Brown Bunny

(This review initially ran in the Purchase College Independent on October 11th, 2007, in a slightly different form.)

This week’s Film Vault will act as a public service announcement of sorts: friends don’t let friends watch bad movies. Now, there’s some variety as to what constitutes a “bad movie.” Some movies are so awful that it makes them unintentionally hilarious; Mystery Science Theater 3000 built an entire TV series around this premise. Some movies simply bore you to sleep with their mediocrity—even literally, like the first couple of times I attempted to watch Glitter. And then there are the movies that fail so spectacularly that their badness actually makes you angry. Gigli and Alone in the Dark are such films. So is Brown Bunny.

I really didn’t expect to loathe Brown Bunny (2003) as much as I do. You probably best know of this movie as the one in which Chloe Sevigny gives actual head on camera. The recipient of said blowjob is Vincent Gallo, who also directed, wrote, and edited this pretentious sack of shit. Actually, Gallo probably would shit in a sack and attempt to sell it for five figures on his website.

Gallo’s character in this film is a professional motorcycle racer and quiet, sensitive fellow, making a misguided attempt to deal with his loneliness by driving to California to visit an ex-girlfriend. On the way, he takes a couple of motorbike rides and almost picks up a couple of random women but doesn’t really do much with them. That’s pretty much the entire movie but for the last few minutes.

It starts off with a lengthy sequence of Gallo riding his bike around a speedway track. This basically sets the tone for the rest of the movie: not because it’s a scene of one man traveling in isolation, but because it’s too goddamned long and nowhere near compelling enough to justify lasting so long. The vast majority of Bunny is composed of shots of the highway taken through Gallo’s bug-splattered windshield, occasionally with his profile or some of his greasy hair in the frame, just so you don’t forget he’s there. I suppose this is all meant to be terribly poignant in an On the Road sort of way, but to me, the promiscuous use of country highways and dingy small-town imagery seems tailor-made to a certain hipster sensibility that has never left New York or LA but is fascinated, however ironically, with depictions of a kitschy and slightly seedy blue-collar Middle America. That would also explain why the washed-out and often slightly-out-of-focus picture quality resembles that of American Apparel ads, which have the aesthetic of amateur porn Polaroids shot in someone’s basement rec room in the ‘70s.

Repetitive road shots aside, this movie is a complete narcissistic fantasy on Gallo’s part. Every female under the age of 60 is portrayed as a meek, vaguely white-trash Lost Soul with a quiet desperation to get into Gallo’s pants, apparently with the underlying hope that this will somehow save her from her miserable life. Gallo shouldn’t flatter himself; I guess some women might find him attractive, but his look is definitely a specialty interest*, and personality-wise, his Mr. Lonely Guy character comes off as a pathetic man-child incapable of dealing with his problems in a mature, responsible manner.

Now, about that blowjob. Chloe Sevigny portrays the fellatious ex-girlfriend, an obnoxiously needy and passive victim-type. The infamous scene, with all the kissing and minor foreplay leading up to it, is (naturally) much too long. It isn’t sexy at all, it’s actually rather uncomfortable to watch. I get that it’s supposed to be uncomfortable and awkward, but really, Gallo could have accomplished this tone without unleashing his beast for the ladies in the audience to swoon over.

Afterwards, it suddenly and bizarrely turns into an anti-drug screed. Gallo pushes Sevigny away from him onto the bed, shoves his still-erect cock back into his jeans, and starts crying. Still weeping, Mr. Sensitive scolds her for her use of pot and alcohol, and for having been gang-raped and taken away in an ambulance while passed out under the influence, all of which he passively watched without doing anything. What a swell guy! The bulk of this movie is so blandly ambiguous that it could have ended in any number of ways, but I had no idea it would turn into a remake of Reefer Madness.

I actually watched Brown Bunny before I ever saw Gallo’s earlier directorial effort, Buffalo ’66, and was pleasantly surprised by the latter film. Gallo’s character in Buffalo ’66 is an openly self-absorbed asshole, but at least we’re given explanations throughout the film for why he’s an asshole, so that we can understand if not exactly sympathize with him—unlike Gallo’s character in Bunny, who is almost a complete blank. Plus, the sad-eyed young waif who falls for Gallo is allotted more of a personality, and a likeable one, than any female in Brown Bunny.

You can watch Brown Bunny on DVD if you’re really that masochistic—I do know a couple of people who have seen it and, astoundingly, don’t think it’s that bad—but for a more entertaining viewing experience, you’re better off locating one of the actual brown bunnies from the woods by the [Purchase College] apartments and parking your ass in front of it for an hour and a half. Or you could just watch Buffalo ’66 instead.


*--Though I must admit, over the last few months I've been attracted to no less than three young men of my acquaintance who bear some vague resemblance to Mr. Gallo--perhaps it's my curse for writing this review?--but Vincent himself just doesn't do it for me.