The Tribe

The Tribe

A deaf Clockwork Orange with very little constructive points. Kubrick probes his ultraviolent world with an artist's curioisty; Myroslav Slapdash, on the other hand, slaps together one horror after another , filling in the dead space with pretentious artsy ennui and dishonest sexual curiosity. He is exactly the type of person who Kael warned us of in her 1969 essay "Trash, Art, and the Movies": a fink, a swarthy lothario in sheep's clothing who pretends to innovate and wax philosophical, but who is really only concerned with getting cheap reactions out of you with its scenes of seedy, illegal abortions and post-abortion rape. Like the deaf boy forcing himself onto the post-abortion deaf girl, the director forces inorganic Meaning onto his all-for-naught long takes, falling victim to 21st century's fetishistic obsession with long takes that only exist for the sake of showing you that, yes, one can indeed shoot this entirely in one shot. Should you? No. You're just calling attention to yourself and demanding people bow down to your might because you managed to shoot your entire snide flick in one go. Sorry: I'm not playing your game.

Ridiculous, sensationalist, artsy exploitation, an innovative technique squandered.

The director makes a joke out of the principals' deafness in its truly disgusting finale. It's the sort of nihilist observation that rankles me the wrong way and doesn't promote any further discussion beyond "Wow, that was brutal!" "It sure was!"

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