Left, Bergström. Right, Nutley. Together: the apocalypse of Swedish film.
I have no idea why people grant money to Colin Nutley to make films. He's made one of my pet hate films, "Heartbreak Hotel", and is responsible for always casting his wife in the lead of his works of art, where she always - without ever doubting the possibility of anything other happening - is naked, has sex and cries. Preferably all at once. Anyway, on with the show...
This film portrays "Angel", a singer who - apart from seeming more unbelievable (in the most drab sense) than G.G. Allin and Einstürzende Neubauten combined - has nothing to give. Her band is run by her husband, a rà´le that is beyond words; he's conniving and greedy. Oooh, the villain of this drama!
To say that she and her band is instant shit would be throwing pearls to swine. A bunch of retards who dye their hair and wear red trousers at the age of 50? I think Nutley would say "yes, but they're supposed to be tragic has-beens", but yes, Colin, you don't have to paint the picture in this fucking über-obvious way as though your supposed audience consists of retards as well. On second thought...
The story of this pap is as follows: Angel fakes her own death to increase her record sales, a story that her husband came up with. She hides in Thailand, he screws her best friend, her friends go to her wake, she has massage, she has more massage, she swims in a pool, she bizarrely attends the funeral of her masseur's husband, her husband confirms record sales are up, he's happy, she's unhappy, the audience is ajar of amazement that this shit has been written in the first place while being presented with images that should never reach the human mind (Bergström having any sort of carnal contact being the first one, Lassgård having any sort of carnal contact being the second, not to mention long shots of her "suicidal" footsteps from the beach into the water as dawn hits), the plot goes nowhere...
The story-line is stretched so thin that mind boggles; how could these morons ever be allowed to make this film? How could the Swedish Film Institute grant Colin Nutley money to make it? Is Nutley able to perform jedi mind tricks on people? Why aren't all people even remotely associated with this film praying for our forgiveness every single second of the rest of their unsubstantial lives? There are so many questions and aspects of this film that drive me completely ill by even starting to think of them, apart from Bergström's appalling acting, her reaction to her husband's infidelity, her husband, the ending - which was foreseeable from the very start of this project - and the start and what was in the middle, that I'm sick to my soul. DON'T SEE THIS FILM.
Yes, this is about as constipated as the live scenes get here. And they all are.