Hey folks, Harry here... Wow... ya know, I don't believe I can remember reading a single review of THE BROWN BUNNY from this year's Cannes that said the film was a blow-up from a VHS copy and unfinished. That's a pretty major detail to not include in the slams. It's odd, from this review, it sounds like BROWN BUNNY is a remake of GIRL ON A MOTORCYCLE, but GUY ON A MOTORCYCLE. I'm very curious to see this film now. Also, I don't know if Chloe Sevigny has ever been as adorable looking as in these pictures below.
Is the BROWN BUNNY really as bad as critics at Cannes said? Director Vincent Gallo was booed out of Cannes and obviously appeared nervous at his Toronto Film Festival debut. In fact, according to Gallo, Roger Ebert disrupted the film's screening at Cannes by singing "I'm Singing in the Rain", burping and farting in his seat. Gallo added that he would have much preferred a negative review from the veteran critic than his antics. It's likely that the film's incomplete editing and unpolished look (the print was blown up from a VHS copy) might have had something to do with its negative reception at Cannes. Regardless, I went to see this film with an open mind - not to mention - a twisted curiosity to see what some critics are calling "the worst film ever made". Fortunately, the print screened in Toronto was a final cut and clean.
Gallo plays Bud Clay, a professional motorcycle racer, traveling on the open road towards California. On the way, he makes several pit stops, which inevitably result in a brief intimate encounter with a lonely woman. After sharing a few passionate kisses, he casually drives off, paying them no second thought.
The audience is treated as a hitchhiker and Gallo's character is our ride. Much of the film is spent on the road, which may prove to be relentless for impatient viewers. One may wonder why Gallo feels the need to treat audiences to a man buying a coke, eating Chinese food, or alleviating himself at a urinal. I was beginning to ask these questions myself; until it becomes later apparent that Gallo's character is pining over his girlfriend (Chloe Sevigny). His anxiety is fueled by not knowing her whereabouts. He sees her mother and visits her empty home finding no answers.
The answers finally come after a surprise visit by his girlfriend in a seedy motel. After a sexually charged moment between the two lovers, Bud's always cool and quiet demeanor is suddenly replaced with an outburst of tears. His girlfriend's whereabouts become the film's shocking payoff.
Whether this payoff is enough for viewers to appreciate THE BROWN BUNNY is questionable. But it certainly was ample for me to give it a recommendation. Gallo effectively introduces a complicated character that certainly has his demons. His film style of deliberately misframing shots and using real-time sequences are deliberate attempts to depart from conventional filmmaking. Indeed, his boldness is certainly punctuated when he captures Sevigny actually performing felacio on him (one sneaky audience member even took a still shot of the act).
THE BROWN BUNNY is definitely not the worst movie I've seen (that honour goes to another Sevigny film, GUMMO), but it certainly is the most controversial I’ve seen in recent memory. At the very least, Gallo should be commended for offering something brash and new - even though the film may never see the light of day at a theatre near you.
Nigel
And here I think is a very fair review by The Fat Baldwin...
Review: The Brown Bunny
By The Fat Baldwin
I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen a film with so much nasty critical baggage, let alone one selected for the Toronto International Film Festival, as Vincent Gallo’s The Brown Bunny.
It was booed when it played at Cannes this year. So badly that Gallo, in a rare humble gesture, apologized to the audience and his investors, saying that editing was incomplete. Roger Ebert was also in the audience and stated in a recent interview that it was the worst film to ever show at Cannes.
It was also included in a Toronto entertainment paper’s list of Festival films “You Must Avoid At All Costs”.
I didn’t care. I really liked Buffalo ’66 and have enjoyed Gallo’s often-hilarious egomaniacal rants in the press. And apparently Festival goers didn’t care either as the line-up (to everyone’s amazement) went around the block. There truly isn’t such a thing as bad press.
Even more surprising was that Gallo showed up to intro the film. Simply saying, “…ah, my filmed was booed out of Cannes this year, so I’m just going to wait across the street”. I can’t recall that’s ever been said prior to a premiere either.
As the lights dimmed, Gallo actually took a seat after running up to examine the projection room. That was probably a smart move. Just ask Jim Jarmusch (who was in attendance). His premiere of Coffee and Cigarettes was constantly out of focus thanks to sloppy projection work.
As for the film itself, I didn’t know what to expect. Was it the bomb that Ebert joyfully crucified over and over again or would this be same engaging discovery as Buffalo ’66? Well, it was neither, but it certainly was not the worst Cannes feature in a half a century.
It did begin with some familiar Gallo-esque hallmarks; his character is a professional motorcycle racer named Bud Clay, a lovelorn loner trying to fill an emotional void. This time however, he doesn’t do so by abducting zaftig dance students played by Christina Ricci. Shame that.
Instead Gallo takes a turn by making a road movie where you actually see a lot of the road, a lot. Using a style that’s more reminiscent of Gus Van Sant than Bruce McDonald, he travels in his van towards Los Angeles for his next race. A tedious directorial choice to be sure.
However the trip begins with Bud seducing a gar bar clerk named Violet and offers her to accompany him to L.A. only to dump her when she goes to pack. It’s cruel but comical, another Gallo hallmark.
This is further demonstrated during another stopover when Bud attempts to conversate with the mother of his beloved Daisy (Chloë Sevigny) when she clearly can’t remember for more than a minute who he is or where her absent daughter is.
A constantly sobbing Bud continues on the road and drives right into more of a documentary than drama as Gallo painstakingly (painfully?) shoots himself on Super 16 driving, eating, showering, visiting pet stores (complete with brown bunnies, Daisy’s favourite) and yes, driving some more on as he nears California. All this to the sweet sounds of Gordon Lightfoot emanating from the perplexingly odd soundtrack.
The trip is punctuated by encounters with more flower-monikered women who seem equally distressed and desperate as Bud, including a teen prostitute named Rose and a lonesome 40-something called Lilly played by Cheryl Tiegs, in a vacant and unintentionally funny cameo. But just like the gas bar clerk before, he leaves them in a hail of shooting gravel and tears. Why? Who knows?
When he does finally arrive in La-La-Land he immediately goes to see his soulmate Daisy, she’s nowhere to be found. When she appears in his hotel room later that day an argument about her drug use and infidelity ensues. The climax of which (literally and figuratively) culminates in a shocking and gratuitous scene where Sevigny actually deep-throats Gallo while he demands promises she won’t hurt him again.
I thought she would have purged her apparent need to be sexually exploited after her performance in Kids, but no.
The following has spoiler potential. It’s hard to say that without sense of irony or general queasiness due to the fact this film does not have a chance in hell of being released, at least without an NC-17 rating, so it truly matters not.
Bud has simply been projecting Daisy (or she’s visited him beyond the grave, whichever) because we learn via flashback (naturally) that she died from choking on her own vomit after being gang raped as she lay unconscious during a party. Bud didn’t save her because he believed he caught her being unfaithful. Hmmm. This reviewer’s heart is a flutter folks.
Only Gallo could portray himself as the victim while his drug-dependant girlfriend is raped, asphyxiated and forced to endure further indignities by succumbing to his masturbatory fantasies even after death.
All the while, the Toronto crowd observed, giggled and sighed, but didn’t boo. A true testament to the sophistication and tact of our audiences.
At least until Gallo and Sevigny’s Q&A after the show that is. It was peppered with frequently tasteless questions like, “Do you think you’re responsible for Ebert’s cancer?” and surprising comments about Buffalo-born Gallo’s feelings toward his hometown.
“I shot a film there, brought celebrities and the premiere to the town and I get ball-busted on the radio three times a day. Shit on them.” Indeed.
Making fun of Buffalo is a sure-fire way to win over a road-movie-weary crowd in Toronto. He must have done his homework.
In the end, was this a messy, self-indulgent, ego-driven Gallo tour-da-snooze? Sure. Was it at times watchable? You bet. Will he and Ms. Sevigny live to regret bridging indie film and hard-core porn? Quite possibly.
Should have Mr. Ebert acted on his own observations about Toronto audiences “voting with their feet” instead of their mouths? Undeniably 100% yes.
The Fat Baldwin out… and out of buttery topping.
