Review of Slack Bay

"Ma Loute" is a film but what it really is is theft and abjection, it is the result of the cultural misery and of the intellectual mischief and vacuity taking place in an era where history is at a standstill. This film is yet another proof of the power of the media and marketing upon the brain washed masses of consenting slaves and consumers in the new world order. When thousands of minorities are actually the overwhelming majority of the human population on this planet, when less than one percent of the population owns more than 99 % of the assets, when futures and junk bonds, « Sex and the city » and publicity are the pinnacle and ultimate goal and purpose of the whole circus, it is time for terrorism, incest, « gender  debate», gluten free diet or cannibalism to justify yet another reason to go on as usual. In this particular instance what is somewhat interesting in this display of ridicule and emptiness is to wonder about the motives of the producers and of the distributors of such utter despicable lack of respect for the public and past authors. The only explanation, the only way to read this film is, I presume, to comprehend it as a form of fascist propaganda. The director intends to depict a decadent society at the beginning of the 20th century in France where the poor and the rich conjure in their respective and shared perversity and degeneration, doing so the authors of this project wish to confront us with the mirror of our own abyssal dismay and uncertainties about post-Christian western civilization. Cannibalism being the least horrific detail here, incest is worse, not because of the sufferings of the victims ( Binoche makes her worst performance in vain) or because of degenerate off-springs, but because it is assumed as an acceptable fact of life and a normal process within social classes. All the same there are too many signs throughout the film that both the director and the main actors are really desperate to obtain cultural status and recognition in order to please heavily subsidized institutions and their privileged public. The result is a crime: theft, theft of the work of Chekov. Over the last forty years there have been so many theatre productions of Chekov in France that it has become some kind of redemption or absolution for all the sins and poor invention of the cultural elites and their subordinates, this film is much less than yet another one of those, it is hardly a fart. Towards the end, the film shows a certain inspector Machin shot down for inflating himself a little too much...very enlightening... the film blows itself up too. Terrorists do the same sometimes, I can't help wondering why they go on doing it.