CineAction, Wntr 2004 i63 p70(2) The Brown Bunny. (Movie Review) Tubrett, Dion.

Full Text: COPYRIGHT 2004 CineAction A Vincent Gallo Production. Produced, Written, and Directed by Vincent Gallo. Cinematography and Editing by Vincent Gallo. Production Design, Sound, and Music by Vincent Gallo. Starring Vincent Gallo and Chloe Sevigny. After its horrendous reception at the Cannes Film Festival in May 2003, with claims of it being the worst film ever entered into competition (coupled with Gallo's misrepresented apology), The Brown Bunny appeared at the Toronto International Film Festival with much expectation, hesitation, and speculation. Yet the version of the film that screened in September was nearly 30 minutes shorter than its original cut. Having not seen the original Cannes' cut of the film I cannot comment on it here, and Gallo has indicated this longer cut was in fact unfinished, but the film I saw definitely merits (positive) attention: it is a wonderfully poetic meditation on love and loss. Filmed in a very minimalist style, with the intimate feel of 16mm, the film concerns Bud Clay (Gallo) who has days to travel across America for the next race in his professional motorcycle circuit. On his long and lonely drive to this next race in California he has various encounters with people that seem as empty as the road before him: women who join him in brief sexually charged escapades; the senile parents of his childhood sweetheart and estranged lover Daisy (Sevigny). Through these encounters, his true goal reveals itself: he never escapes the memory of his love Daisy. His road trip across the country keeps him obsessively centred on this person who has abandoned him. The long take emphasizes his solitude and nomadic life while the circular tracks he drives, overwhelmingly evident in the film's opening sequence, provide a thematic connection to the obsessive thinking that drives him simultaneously toward and away from Daisy--always circling her. The reflection Bud Clay experiences through his meditative motorcycle riding, and the entire cross country road trip, is communicated through the lingering camerawork and near total absence of emotion in any of the sparse characters. His lingering aimlessness, paradoxically connected with his obsessive quest to reunite with Daisy, is highlighted both literally and symbolically in his motorcycle racing. The overall effect of the camerawork and compositions, often shot through dirty car windshields, is to draw the viewer into the same emotional and psychological space of the central character: a sense of unspoken loss. Every encounter in the film seems to be a way that Bud bridges this absence, either physically or psychologically, yet he always tries to outrace the fear of his own solitude that the film can never let him escape. He cannot let himself escape it. As the film ultimately reveals, he does not want to let himself escape. He binds himself to Daisy, a tangible absence until the film's climax. But in his connection to Daisy he only experiences an emptiness shared in his racing or cross country driving, a sense of vacant loss we are implicated in. Bud demands this pain. It is the symbol of his responsibility; and it is his responsibility that is questioned when he finally meets Daisy.

The film takes great care to show the mundane activities of his trip with as much care as those of greatest importance--his ultimate reunion with Daisy. The film's meditative pace and absence of a continued sense of narrative causality, where Bud's actions are until the conclusion without clear reasons, admirably join the film's form with its content. The film's solemn tone is established through this combination of pacing and seemingly indiscriminate coverage. Its stylistic affinities tie it loosely to Italian Neorealism through the lens of the generic American Road Movie, but soaked in a dark and tormented psychology. Perhaps its rendition of human psychology is too true: for at the emotional heart of loss is emptiness, a tangible lack. It is nothing. The film's title gathers different meanings through the film. But even as it gains multiple meanings it still maintains an ethereal and ambiguous sense. The first clue to the title's meaning comes in his visit to Daisy's parents. While talking to them in the kitchen her pet, a brown bunny, is featured prominently in the scene. Bud reminds them who he is and continues to probe them for information of Daisy's whereabouts. Her brown bunny is a marker for her, a symbol of her, the last remnant of her still kept by her aging parents. It is the last physical sign he has of her presence. But as he heads to California for his next race memories of his youth, and his love with Daisy, come flooding back. He remembers a story when they were much younger of a brown bunny, a chocolate candy gift, that she ate too fast and vomited. And the taste of vomit was on her lips. This memory subsequently connects to another he has in the film's last act, of his last kiss with her before their climactic meeting in the hotel room. "The brown bunny" takes on more and more importance as the film unfolds: as a symbol of his loss, and perhaps even comfort; their youth; their innocent love; and with the film's final revelation, their ignorant damage to one another. The controversy surrounding the film erupted from its climax: an extended sequence of fellatio in one long take. Yet the sequence, apparently edited down since its Cannes screening, has a function within the narrative more than inciting opposition or inflaming ideas of 'standards': the passion of their encounter solidifies their connection and Bud's reaction to Daisy immediately afterward shows the tension that is their relationship's dynamic. The film's minimalist aesthetic is carried over into the presentation of the sex act. Preserving the act within the frame actually adds to the unemotional sense that saturates the film. It is also not coincidental that this moment of 'release' is when Bud can at least temporarily and partially let go of the guilt and pain for his separation from Daisy, a separation that their temporary meeting at the film's end can never attempt to heal. [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] Opposition to the film was present on multiple fronts during its premiere: the graphic presentation of sex and the egomaniacal presence of its creative force in Gallo being the most pressing. The first objection is easily dismissed in viewing the sequence within its aesthetic context. A somewhat similar instance is found with David Cronenberg's Crash (1996) where sex and sexuality are controversially presented but are required by the narrative. In Crash the near mechanical interaction of bodies caused a sensation upon its release but the presentation was very much tied to the psychology of its characters. The Brown Bunny utilizes the physical sexual act in a similar and artistically responsible manner. The second objection is less easy to counter. As evidenced by its opening credits and the orientation of the narrative it is

quickly recognized as a Vincent Gallo film. His total presence has led to some amount of snickering (actually audible in the screening I attended!) but I feel this is unjustified. In a continued age of films by committee aimed at the largest and most financially rewarding demographic where the same structure that earned the most money last time is reused, this production benefits from its personal nature. And while the film has no explicit aspirations toward political or social issues, as an intimately personal creation that succeeds through Gallo's sole control, it does provide a haunting study in human relationships and the spectre of alienation that pervades our contemporary landscape. The film thwarts convention but its bravery and honesty, in a reflective and meditative spirit, ought to be applauded not harassed for its preoccupations and style: it is an unlit journey through the human psyche aimlessly lead by loss. Dion Tubrett is a PhD candidate in the Department of Social and Political Thought at York University, Toronto. His email address is: <dtubrett@yorku.ca>