Philadelphia Weekly

New Releases

Absurdistan
Directed by Veit Helmer
B-
Reviewed by Matt Prigge
Opens Fri., March 6

Guy Maddin cornered the market on faux old-time not-quite-silent features, but Germany’s Veit Helmer presents a (slight) variation for those who want more. A decade ago, Helmer’s Tuvalu offered deliberately scuzzy, tinted black-and-white visuals to serve a madcap allegory for Eastern Europe’s awkward modernization, plus dialogue that consisted entirely of grunts and one-word exclamations.

Now he presents the randy fable Absurdistan, and 10 years of artistic evolution have yielded simply this: full-on color (albeit occasionally fitted with fake scratches and scars to mimic aged celluloid) and complete, if infrequently delivered, sentences. There’s even a voiceover track, shared by our two young stars—idyllic teenagers Aya (Kristyna Malérová) and Temelko (Max Mauff) in love since the day they were born.

In a fictitious former Eastern-bloc village so remote it isn’t on a map, the two lovebirds stall the already stalled consummation of their marriage (at 8 years old) during a water shortage. The town is dry, and its women are fed up that their lazy but horny men have done nothing to fix the rusting pipe that fuels their village. With the men unable to perform their classic duties, the women, Aya included, go on sex strike.

A spin on Lysistrata, the ancient Greek play in which women withhold sex until their husbands withdraw from war, Absurdistan remains lightly comic and even more lightly feminist. While Aya and Temelko swap narrating duties, the actors in front of the camera remain mostly catatonic and bumbling, as Helmer supplies a welter of sight gags.

Absurdistan bears little resemblance to the exhaustingly manic Tuvalu, which is the problem—it’s in need of some energy or at least more invention. It just doesn’t have enough ideas to fill its already meager running time, and instead tries to get by on charm, plus plenty of winking sexual imagery: pipes, dark caves filled with water, etc. But then, at least the world already has a relentlessly imaginative retro stylist in its midst. He’s from Canada. Perhaps I’ve mentioned him.

Eleven Minutes
Directed by Michael Selditch and Robert Tate
C
Reviewed by Erica Palan
Opens Fri., March 6

Jay McCarroll uses the phrase “vaginal discharge” at least four times throughout Eleven Minutes, the 90-minute documentary that chronicles his yearlong journey toward New York Fashion Week. The Philly-schooled designer says what he feels, which, for better or worse, makes him interesting to watch. Known for winning the first season of Project Runway and then turning down the prize money and mentorship opportunities, McCarroll is the centerpiece and the narrator of Eleven Minutes. This is great if you’re a fan of his previous work.

The film lacks explanation, though, and even for devoted Runway fans, it’s difficult to understand the time line as McCarroll delegates, argues and whines to assorted friends and collaborators—including famed public relations guru and MTV reality bitch Kelly Cutrone. These supporting characters never give sufficient context or insight into the world of fashion. This makes the film feel less like a documentary and more like a character analysis of McCarroll.

Eleven Minutes (named for the length of the typical runway show) is unnecessarily padded with sped-up shots of the Bryant Park tents being erected and montages of hot air balloons—part of McCarroll’s inspiration for this line. These scenes feel scripted within the context of the otherwise realistic look at this designer’s process.

Instead of focusing on the fashion and the clothes, directors Michael Selditch and Robert Tate seem to feel a little too sorry for their subject, so the film feels sycophantic, particularly in a scene in which McCarroll and his associates read email love letters from fans.

Ultimately, the film works as a peek into the life of a talented designer, but if you’re looking for insight into the world of style, you won’t find it here.