Amoeba Music

The form of a movie is something that most people don't pay much attention to, and yet it is the form that constructs your experience. Since the beginning of cinema, the arrangement of scenes, props, music and even the body language of the cast, sparks some kind of response in the viewer. I thought I had seen all there was to see in terms of form, even on the abstract and experimental level. For me, experimental films are like visual poetry, or projected dream sequences. They are usually short and nonlinear, and the "meat and potatoes" is in the style, not so much as the story. While watching The Bloody Child it became clear that a new form was being introduced to me—a feature length experimental film that is so pure in its development it resembles a morbid essay film.

The general stance on experimental film is that it no longer exists. I'd argue that the filmmaker who directs experimental film no longer exists, or is at least very hard to find. The whole idea behind it is to work on a low budget, typically with whatever materials are available, and come up with something that is free from being classified as any other genre. Low budget films are now considered indie or avant-garde and are not as artistically driven as they once were. Many of them are simple comedies or romances, which is not a bad thing. However, once you decide to get into the game of shooting something linear, you are assigning all the rules of form that go along with it. True experimental films have no rules, and that's what makes them so exciting, and also a threat. In terms of essay films, my claim that this resembles one might not make much sense at first. But if you've seen films like Baraka or Koyannisqatsi, you'll notice that they capture something miraculous about our world. They are visually breathtaking and usually have scores by conductors like Phillip Glass, both of which this film does not have, so don't compare it in that sense. What it does capture is the barbaric nature of violence and insanity. Menkes took a story straight out of a newspaper, let it simmer, and then interpreted what it meant to humanity in a film.

The film is a mixture of reoccurring images, sort of like a series of nightmares streamed together. One action does not seem to follow another in the right order. The main point of action is a group of military officers who discover a man digging a grave in the desert and on the road above his spot is his vehicle. Inside is the dead body of his pregnant wife. It moves on to show the officers at the scene of the crime standing around chatting for what seems like hours. Using a savage form of interrogation, they try for brief spurts to get the young marine to acknowledge his dead wife, but with no success. They leave him handcuffed inside the vehicle containing her body and proceed to have various conversations, each one aloof or uninterested in carrying on with some sort of concrete action until more people arrive at the scene. There are strange clips of a woman alone in a forest whose skin looks like a statue and is either covered in sand or paint, and on her arms are some kind of message that she carves into the substance. She resembles the deceased woman. Over the scenes are also reoccurring and random stretches of dialogue where young girls repeat incoherent chatter. Mixed into these images are scenes of soldiers socializing in bars and the officers in their motel rooms. The final few scenes contain both the female officer's time with a secluded group of people while she is not in uniform, and the moments leading up to the murderer's capture.

The entire film leads to something that is not an action so much as it is a spirit. It has a documentary feel, as if you're watching a news documentary on the marine and the pregnant wife he murdered. You're shown all the places that marines like to relax at. Common people fill the frame, playing pool, getting intoxicated, and swimming. And then it is as if the camera kept rolling when it was supposed to be turned off and you see the underbelly of something so relevant—that and this painted woman (who reminds me of Lady Justice), and the sound of young children at play.

This is not a movie for people who do not like experimental films, or who think that these films should not be stretched into a narrative. Even if you like these kinds of films, I'd feel safe in saying that you probably won't care for this film. I gave it a chance because I enjoy discovering female directors and new concepts within cinema. That is what you should take away from this movie. Not entertainment, or even something visually satisfying (because it really isn't), but of the possibilities of storytelling. I found it very interesting and almost meditative, and yet I am certain that most would not. This review, like the film, is recommended for someone who wants to see a prime example of early independent cinema and won't expect something as stylized as the ones today.