The young executive of a publicity agency Henry Creedlow is a man that has repressed morbid thoughts and is walked over by most of his acquaintances: his wife is cheating on him with his boss and stealing his investments with help from his best friend; his housemaid is frequently stealing from his house and insulting him in Spanish; even his annoying poodle does not respect him. While in his daily morning routine listening to a talk show on the radio, he hears a man committing suicide live because he had been felt miserable and disrespected for a long time, and Henry feels impressed with the tragic story. The next morning, he wakes up to find his face covered by a white mask, changing his personality and letting him seek revenge against those who have humiliated him.Written by
Claudio Carvalho, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
According to George A. Romero and his wife Christine Forest on the DVD commentary on Dawn of the Dead (1978), the distributors of Bruiser (2000) sold it as a Romero horror film (example of that is the poster with the gashes on the white face). Both Romero and Forest felt that it wasn't just a horror film but more of a story of a man who is going through difficulties in his life. The fate of selling this movie as a horror film was this movie ended up going to video instead of theaters. See more »
If Only You Could See
Performed by Weed See more »
Splendid film for 3/4 of the way
The first 3/4 of George Romero's Kafka-esque, existential meditation on identity is so terrific, it's all the more frustrating that it falls apart with such a chintzy, uninspired last act. But until then, it ranks high in the Romero canon. It has a fascinating, irresistible plotline--similar to "Martin"--about one man's journey to discover his own identity, fine acting (particularly from Jason Flemyng and Leslie Hope, though Peter Stormare's goofy scenery chewing is an acquired taste), and beautiful production values, echoing the autumn of the protagonist's soul. (There is, in particular, one unforgettably haunting shot of shadows falling like tears on Flemyng's blank visage.) But Romero lets himself down with an unenthusiastic, the-well-ran-dry conclusion. It's as though he left the Toronto set to go back to Pittsburgh for the weekend when these scenes were shot. Despite those who claim that Romero's films are merely E.C. comic books brought to life, his films are always much deeper than that and reflect a very sophisticated philosophical view of life and the universe, in the manner of Greek or Shakespearean tragedy. In any event, this is a film whose reputation should soar about ten years from now.
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