This film of 'Naked Lunch' is the first of Cronenberg's Trilogy
of filming three of the most challenging literary works of the
20th Century, and arguably the most difficult... as anyone who's
read Burroughs' 1959 novel can attest, in conventional terms it
is a book without a cohesive plot or even structure, largely
assembled from the paranoid rambling letters of the world's most
notorious drug addict. Cronenberg's approach to the material is
ingenious in that he attempts to fictionalize the circumstances
under which the book was written rather than trying to weave a
storyline from the mass of twisted plot threads which comprise
the text. The cast is impeccable, particularly Peter Weller and Judy Davis
as the leads, Ian holm as a psuedo-Paul Bowles, and Cronenberg
regulars Robert A. Silverman as Hans and Nicholas Campbell as
Kerouac-ish Hank. Julian Sands and Roy Scheider don't quite
infuse their roles with the ridiculousness of their counterparts
from the novel, but their cameos are brief and don't detract
from the overall effect. The overall effect being a hypnotic, schizophrenic blend of
biography and folklore, equal parts Cronenberg and Burroughs, a
self-tortured portrait of the creative process. To the
director's credit, he relies on the script (his own) and the
performances over visual trickery or stock travelogue scenery to
set the mood and propel the action. The astonishing soundtrack,
by the superb Howard Shore, underscores the drug-filled malaise
of this Tangerine dream perfectly... it lacks any musical sense
of time and therefore hangs over the proceedings like a
mysterious haze. Haunting, powerful cinema... but most
definitely not for everyone. Wise up the marks before laying
this on them.
of filming three of the most challenging literary works of the
20th Century, and arguably the most difficult... as anyone who's
read Burroughs' 1959 novel can attest, in conventional terms it
is a book without a cohesive plot or even structure, largely
assembled from the paranoid rambling letters of the world's most
notorious drug addict. Cronenberg's approach to the material is
ingenious in that he attempts to fictionalize the circumstances
under which the book was written rather than trying to weave a
storyline from the mass of twisted plot threads which comprise
the text. The cast is impeccable, particularly Peter Weller and Judy Davis
as the leads, Ian holm as a psuedo-Paul Bowles, and Cronenberg
regulars Robert A. Silverman as Hans and Nicholas Campbell as
Kerouac-ish Hank. Julian Sands and Roy Scheider don't quite
infuse their roles with the ridiculousness of their counterparts
from the novel, but their cameos are brief and don't detract
from the overall effect. The overall effect being a hypnotic, schizophrenic blend of
biography and folklore, equal parts Cronenberg and Burroughs, a
self-tortured portrait of the creative process. To the
director's credit, he relies on the script (his own) and the
performances over visual trickery or stock travelogue scenery to
set the mood and propel the action. The astonishing soundtrack,
by the superb Howard Shore, underscores the drug-filled malaise
of this Tangerine dream perfectly... it lacks any musical sense
of time and therefore hangs over the proceedings like a
mysterious haze. Haunting, powerful cinema... but most
definitely not for everyone. Wise up the marks before laying
this on them.