Going by the amount of formalist peacockery, one can guess this was meant to be seen as some kind of serious stuff, a 'masterpiece' perhaps. Well, that doesn't exactly work out. I don't mind eclecticism if justified and done smartly, but this is definitely not the case. Here we have a big mess of stylistic incoherency, no more, no less. Annoying as it is, it still can't detract attention from an even more repulsive aspect: an ever conspicuous, moronic interest in seeing a naked woman (you know, tits and crotch and all) raped or otherwise humiliated. The peasantwoman in question lives in the Middle Ages, sports manicured nails and a general Yves Saint-Laurent sketchbook look. Her clothes always desintegrating, she is constantly abused by fallic entities. When for whatever reason she is crucified and burned, even the smoke of the stake pushes itself between her thighs. The story is just a pretext for such 'subtleties' throughout, so it's all the more gross when in the end-sequence the tit-owner martyr turns into Marianne of the French Revolution, leading the people towards Liberty, Equality and Fraternity. Sorry... what?! Since when being 'psychedelic' is an excuse for being cretinous? The barnstormer voice-acting and schmaltzy music ("Beradonna... Beradonna..." - moans ad infinitum a nerve-racking karaoke singer) add more unpleasantry to this charmless trainwreck.
P.S. I'm aware there may be legions of immature people out there, fed on visual hamburgers & pornography & all things Japanese, who may find this crap "different" and "interesting". All my sympathy for them.
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