No hyperbole here: this was simply the worst cinematic experience of my life. And yes, I've seen Manos: Hands of Fate.
I was talked into seeing this by an older "child of the 60s" friend who absolutely loves Brel and this movie. While she went into raptures at every song, I cringed in my seat. I know that many people enjoy this movie, but if you're not already a fan of Brel you should probably avoid this like unanesthetized rectal surgery.
At a basic level, Brel's music is simply not for me. His melodies are at once meandering and repetitive. Harmonic progressions are almost non-existent. I can't recall a single non- diatonic tone in any of his songs. This, coupled with the excruciatingly banal and monkey- wrenched rhyme scheme, was just too much to bear.
While his songs may evoke nostalgia in others, I was reminded of John Ashcroft's "Let the Eagle Soar". The low point of the movie came when I realized that I would prefer Ashcroft's performance to any of the songs presented here.
And the performances....yikes. Elly Stone, poor dear, simply cannot match pitch. Her voice is sharp, strained and impossible to listen to. Joe Masiell is a bit better, but his jackhammer vibrato ruins any sustained tone he attempts. Mort Shuman and Brel himself were my favorites as they were merely boring.
1/2 hour in, I wanted to gouge out my eyes so I could use them to stuff my ears. After an hour, I was seriously considering chewing off a limb so I would have an excuse to leave the theater. Even one week later, I'm still having post-traumatic flashbacks to the horror that was this movie.
I'm sure that most fans will say I'm missing the point -- that the social commentary and "soul" are the reason to see this film. My feeling is that unless you already love Brel, French cabaret and/or surrealist cinema, you'll likely be in too much pain to perceive a point, soul or anything but your throbbing migraine and urge to flee.
I was talked into seeing this by an older "child of the 60s" friend who absolutely loves Brel and this movie. While she went into raptures at every song, I cringed in my seat. I know that many people enjoy this movie, but if you're not already a fan of Brel you should probably avoid this like unanesthetized rectal surgery.
At a basic level, Brel's music is simply not for me. His melodies are at once meandering and repetitive. Harmonic progressions are almost non-existent. I can't recall a single non- diatonic tone in any of his songs. This, coupled with the excruciatingly banal and monkey- wrenched rhyme scheme, was just too much to bear.
While his songs may evoke nostalgia in others, I was reminded of John Ashcroft's "Let the Eagle Soar". The low point of the movie came when I realized that I would prefer Ashcroft's performance to any of the songs presented here.
And the performances....yikes. Elly Stone, poor dear, simply cannot match pitch. Her voice is sharp, strained and impossible to listen to. Joe Masiell is a bit better, but his jackhammer vibrato ruins any sustained tone he attempts. Mort Shuman and Brel himself were my favorites as they were merely boring.
1/2 hour in, I wanted to gouge out my eyes so I could use them to stuff my ears. After an hour, I was seriously considering chewing off a limb so I would have an excuse to leave the theater. Even one week later, I'm still having post-traumatic flashbacks to the horror that was this movie.
I'm sure that most fans will say I'm missing the point -- that the social commentary and "soul" are the reason to see this film. My feeling is that unless you already love Brel, French cabaret and/or surrealist cinema, you'll likely be in too much pain to perceive a point, soul or anything but your throbbing migraine and urge to flee.