Antichrist

Yeah, I’m done giving a shit about Lars Von Trier. To be honest, I didn’t give much of a shit to begin with, but now it is official, LVT and I are not friends. He can call himself the greatest director ever, or whatever shit he tried to pull at Cannes when someone asked him to justify making Antichrist, but he can also kiss my pasty ass.

If you are wondering what Antichrist is about, it is about a baby that thinks it can fly, the flying baby’s mother being sad that the baby couldn’t actually fly, Willem Dafoe whispering to said distraught mother of the aforementioned not-able-to-fly baby, and fucking, and weird fucking at that.

I’ll admit, some of the imagery is indeed quite striking, but starting off a movie with a six minute long, slow motion, black and white sequence of people fucking in a bathroom and a baby committing suicide in the snow, is pretentious. (Maybe the baby had Seasonal Affective Disorder, or maybe he just got tired of listening to his parents going at it.)

If you’re really in the mood for a movie with a close up shots of full penetration, but don’t want to cruise the internet for it, watch Thriller: A Cruel Picture, at least then you’ll get a kickass revenge story instead of a of a stillborn deer fetus. (Unless you just want to see Willem Dafoe’s boner—hey, it takes all kinds, I’m not judging. But if that is your game, this movie might just be for you.)