Turks fruit

It’s the excretion Olympics! Because absolutely everything possible gets excreted here. Pregnant brides excrete amniotic fluid, which is then licked up by dogs. They in turn excrete on the pavements of the city, which excretes black waste into the sea, on whose shores grow beautiful flowers, which in turn excrete worms and insects. The only thing that doesn’t get passed here is the possibility of finding horse's eye among the gastronomic specialties of a luxury restaurant. The mirrors are covered in vomit and the poop is beet red. Verhoeven off the leash here reminds me of a combination of beatnik non-conformists with seventies exploitation (the latter thanks in particular to a wild handheld camera), and it's terrible fun. Somehow they're all there (quite knowingly) for the rollercoaster ride. I'm intrigued that this cliché of the torn narcissistic artist hasn't changed much in the intervening years, because a lot of the guys I know from the Academy of Visual Arts are exactly these kinds of pricks surrounding themselves with overgrown kids, which they then realize themselves on. (16.03.2021)

Paul Verhoeven showed long before he arrived in Hollywood that he can make great films, just as Rutger Hauer showed that he is a great actor who is willing to do more than others. And also show more. Here, nudity is shown to be completely natural and makes sense in the film if it is used for a specific purpose, which is beautifully depressingly presented here. (21.09.2015)