At the end of this film someone shouted out "What a load of old pony" and a cheer went up from a fair proportion of the audience - that part that either hadn't left before the end or hadn't fallen asleep. To continue the metaphor then this film is up there with the old nag that Steptoe and Son keep in their back yard.
The opening minutes are pretty indicative of what's to come. A nonsensical light show that signifies what precisely? Throw in eerie soundtrack music. And then extend it way beyond the powers of concentration of the most devoted of viewers.
Motor-bike man runs into a dark ditch and picks up a woman who looks dead. Next, another woman strips the dead woman. Next, she is driving around Glasgow in a white van. The combination of darkness/semi-light and Glaswegian accents which are more or less indecipherable only serves to make whatever's going on on-screen even more confusing. Somewhere along the line the Elephant Man has escaped from another film and gets picked up by Johanssen. He doesn't drown like the previous two men that she seduces but runs off naked across the moors. Motor-bike man catches him and puts into the boot of a car. He drives off. Don't know what happens to the car or Elephant Man. By this time people were leaving, my neighbour was sound asleep and I had two red-hot pins ready to stick into my eyes.
I can't even be bothered to run over the rest of this abysmal, tedious story. Shots were held for ever in the mistaken belief, I presume, that we gave a damn about we were seeing. Nothing happened.
It's now the next morning and I'm still angry at forking out £10 and wasting 2 hours of life to see this pile of dreck. Beany-hatted, sandal-wearing academics will just love this film and will witter on endlessly to their poor students about the "significance" of it all. Believe me, there is none.
The opening minutes are pretty indicative of what's to come. A nonsensical light show that signifies what precisely? Throw in eerie soundtrack music. And then extend it way beyond the powers of concentration of the most devoted of viewers.
Motor-bike man runs into a dark ditch and picks up a woman who looks dead. Next, another woman strips the dead woman. Next, she is driving around Glasgow in a white van. The combination of darkness/semi-light and Glaswegian accents which are more or less indecipherable only serves to make whatever's going on on-screen even more confusing. Somewhere along the line the Elephant Man has escaped from another film and gets picked up by Johanssen. He doesn't drown like the previous two men that she seduces but runs off naked across the moors. Motor-bike man catches him and puts into the boot of a car. He drives off. Don't know what happens to the car or Elephant Man. By this time people were leaving, my neighbour was sound asleep and I had two red-hot pins ready to stick into my eyes.
I can't even be bothered to run over the rest of this abysmal, tedious story. Shots were held for ever in the mistaken belief, I presume, that we gave a damn about we were seeing. Nothing happened.
It's now the next morning and I'm still angry at forking out £10 and wasting 2 hours of life to see this pile of dreck. Beany-hatted, sandal-wearing academics will just love this film and will witter on endlessly to their poor students about the "significance" of it all. Believe me, there is none.