Gary Dretzka
Leonard Klady
David Poland
Ray Pride

Hole in My Heart &
Anatomie de l'enfer

How does one explain the life effect of seeing Catherine Breillat's Anatomie de l'enfer (in English, Anatomy of Hell) and Lukas Moodyson's Hole In My Heart as a double feature? Both film seem anxious to outcrude any other films in history. While Breillat lingers on vaginal discharge, Moodyson rips the vagina apart like a wheel of cheese. Breillat delivers a mouthful of semen while Moodyson has two characters share a mouthful of vomit. Both films feature uncircumcised male members, so they do have that in common.

Breillat's Anatomy of Hell, which has had its scheduled American release delayed recently, is less graphic, but more devoid of meaning. The story of a woman who wishes to investigate the male attraction to and repulsion of the female body is as dry as melba toast, despite its innovate ideas about organic spreads. The festival program guide points out the Breillat has been accused of - or embraced for - making films about sex that are not sexy. That would be less of a sin. Having nothing of note to say while asserting that powerful things about men and women are being discussed is the big one.

Breillat has also made the remarkable error of confusing Italian porn star Rocco Sifredi for an actor. Perhaps the most interesting thing in this film about actress Amira Casar is the opening credit that explains that he is doubled in the more intimate sex sequences. And of course, Breillat narrates, her ego as a sexual being and as a God-like figure add a bit more noxiousness to the tank.

Lukas Moodyson, on the other hand, seems to have a lot to say. The problem in his film seems to be that he can't get past the urge to indulge himself to get down to investigating what he really means to be offering.

The movie is literally about a father, his son, a friend of the father, a strange girl and the porn film the father, friend and girl soot in the living room of their apartment. Things do expand, though not outside of the apartment. But mostly, we are assaulted by a series of orifices, bodily fluids, rages, brooding, violence and confusion. And if that's what you are looking for , this could be the movie for you.

Moodyson is desperately trying to say something. It's just that I have no idea what that something is.

I'm not saying that vomiting and labial surgery (with removed tissue sold on eBay for masturbating pervs) and bloody shootings and numbing of the anus to facilitate sex and talking corpses aren't interesting topics. The closest this film gets to really exploring one, however, is when the son brings up the proximity of the male genitals when a woman is being anally and vaginally penetrated at the same time. And just writing that makes me wonder why it needs to be a discussion at all.

I feel like a bit of a prude writing about these films this way, but they are both sledgehammers that abuse our willingness to remain open to a discussion of sex to pound away and pound away, never striking the nail on the head.

- by David Poland

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