Zoo is probably as tasteful a movie as can be, given its bestial subject. For those of you who aren't aware, there's a small population of the world who prefer the love of an animal--both mentally and physically--over the love of a human. This film stylistically recreates the life and death of one horse lover, Mr. Hands, and his pack of animal molesting friends, during one of many meetings and BBQ's in a small town near Seattle. Mr. Hands died from internal injuries, caused by the numerous and repetitive thrusting of the enlarged member of a stallion into his anus.
The film is tasteful because it's not sleazy. In this respect, it's almost worse on the audience because it humanizes these so-called animal lovers. What you'd think would be more like a shockumentary, more than anything else, really becomes a shallow dissection of a zoophile's playful mind. It's certainly not psychological, nor really in-depth; but its shallowness really makes it that much more grim.
As I watched the film, I felt like a voyeur peering into the lives of ordinary human beings doing absolutely bizarre and reprehensible things--and they just talked about it as if it were as benign and workaday as eating a bowl of cereal or taking the dog for a ride (insert pun here). Yet, much like a pedophile talking about his love for children, these zoophile's innocently and sincerely spoke about their love for animals.
Initially concerned about the content of the film, I left the theater without witnessing the exploitation or mockery of bestiality, nor did I see anything graphic or overtly sexual. I did leave the theater a little sickened, however, because I didn't loathe Mr. Hands or his friends. In fact, I somehow sympathized with their pitiful plight.
The film is tasteful because it's not sleazy. In this respect, it's almost worse on the audience because it humanizes these so-called animal lovers. What you'd think would be more like a shockumentary, more than anything else, really becomes a shallow dissection of a zoophile's playful mind. It's certainly not psychological, nor really in-depth; but its shallowness really makes it that much more grim.
As I watched the film, I felt like a voyeur peering into the lives of ordinary human beings doing absolutely bizarre and reprehensible things--and they just talked about it as if it were as benign and workaday as eating a bowl of cereal or taking the dog for a ride (insert pun here). Yet, much like a pedophile talking about his love for children, these zoophile's innocently and sincerely spoke about their love for animals.
Initially concerned about the content of the film, I left the theater without witnessing the exploitation or mockery of bestiality, nor did I see anything graphic or overtly sexual. I did leave the theater a little sickened, however, because I didn't loathe Mr. Hands or his friends. In fact, I somehow sympathized with their pitiful plight.