I was introduced to the work of the late Raymond Briggs at a very, very young age through another Jimmy T. Murakami film adaptation, The Snowman, but it’s this decidedly less kid-friendly movie, which my dad showed to me at the slightly older age of—I don’t know, nine or ten or eleven—that made the strongest impression on my consciousness. Back then it was the final reel’s deeply haunting slow-mo spiral of nuclear horror that impacted me most deeply. The power’s still…
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LA Plays Itself 1972
Essentially positions sadomasochism as the universal constant. Idyllic sex in natural paradise, where roles are freely exchanged and the bodies of the performers dissolve into flowers, is but a fleeting fantasy: brutal domination, in this case by merciless bulldozers, is always quick to follow. Linked by a sinister shot of an American flag flapping over the devastated wasteland—released during the Vietnam War, this cruelty plays out on a national scale too—we move into the city, where fucking is rough and…
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