There's a moment early in the film when one of the more seasoned prostitutes of Club Happy House tells a new employee, "All men are bastards. Even the nice ones aren't nice," and everything that follows repeats the same theme without variation, striking a single note with sledgehammer finesse for nearly two hours. In between scenes of oppressed whores going about their business is an ongoing, unrelated episode showing a faceless (male) kidnapper brutalizing his helpless but noble (female) victim by chaining her to a rusted cot and taking Polaroid snapshots of her slow disintegration. Writer director Marleen Gorris certainly has a chip on her shoulder, but any criticism of her film (no matter how valid) by a member of the wrong sex runs the risk of looking like a typical knee-jerk over-reaction. Sure, and those viewers who champion the film will no doubt recommend it for its impartial wisdom and subtle artistry?
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