# Gorilla Bathes at Noon (1993)

### reviewed by
Max Hoffmann

                               GORILLA BATHES AT NOON
                           A film review by Max Hoffmann
                            Copyright 1993 Max Hoffmann

Seen: Sun 5/10/93, Palo Alto Square, SF Film Festival Rating: 6 (scale of 1->10) Germany 1993, 83 min. In English, Russian and German with English subtitles Director/Screenplay: Dusan Makavejev Prod: Alfred Hurmer, Boana Marijan, Joachim von Vietinghoff Camera: Aleksander Petkovic, Miodrag Milosevic Editor: Vuksan Lukovac CAST: Svelozar Cvetkovic, Anita Mancic, Alexandra Rohmig, Petar Bozovic

IN A NUTSHELL: a great, original premise for a film that misses the mark; a major in the Red Army decide to stay behind in Berlin and "make it," after reunification. In spite of the clever interspersing with a campy post-war Russian "victory over Berlin" film, this movie sags as the hero begins to wear on you, and the sight gags lose their freshness. Would lose most mainstream audiences, but the art-house crowd may find enough gems in this dust heap to make it worth viewing.

Major Victor Borisovich's soviet officer's unit has "deserted" him, leaving him behind in a city still trying to rebuild itself. The naive hero (played by Yugoslav stage actor, Svetozar Cvetkovic) takes the wrong tack, bicycling around the city in full uniform with the Red Flag on his bicycle (because he's used to women "falling" for his uniform). Though initially an engaging hero, the material gradually wears thin, and the Major starts to resemble an obnoxious Danny Kaye.

His journey through Berlin is hardly boring. He falls in with an aspiring artist, and eventually beds her, only to receive retribution from her Turkish lover (whose charcoal etched good looks makes the wispy Russian's conquest a little unbelievable). The film hits its low point as the Major ends up with an Oliver Twist-like group of outcasts, living in an abandoned building. The motley crew resembles a colorful group of hastely assembled stereotypes chosen to be foils to the Major's off-beat ways. The script even throws in a baby for the "heart warming" effect. In this tepid soup, it's more like indigestion.

The unifying symbol in this film is the eventual decapitation and tear down of a huge statue of Lenin. The director revealed in the post-viewing Q/A that a few kegs of beer for the wrecking crew bought him the privilege of shooting the action, with he and the actor high on the scaffolding, while the press was cordoned off hundred of feet away. This may have been the film's only triumph.

Highlights of the film are the frequently interspersed clips from THE FALL OF BERLIN (1949). It's a high camp, Russian propaganda piece with outrageously operatic deaths, and closeups smudgily superimposed over what appears to be a color postcard of the burning Reichstag. Unfortunately, this film begins to look more interesting than the modern work that frame's it. This has oft been a problem, for instance in film biographies of old movie stars where the vintage Hollywood clips are more interesting than the contemporary spin on the subject's lives.

The film has crisp photography, but it's not brilliant enough to avoid the wait for this turkey to come out on video. It might be appropriately labeled a WINGS OF DESIRE with wings of lead. Unlike its German predecessor, this one never gets off the ground.

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