Fantasia: July 26

by MALCOLM FRASER
and ESTHER SPLETT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Toad Road

There are some interesting parallels between James Banker’s Toad Road and Justin Benson and Aaron Scott Moorhead’s Resolution, which screened at Fantasia yesterday. They’re both part of a recent effort in American indie film to combine the tropes of horror and traditional DIY cinema, they’re both set in depressed rural America, they both play with viewer expectations and they both share the topic of drugs.

Many people go through a hard-partying phase in their youth. For some, like Vinny Curran’s Chris in Resolution, there comes a point when the debauchery turns from recreational fun into slow-motion suicide. For others, like Toad Road’s James (James Davidson), there comes a point where you start to feel a need to get out of the scene before it devours you.

And then there are those like Sara (Sara Jones), the catalyst of Toad Road’s loose plot — a “goody two-shoes” who starts dating James and dives deep into his crew’s hard-living ways. For her, heavy drug use is part research project and part spiritual journey. As many of us have seen, these well-intentioned people often go down the rabbit hole to the point of no return — and in this film, that journey happens to coincide with pursuing a spooky local legend. (That may sound a bit cheesy, but Banker quickly sidesteps this pitfall).

While Resolution cleverly plays with ideas about narrative and audience expectations — the theme is right there in the title — Banker teases our desire for narrative closure with a deceptively loose structure (the fact that the characters all share their actors’ names, plus the lack of a screenwriting credit, hints at an improvised approach) and expertly unsettling use of editing and sound design.

At a scant 75 minutes, the film leaves you wanting more in a very good way. As solidly put together as it is creepy and creative, with memorable performances and a strong aesthetic, it’s one of the highlights of the fest this year. (MF) Tonight, 7:30 p.m. and Monday, July 30, 1 p.m. at J.A. De Sève Theatre (1400 Maisonneuve W.)

 

The Mechanical Bride

Allison de Fren’s documentary on sex dolls offers a glimpse into the lives of men who seek artificial companionship, and an entertainingly broad look into techno-sexual lust and the construction of feminine ideals. And it’s all narrated by Catwoman, also known as Julie Newmar, who played an artificial companion in the creepy 60s science fiction TV show My Living Doll.

De Fren interviews Realdoll employees and the customers who become emotionally attached to their creations, sex dolls with silicon skin that are highly customizable and meant to be realistic, with moist-looking O-shaped mouths and dead, wide eyes. The factory shots of unfinished doll parts and detached, grotesquely engorged balloon-like breasts reminded me of surrealist Hans-Bellmer’s ahead-of-his-time S&M sculptures and drawings (sadly not mentioned in the film).

De Fren also takes a look at the role of sex dolls in Japanese culture, who are more demure-looking than their American counterparts, with deeper, reflective gazes — a counterpoint to the Realdoll’s vacant stares. A commentator mentions that Japan’s reverential attitude towards dolls stems from Shintoism, the idea that everything has a soul.

We’re also treated to the fantastically sleek fetishistic cyborg illustrations of Hajime Sorayama, and real-life attempts by scientists to create writhing, moving, speaking sex androids. Disappointingly, after having our imaginations inflamed by the limitless kinky sci-fi possibilities opened up by technology, the actual creations emit horrifyingly jeering porn-star parody moans when you prod their breasts, twitch convulsively as if they’re about to malfunction, and offer lame come-ons like, “Oh its so big!” and “I know you want to come inside of me.” If I had a penis, it would be recoiling in protective terror inside of me.

At The Mechanical Bride‘s best, it’s oddly touching to watch oddball men bond with their corpse-like friends, fetishistically dressing, holding, and even playing video games with them. It gives you a warm, if slightly uncomfortable gooey feeling, like marvelling over a child’s deep affection for their teddy bear and ability to imaginatively project life into it — except more like if that teddy bear also had a realistically anatomically constructed vagina and crushingly over-sized cartoon boobs to manhandle.

At its worst, Mechanical Bride can feel like being held hostage by the office douche who won’t shut up about that time he got stoned and fucked a sex doll (Realdoll repairman Slade, who gets too much face time), and lectures you on evolutionary biology because he took that one class in college and is now an expert on essentialist male/female relations.

Though I wished The Mechanical Bride had gone deeper and asked harder questions, it’s a fun overview of the history of mechanical toys, robots, and techno-fetishism, and a sometimes touchingly intimate look at the strange places people can find love and sexual connection. (ES) 5:25 p.m., J.A. De Sève Theatre. Also screens Sunday, July 29, 1:05 p.m. at De Sève Theatre. ■