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PASSION
PLAY
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Director Mitch Glazer's film is probably one of the funniest most pretentious art house flicks of the year. It's one of the stupidest pieces of utter tripe ever conceived by man, an almost satirical look at artsy fartsy that dabbles in to a premise so ridiculous it's barely competent enough be considered symbolic. Oh Megan Fox is a bird girl named Lily, but she doesn't want to be a bird girl, but she's so beautiful! Mickey Rourke wants to restore her beauty by keeping her wings in tact even though she destroys them every night, all the while confronting wandering Indians who come to his rescue, evil old carnies and the like, all of whom are obviously some form of delusions of grandeur by some coked up cowboy played by Rourke who stumbles through the film with a grumble.
Along the way protagonist Nate meets random characters, all of whom want to keep the beauty of have some welfare in Lily's beauty that could mean the fate of the world, for reasons never quite explained. The wings are what's important, and everyone's interest hinges on it. Rhys Ifans is given a thankless role as a carnival owner who desperately attempts to keep Lily behind closed doors while Billy Murray is inadvertently ridiculous as mobster Happy Shannon. I wouldn't be so hard on "Passion Play" if it had even the slightest idea of what it was trying to accomplish, but with its spiritual journey and cribbing of Lynchian story structure, it gets there with a resounding gasp with an ending that almost, almost makes up for the dreadful crap that one must endure to get there.
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In spite of the climax, "Passion Play" is one of the worst movies of
2011, and one that acts as an endurance test, bringing aboard a cast of
performers who look almost infuriated to be on-screen together, with a
story that makes not the least bit of fucking sense.