wagging tongue lollygagging in a pub, drinking up beer. By the end of the film, he is wrapped in plastic and laid out in a supermarket freezer. The strange interludes, set to carnival themes, lighten the mood a bit, but for the most part are just as bizarre and troubling as the rest of the film.
Lunacy
is an experiment, not quite a success but too unique to be a failure. To enjoy it requires a broad appreciation of experimental cinema and a large grain of salt.
