The Canadian director returns after eight years at the Cannes Film Festival instructing to present a hypnotic and spectacular celebration of his ideology and his cinema
Legend has it that the goddess Demeter became so enraged eresicton, the arrogant and pious king of Thessaly, who ordered an exemplary punishment to Limos (hunger). First he sold his wealth, then that of his father, later his entire kingdom, and finally ended up as a beggar, stomping on the filth he found. There was no way to sit. And so on until he himself decided to eat; That self-cannabis problem solved. Cannes is almost a goddess and her power to starve her favorite directors is immeasurable. David Cronenberg He is one of them, might (maybe not) be as arrogant as Ereshchiton, but enough to starve him of the Palme d’Or that is refused him year after year. It was the jury prize’crash‘ in 1996, but the hunger continues.
and so it came this year 75th birthday as most expected. ‘Future Crimes’ It is his return to cinema after eight years. This, as is the law in his filmography, is an essentially sacred film. It stars her latest fetish actor, Viggo Mortensen, with Sedoux (a French institution) and Kristen Stewart (Last and shortest of the great symbols). The story of transhumanism is told, of the body that is transformed and mutated, of the flesh that battles for new existence realms and spaces with the most severe loneliness. You don’t have to look at more than a small piece of a frame to make it clear that it’s a Cronenberg; A Cronenberg is ready to sacrifice himself and eat himself if necessary to satisfy hunger which is above all punishment from the gods. and from Cannes.
‘Future Crimes’ He follows the most recognizable (we wouldn’t say classic) ideology of Cronenberg with breath-holding and almost biblical allegiance. Not surprisingly, the screenplay was written in 1999; That is, when it premiered’exist’, a fable of metabodies on the one hand and reality on the other. In that film, the characters were systematically included in games that ran through parallel universes. Now everything is solved in the possibility of human evolution with a new body with new organs with new sexuality And with the definite possibility of making your own food in general and plastic in particular. Like what happened to him before he autocannibalized himself.
The film once again showcases the director’s ability to turn unknown settings into a ticket to the apocalypse. Dialogues play like music, pending to electrify every inch of the screen. It is excitement, but without scandal, always from an awareness of each limit. It is a parable, but only aware of itself, without the moral morality play. And then there is surgery in the form of the new gender. The epidermis opens elegantly and in the same way as the ‘caps’crashfell in love with the wounds of ‘Future Crimes’ They show their lust from the depths of the flesh. Don’t worry, everything is under control. At least what the director said about unconsciousness by launch was part of a marketing campaign. Everything here is much more fragile, weak and magnetic.
The film recounts the life of Saul Tensor (Viggo Mortensen), an artist known for his revolutionary and subversive performances and his ability to ‘give birth’ to organs in front of an enthusiastic public such as the Arialist. Do somersaults. With the help of a former surgeon, Caprice (La Sedoux), he removes and metamorphoses his viscera. Timlin (Kristen Stewart), a researcher at the National Organ Registry Office, follows their practices closely. And so on until a mysterious group appears to make Saul a prophet of an impending stage of human evolution.
“Could the human body have evolved to solve the problems we created? Can you design a system that allows you to digest plastic and synthetic materials, with the aim of not only providing a solution to the issue of climate change, but also to grow, prosper and survive?” Cronenberg asks. Has, turned to own tables.
In every calculated panorama and sleepwalk, in every whisper, at each step of whatever may come, the camera moves amidst its desolation with a gesture of awe. In short, Cronenberg organizes a warm and precise tribute to himself with an irrefutable tombstone. And O his virtue and his penance. That nothing wonders can be both a great virtue and a greatest flaw. Cronenberg eats Cronenberg in a grim Eucharist of his own. But, as in the case of Ereshchiton, there is no Cronenberg for such an appetite.
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