Friday, 5 April 2013

Grilled Fried Proletariat (Death Laid An Egg (1968))

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Dir. Giulio Questi
France-Italy

From http://cdn103.iofferphoto.com/img/item/158/875/995/JwfxDJRzD6uG53n.jpg

The line between the lurid and avant-garde blurs with Italian genre films. Peter Strickland’s Berberian Sound Studio (2012) showed this, the film, for an improvised double bill, that I watched before Death Laid An Egg for a night’s viewing, a fitting signpost before the discordance of this one. Giulio Questi has an incredibly slight filmography, really only consisting of this, the infamous Django Kill! If You Live...Shoot! (1967) and experimental shorts that he has been making more recently at his own home, all of which I need to get around to. Death Laid An Egg however is a film that I have been wanting to see for years since I first heard about it from Mondo Movie, one of the first (and still one of the best) cult film podcasts in existence. The title sequence of Questi’s film, of chicken eggs being ovulated and chicken foetuses set to an abstract noise score, instantly sets up how confrontational and divisive it will be. Only a few will like it, but it lived up to its reputation for the bizarre fully.

From http://b.vimeocdn.com/ts/422/176/422176842_640.jpg

Death Laid An Egg is not what you would view as a typical giallo, which became more popular during the seventies, more closer to a politically layer story of greed and deceit...that just happens to be set in the poultry industry. Jean-Louis Trintignant, a face for cinema if any on the silver screen, is the husband of a rich woman (Gino Lollobrigida) who owns a chicken farm, a man with a peculiar sexual perversity. His wife Anna becomes suspicious of him while her cousin Gabrielle (the blonde, waif-like beauty Ewa Aulin) may be far less innocent then she acts to be. Eventually the strands connect together by the film’s end, but Questi’s film, edited and co-written by Franco Arcalli, is clearly designed to wrong foot the viewer from the beginning, to unsettle and attack them. I have heard it being compared to Jean-Luc Godard’s Week End (1967), and it is not close to that film in tone, but is just as abrasive. You are kept back from the characters, by their cold personalities or questionable attitudes, and the reality of the film is, a critique capitalist Italy of the time in an absurdist genre movie, is that literally, as some illustrations show, the chickens seen crammed in Anna’s mechanised battery farm are us. The human characters are victims of their vices or trapped in their repetitious lives. The constant clucking and shifting head movements of trapped chickens is no different from Trintignant’s awkward body language as he goes from place to place. That the film goes as far as having mutant chickens – a plot point I will not go any further with to not spoil – emphasises this idea in an intentionally ridiculous way. With the tone of an episode of the British series Brasseye (1997), which had a similar idea as a joke in one episode, the weirdness of this sequence adds to the coldness of the business, willing to break moral boundaries, as well as potentially showing what the people could become if they let themselves stay in their predicaments.

From http://gialloscore.com/img/films/43/grab1.jpg

With a cold, distant look, the film is not accessible, but is striking. Utterly strange, its political message seems more noticeable. The atonal noises of the score by Bruno Maderna, percussion going on its own new rhythms and trying to harm the listener on purpose, chips away at conventionality while the editing breaks time structure so that numerous periods and moments can exist within the same minute of each other. You will be baffled by it, maybe laugh at the mutant chickens, but you realise Death Laid An Egg is a genre film being intentionally strange for impact, its world of industry and the middle class extravagance completely peculiar and off to be trustable or to be populated by anyone vaguely human except the skittish Trintignant trying to understand what is going on around him. It is an art film with a capital A but its pretensions make it the stronger and more a true cult film than if you were expected the usual blood and nudity. It’s something the Surrealist movement would have praised if it wasn’t only made in the Sixties after them.

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