Worth: $14.00
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Cast:
Viggo Mortensen, Léa Seydoux, Scott Speedman, Don McKellar, Kristen Stewart, Nadia Litz
Intro:
… a series of fascinating, albeit disturbing, moments in a languid encapsulation of Cronenberg’s obsessions.
There was a time when the name David Cronenberg was synonymous with brainy, transgressive body horror. The Canadian director excelled at exploring various exciting themes via the medium of distorted flesh and transformed bodies. Films like Shivers (1975), Rabid (1977), The Brood (1979), Scanners (1981) Videodrome (1983 and arguably his masterpiece), The Fly (1985) and eXistenZ (1999). Since then, however, ol’ mate Dave skewed a little more traditional in terms of narrative and themes. That’s not to say his later stuff was bad. Hell, A History of Violence (2005) and Eastern Promises (2007) are both superb, however it’s hard not to miss his strikingly original genre yarns.
Well, now Cronenberg has returned to the pulsing, anus-like biomechanical well with Crimes of the Future and the resulting film is as bizarre as one could hope, although not always as satisfying.
Crimes of the Future (which shares a title with an earlier work from the director, but nothing else) is a strange little tale set in an unspecified point in the future. Pain and infectious disease no longer exist, which allows people like Caprice (Léa Seydoux) to perform live operations on people like Saul Tenser (Viggo Mortensen) and call it performance art. This sort of organ removal theatre is all the rage in Crimes, giving Saul near rockstar status. Elsewhere, a child is murdered by its mother, because she believes the little tacker is no longer human. Father of the kid, Lang Dotrice (Scott Speedman), approaches Saul with a shocking proposition and reveals a potential evolution of humanity itself.
If that brief plot summary sounds a little disjointed and lacking in momentum then, yes, you have read it correctly. Unlike, say, Videodrome, Crimes of the Future doesn’t so much have an antagonist and stakes in the traditional sense, instead showcasing a series of fascinating, albeit disturbing, moments in a languid encapsulation of Cronenberg’s obsessions. Mysterious organs, rapidly evolving bodies, the intersection of flesh and technology and the new sex are all front and centre, in a film that’s icy and unapproachable even by the director’s already pretty niche standards. Put simply, this is Cronenberg at his most Cronenbergian.
In practical terms, this results in a film that’s more interesting than it is entertaining. Like an art installation that you respect rather than respond to on any emotional level. Still and all, it’s a gorgeous flick, with striking visuals, all bolstered by superb performances from Mortensen, Seydoux, Kristen Stewart and Don McKellar. And even though it doesn’t match the heady genius of his earlier efforts, it’s nice to have a director like David Cronenberg still making films that seek to blow your mind in an increasingly homogenised and generic cinema landscape. Viva David Cronenberg, long live his New Flesh.
