There is No Me in Avant-Garde

There is no me in avant garde. Or we. Paul and I learned this last night as we yet again embarked on "an adventure." Oh foolish mortals, when will we learn that there is a reason we live a normal life? It's because we're NORMAL. By definition, if one are not normal, then one is abnormal. Who wants to be abnormal?

Our tale begins on Tuesday, when someone courteously left behind an alternative publication at the bus stop. I need to kill some time, so I started flipping through it. There was an ad for a film--Repo: The Genetic Opera--which Paul and I had periodically discussed. It had an intriguing premise (it's a horror opera--really, almost every line is sung) and cast (Paul Sorvino, Sarah Brightman, Anthony Head, even Paris Hilton). It was an 1-day engagement with one of those director-writer Q and A sessions after the film. So we said, what the heck? Let's be adventurous. So, I bought the tickets--little nervous about the part that said dressing in costume is encouraged--and on Thursday, despite the many better and more important things we had to do, drove off to a little dollar movie theater in Chandler. I became slightly more nervous given the amount of black and capes as we waited to verify our names and ages (you didn't actually get tickets, they put your name on a list at the door), but figured it was part of the adventure. We got in, found seats in a giant theater with with tables (like the Alamo Drafthouse!) and random pieces of furniture to make extra seats. (Ever watched a movie in a church pew? Me neither, but I know where to now.) Soon, the theater was overflowing with black, fishnets, piercings, and leather. Still, I held steady. Hadn't Chris Hicks once written that there was a certain amount of humor being there for one of those Rocky Horror Picture Show things? We sat through the opening banter and then the director, writer, and composer took the mike. The director opened by saying that Repo: The Genetic Opera had been called the worst film ever, the worst movie of the year. This is when genuine panic first set in. What were we in for? Well, something. A few parts were good, more were interesting, many I covered my eyes for. In brief, there's a man (the Repo Man) who repossessions organs. He's been coerced into the job (he's really a doctor, you see) because his daughter is ill. His boss is the villian. He is also the man's dead wife's ex-lover and possibly the daughter's biological father. Throw in the boss' three worthless children (in the role of the bawdy buffoon) who are squabbling over their dying father's estate, a drug-dealing grave robber/narrator, and a blind opera singer who is also owned by the villian and was the dead ex-lover's best friend. There's mostly revenge, some parents-must-let-go-at-some-point, a smattering of mixed social commentary (obsessions with plastic surgery, drug addiction, the evils of consumerism/genetic modification/etc.) as the plot's connective tissue. Paul and I had a secret signal worked out if we had to flee--three quick squeezes of the hand. Unfortunately, there was a miscommunication and I misinterpreted Paul's attempt to flee as him wrongly thinking I wanted to flee. Thus we wound up staying for the whole thing. And thing really is the word for it. It certainly gave us much to talk about on the drive home.

Paul's Official Opinion: Repo is a terrible movie--but stylish. It's uniquely terrible. The gore was over-the-top, yet lacked a payoff. C+ (B as average)
Jennifer's Official Opinion: Repo is a disappointing movie. It was often interesting, but lacked any real development of the plot or characters. The opera aspect was really underdeveloped. This is impressive when you consider than 95% of the movie was sung. (Paul agrees.) C+