No stranger to these pages (cross-references below), this time LaBruce has created an incredibly varied film that is at once cautionary, forward looking, boldly imaginative and an ideal tonic to the bullying, mayhem, wilfull blindness and epidemic of stupidity currently facing planet Earth.
At the centre of it all is Bishop Black in the title role, symbolically washing up on the shore of the Thames in a suitcase (nothing says refugee better), naked as the day he was born, which becomes his “costume” of choice for most of the production. Not coincidentally, playing in the background is an unseen announcer “praising” the need for sending asylum seekers to Rwanda—a current theme in the US’s Liar-in-Chief’s uncaring semi-autocracy—even trying to invoke the Alien Enemies Act.
This literally, waved-ashore visitor soon finds his way to the luxurious abode of a well-to-do family where, under the expert tutelage of the maid (Luca Federici, a model of efficiency and gamely sporting fishnet stockings) and, incredibly his/her very-white nephew. Just ahead of dinner, the friendly pair bring extra meaning to pee soup along with a side of excrement all to be washed down with a bloody Mary straight from the vein. It’s an extraordinary feat for any dysfunctional family.
Take Mom (Amy Kingsmill courageously and convincingly removes herself—and her garments—from the smothering confines of being a stoic matriarch)—please! Soon, her sudden guest manages to penetrate her psyche and more…
Take Daughter (none better than near-beard-sporting Ray Filar, bringing her expert gender studies to the screen for all to see) who lustfully accepts the Visitor’s amorous advances in a life-creating manner.
Do take Dad (Maclin Kowal eagerly portraying the role from symbolic baptism to the colonizer seeding with his captive) who, as much of this production is, wordlessly expresses his innermost feelings/angst. Seul in the waterfall by Journey’s end is an unforgettable image.
And, most certainly, do take Son (Kurtis Lincoln readily rises to the occasion) as he finally discovers his true inner being in a manner that, previously, he could never have imagined.
Naturally, inevitably—having stirred the familial pot to overflowing—the saviours of them all must take his leave.
At this moment, LaBruce truly comes into his own: an entire family is forever changed by discovering then enacting carnal knowledge they’d never dare admit, much less act upon. Their confessions speak volumes, none better than the notion that “The artist peels away infinite layers of melancholy”.
Gluing everything together are the frequent graphics, many extolling the virtues of a good fuck on either side of the sexual divides. Equally, the literally “four-square” split screens frequently allow the artistic trust to mix and match the visuals at heart’s desire.
But as important as it is for most of us to enjoy unabashed sexual couplings (even as many of our own fade away), it’s far more crucial to reflect on the film’s incredible insights regarding how we, too often collectively, treat the different amongst us as either momentary baubles—safe in our own skin—rather than with the respect and honour so many of them deserve. JWR