Crime in the Future movie review (2022)

Based on this confidently unique opening alone, it is reasonable to know that it is almost the end of 20th Centuries when Cronenberg conceived this story, in which our species mutates to grow new organs and evolve to make the idea of ​​pain almost extinct. After all, that was the time that defined his carnal brand in cinema — that is, his concern for the human body and the ways the flesh intersects the mechanisms and advances of modern technology — and more or less ended “eXistenZ” in 1999, before concerns of the more visceral type (of course, along with drops of body panic) took over his filmography in this part of the 2000s. In that regard, “Crimes of the Future” (which shares one title and none other with a 1970 photo of the filmmaker) is seen as “the king of venereal terror” in action. in a universe that got him on this said label: you know, a world made up of the clipped torsos of the “Videodrome,” the wounded links to “crash”And the deliciously evil eroticism that somehow flows through it all.

All of these graphic and psychological signifiers are also the blood and guts of “Future Crimes,” albeit occasionally. With imaginations that are deliberate and very clearly reminiscent of some visuals that existed in the master’s previous work, one can’t remove a specific restriction sometimes or shake off a fan-service-y inkling. However, it is inevitable to see Cronenberg pivoting his classical approach to addressing serious concerns about mortality and perhaps even the inevitable extermination of man. When there is no pain felt, when there is no precautionary system in place in our bodies that warns us of our limitations in the end, when unknown organs (or tumors) constantly sprout. within our bodies, do we have a chance to fight to live forever. ?

It’s a bit confusing to think of all this pre-existing fear in our (supposedly) post-Covid world where talking about yet another approaching variant and possible surge has proven to be psychologically disruptive. Perhaps all one can do is learn to live with and manipulate the unknown, like the rebellious actor Saul Tenser (a rocky, mysterious. Viggo Mortensen) done. While the celebrity showman has expressed his anger at what happened to his own body, he at least seems to have been able to do something with his interim condition, along with the former trauma surgeon — who became Saul’s creative partner. Caprice (a cunning and sophisticated. Léa Seydoux, which puts the on-screen chaos in a swish of calm). Together, the duo rotates the entire process of operations into a performative exhibition, perhaps to find some meaning and certainty amidst volatile unpredictability, or to leave something behind to curb the crippled. feeling of emptiness. Usually, both act alive, you have to see it to believe it kind of operations on Saul in front of personal spectators, pushing his body to its limit for art. More than once, you will hear this process considered as a way to open the body to new possibilities. The thesis goes like this: if pain is old, then the body itself can be molded into art. And what is all the molding, all the surgical skin transformation by human hands and surgical machines, if not a new kind of prostitution? What is an open wound if not an invitation for, well … oral sex?

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