In Paris, a young American who works as a Michael Jackson lookalike meets Marilyn Monroe, who invites him to her commune in Scotland, where she lives with Charlie Chaplin and her daughter, Shirley Temple.
Instead of adhering to the norms of their South Central neighborhood, a group of skater boys opt to bus into Hollywood and Beverly Hills, where they attract local rich girls - and plenty of... See full summary »
Disappointing and lackluster comeback for Larry Clark
After our mind blowing experiences with Bully and Ken Park I was expecting something much better than Marfa Girl could deliver. It seems that Larry Clark has taken the old 20th. Century criticisms of Ken Park to heart and toned down his productions to a level of mechanized banality. And the result simply doesn't work.
The central characters are a community of Spanish Americans living somewhere in the deep south west who are driven to a point of madness by the mindless tedium of their existence. Adam is 16 and hangs around with a group of talentless drop out musicians and artists who spend their days drug taking, fornicating and banging instruments. The local policeman is a psycho maniac who gets turned on by pain whilst Adam's mother searches for cosmic vibes with pet birds and sound mediums.
So far so good. But I'm afraid that's all there is. The plot is virtually non existent, the acting is labored and the dialog is almost incoherent. Of course, as with all Larry Clark films, the cast were all able to shed their clothes and copulate in front of the crew. We are treated to six young male naked backsides pounding up and down so convincingly that I doubt it was simulated. Larry Clark certainly had a good time watching their convulsions but this time he doesn't share it with the audience. Unlike Ken Park there is no shocking full on ejaculation to trade mark the production with crystal realism. In fact there isn't even an erect male full frontal to express the degradation of it all. All such visible stirrings are this time kept firmly within the lad's boxer shorts. So Larry Clark has finally descended into Hollywoodesque coyness with all the well ploughed banality and tedium that oh so common genre forces upon us. Yawn.
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