The old rocker saying by Neil Young applies: it is better to burn out than to fade.
Foto: Copyright Bleecker Street
It could also have been really bad: “Dance of the Titans”, a satire about the pitful attempt by the world’s most powerful heads of state, to say goodbye to a joint explanation during the G7 summit. It could have been a series of clichés, an embarrassing, because absolutely stencil -like settlement with “those up there” that manipulating us in a tour just to win the next election. The French President would have made bad jokes about the even worse food of the British, the Italian would be a caricature from Gianluigi Buffon and Bud Spencer, which was drowned in red wine, and the German Chancellor would stroke her German shepherds for 90 minutes, which sitting at her feet at dinner. So a German film about the absurd theater politics would probably look like, produced by Constantin Film in cooperation with RTL+.
The three filmmakers Evan Johnson, Galen Johnson and Guy Maddin, the latter primarily known for his silent film aesthetics and the bizarre absurd stories (“My Winnipeg”, “The Green Fog”), have made a grotesque from the setting of a G7 summit, which lives primarily from their B horror atmosphere. Actually, it has become more of a horror-soap opera, a genre that had to be invented first to miss it.
Actually, it has become more of a horror-soap opera, a genre that had to be invented first to miss it.
It gets going well when the bosses of the most important industrialized nations after the group photo in front of Castle Dankerode in the middle of the German Forest, where the summit takes place, stop in front of a pit and watch the archaeologist Doctor Buffelmann (this name is a good joke alone) how he exposed a bog body. The sound is set, something is not right here.
The music, actually permanently present, but never intrusive, which rarely create films that live in this way from their score, alternates between brutal-disturbing world doomsday and the background nourishing in cheap 80s porn. The hierarchical levels are also subtly clear in this reasonably strange prelude: French President Sylvain Broulez (Denis Ménochet) is constantly in the German Chancellor Hilda Ortmann (Cate Blanchett) in order to brag about his knowledge of moor corpse, the Japanese premier (Takehiro Hira) is in the second row and takes photos. The Italian only asks strange questions and is otherwise unimportant, US President Edison Wolcott (Charles Dance) seems somewhat out of the world and likes to fall asleep when it becomes important (you suddenly miss Joe Biden).
When the seven finally go to Media’s after dinner in a pavilion on the edge of the forest to formulate their declaration of final, which they want to bring to the people like a kind of lucky biscuit in an unspecified crisis, they notice that the entire property is empty. The employees have disappeared, the fog of horror is absorbed, there is no cell phone reception (Germany, but normal), the next city is 20 kilometers away.
What still looked like a somewhat freaky satire (the working groups that they form, to formulate the explanation, remember their dynamics strongly of gruesome school days in which you were lucky or bad luck with your fit or freezing losers), now converts into a completely bizarre trash horror soap opera. The French president bends in the forest on the run from the resurrected moor corpses and from then on is pushed through the Morast by the Italian in a wheelbarrow, the Canadian prime minister (Roy Dupuis), who used to have something with the British Prime Minister, disappears for a quickie with the chancellor in the strange pink bushes.
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The forest, sometimes illuminated as shortly before visiting the aliens, sometimes reasonably dark (cameraman Stefan Ciupek has already created the pictures in Lars from Triers “Antichrist”), becomes the scene of an extremely crazy chase between world politicians and zombie bog corpses. The British Prime Minister and the French President, who feels intellectually challenged by the complete gaga situation, and sees an allegory in all (the moor corpses were previously leader of their tribe and, when they fell in favor of, simply thrown into the swamp), in which the premier minister noticed dryly: “Sylvain, it simply means nothing.”
This is a good manual for the film as a whole. There are some really great scenes in which it becomes clear that even the most powerful people in the world are only small sausages with needs and fears and, above all, that no normal person can really handle such responsibility that is on him. But all in all, the film doesn’t want anything from us. We can keep our souls that are grinded by everyday life, which are never experienced this type of power and are also happy about it.
After the credits of this film, you have to ask yourself in Fukuyama’s sense about the end of the satire. If giant brain in the forest, masturbating moor zombies and a Canadian prime minister with Man Bun seem bizarre when it is artistically alienated into the machine room of politics, it is not clear whether this world is still suitable for exaggerating anything in it. If today a handkerchief on a table of the most politically important men in the world is reinterpreted into a coke bag and it makes no difference whether this is true or not, then we are really lost.
“Dance of the Titans”, Canada/Germany 2024. Directed by Guy Maddin, Evan Johnson, Galen Johnson. With: Cate Blanchett, Roy Dupuis, Nikki Amuka-Bird. 104 min. Start: 15.5.
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