Victor is so full of conflict and pain, he's barely able to breathe -- giving Choke endless symbolic opportunities to spew catharsis and enlightenment over the course of the film.

The problem arises when Gregg tries to capitalize on each bolus of emotional dissatisfaction and bring it to the screen. This is a small movie. It can only accommodate so much narrative complexity before it feels confused and fragmented, and Choke never finds the requisite rhythm to keep so much material in check.

Gregg not only fails to focus on a single plot, he fails to settle on an overall tone that could potentially unite the whole ponderous affair. One minute, he's being cheeky and sexy with flashes of Victor's previous squeezes, and the very next, he's pushing us into the deep end of Oedipal conflict.

It's kind of gross -- and not in a fun, entertaining, alternative hip way, either, despite the presence of cult-film-friendly Rockwell, and cool icon Anjelica Huston. Source

Comment on this Bastardly entry »