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.
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Matt, a young glaciologist, soars across the vast, silent, icebound immensities of the South Pole as he recalls his love affair with Lisa. They meet at a mobbed rock concert in a vast music hall--London's Brixton Academy. They are in bed at night's end. Together, over a period of several months, they pursue a mutual sexual passion whose inevitable stages unfold in counterpoint to nine live-concert songs. Written by
Sujit R. Varma
According to the "Variety" review, the transfer of the film, which was shot in DV, was done by photographing a digital projection of the movie on a white wall, to create a negative from which prints for release could be made. See more »
The clock on the wall goes forth and back in time between shots. See more »
When I remember Lisa I don't think about her clothes, or her work, or where she was from, or even what she said. I think about her smell, her taste, her skin touching mine.
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The opening title and the closing credits appear to be pieces of cut film or paper placed together to form the words. See more »
This film stinks of pretension, as do all of the positive reviews I have read about it.
I'll make my points short and sweet.
1. If I have to obtain external info (a synopsis, a forward, a cast and crew interview, or a commentary) to understand the film maker's intentions, the film as a medium has failed.
2. If this is supposed to be a story... it is lost.
3. If this a myopic of human sexuality, I can possibly except that as the reason I just wasted 67 minutes of my time. But sex is not love, and I knew where to put it before I left grade school. I didn't need two college age students to show me.
This film is not about relationships- its nothing more than a human equivalent of the Wild Kingdom- the mating rituals of homo sapiens. Unlike the Wild Kingdom, and just like porn, you actually get to see the film's "climax." I am not a prude by any stretch. But there is no Bohemian facet to this film. It is porn plain and simple. No matter how many college rock songs you use to whitewash it, strange cuts, melancholic piano tracks, or fancy words you try to pimp it with, you have amateur porn on your hands. Porn with small breasticles.
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