Although deeply in love with her boyfriend - and indeed sleeping in the same bed with him - a schoolteacher cannot handle the almost complete lack of intimacy he will allow. Increasingly ... See full summary »
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August, 1963; Alice, 14, an only child, and physically well developed, is home for vacation. She's moody, silent, keeps a diary, and explores tactile sensations with broken eggs, candle wax... See full summary »
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Adrián García Bogliano
Magdalena De Santo
In London, England, love blooms between an American college student, named Lisa, and a British glaciologist, named Matt, where over the next few months in between attending rock concerts, the two lovers have intense sexual encounters.
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Manu and Nadine lose their last tenuous relationship with main-stream society when Manu gets raped and Nadine sees her only friend being shot. After a chance encounter, they embark on an explosive journey of sex and murder. Perhaps as a revenge against men, perhaps as a revolt against bourgeois society, but certainly in a negation - almost joyful in its senseless violence - of all the codes of a society which has excluded, raped and humiliated them. Controversial for its violence and real sex scenes: a vividly nihilist road movie set in France. Written by
H. G. Ziche <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Baise-moi is the second example of the recent French Graphic Rape Wave of cinema. Like a skanky French Natural Born Killers but without the talent, irony or indeed entertainment, the heavy-handed symbolism and maddening acting should have you turning off after the first 40 minutes. You continue to watch however, mainly though a fascination as to how far the director is willing to push the boundaries of good taste in order to convince us of his point. Something to do with society raping people and by-products of the system, a reflection of the perversity at the root of civilisation, monkeys with guns and Girl Power.
Joining the sensational release of Irreversible, with its centrepiece a nine minute rape scene, it could look to some that modern French cinema had found itself in a quandary, desperately seeking its next big theme in the rapidly thinning file of the last taboos. Thankfully, L'Homme du train dispelled those fears,at least for now. And maybe just two films don't make a wave, perhaps just a ripple.
However, nothing changes the fact that when the closing credits finally arrived, I was angry. Because it was rubbish. Not a patch on the glory of La Haine which dealt with a similar rage, but with far more heart and intelligence. Baise-Moi also has the worst soundtrack ever. I've got to stop wasting my life watching all these terrible films.
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