Run Time: 118 min. too long
My dear readers, I’ve spent four years of my life studying films, their history, their production, and attending numerous student film festivals, but none of that prepared me for what I just viewed. In the traumatizing wake of watching Chaotic Ana I am left in a rare state of speechlessness, forcing me to use the plot summary on the director’s webpage to tell you the story. Here is what this film claims to be about:
“Chaotic Ana is the story-journey of Ana [Manuel Vellés] during four years of her life, from 18 to 22. A countdown, 10, 9, 8, 7... until 0, like in hypnosis, through which Ana proves that she does not live alone, that her existence seems like a continuation of other lives of young women who died in a tragic way, all at the age of 22, and who live in the abyss of her unconscious memory. This is her chaos. Ana is the princess and the monster of this feminist fable against the tyranny of the white man.”
Really? I must have missed something, because I thought it was the cinematic reproduction of the day the film’s director, Julio Medem, dawned some tie-dyed footy pajamas, downed a two-six of Absinthe and then spent a day in a House of Mirrors. After I watched this, a friend asked me, “Was it a good movie?”, to which I replied, “As a movie, it’s terrible. But if you’re looking for an inexpensive substitute for a self-indulgent, pornographic acid trip, then buy multiple copies”. My brother described it as a B-movie, but one would need to move much further down the alphabet in order to adequately distance this vulgar schlock from the relative beauty of standard B fare.
That being said, one has to compliment all the production members (who presumably cannot be blamed for the non-existent plot) for producing some very interesting visuals and imaginative lighting techniques. However, these fleeting droplets of interest were no match for the monsoon of pretentious and inexplicable semi-porn surrounding them, including a truly charming sequence where Ana is seen defecating on a man. Anyone whose retinas were fouled by this steaming turd of simulated entertainment surely knew exactly how that man felt.
And I still don’t understand the relevance of the massive, throbbing horse cock that flashed across the screen near the beginning of this cinematic abomination.
118 minutes of my life I will never get back. Thanks for nothing, Julio.