Summary
One of the most unexpected and hilarious satires to come out of the pandemic era, it probes the social mores of its native country with a universality that will cause you to laugh and cringe in equal measure.
As you may have already guessed from the title, Romanian filmmaker Radu Jude’s film is not your average piece of cinema. Winner of the Golden Bear, the top prize at this year’s Berlinale, his COVID-influenced movie is bound to shock, surprise and, at least with any luck, skewer some sacred cows in the process.
Jude has divided his modern satire into three sections. In the first, titled ‘One Way Street,’ the audience is given an idea of what to expect: anything. Following an extended and explicit sex scene of a couple wearing masks — one that lasts a full five minutes and is bound to result in the first of many walk-out moments in an average festival screening — the video is uploaded to the web and the woman identified.
The primary plot then follows Emi (Katia Pascariu), the teacher featured in the video, having to face the embarrassment and criticism of her private life laid bare. Much of this first section revolves around Emi wandering up the titular one way street, making a series of calls to understand how and why the video is up and trying to get it taken down.
In this part, Jude and cinematographer Marius Panduru’s camera focuses on little things: shopfronts, casino machines, crumbling city streets. The ubiquitous facial masks and a supermarket argument are the only nods to 2020, but it could otherwise be any other time in contemporary post-socialist Romania. An elederly woman walks right up to the camera and says “Eat my cunt,” and I would love to think it was just an ad-libbed moment captured at the right time.
It’s also possibly an early signal from Jude that Emi’s sex act is but one of many things society hypocritically stigmatises. In the second chapter, labelled ‘A short dictionary of anecdotes, signs and wonders,’ Jude strings together an alphabetical list of terms with often contrary or cheeky archival footage.
Beginning with footage of Nazis during the Second World War, it features things like a blonde nudist being chased by a bull, imagery of dictator Ceaușescu and early animation. The close proximity of a funeral home and an emergency room get filed under ‘E’ for ‘Efficiency.’ It’s pointed out that ‘blow job’ is the most searched for word in the modern dictionary, followed by ’empathy.’ It feels like an excuse for Jude to use more explicit footage, except that it ends with a statistic that 55% of people surveyed believe rape is justified in some circumstances. Taken together, it’s as if Jude’s asking ‘So, you’re ok with this, just not sex on film?’
“If that’s making love, then I’m Romeo Fantastik. Or Milli Vanilli.”
The third chapter is where the film really shines. Titled ‘Praxis and Innuendos (Sitcom),’ Emi is effectively put on trial by her school’s PTA. While they all try and get a look at the video (while maintaining social distancing, of course), Emi starts by defending her own sex life before the conversation reveals the assembled group’s own prejudices, blind jingoism, and deeply rooted hypocrisy.
As Jude reminds us in his closing title cards, the film is “but a joke” even when it is cutting incredibly close to the bone. In fact, if you aren’t in on it by the time you reach the chaotic and super-heroic conclusion, one that puts both the opening sequence and every comic book movie ever to shame, then you probably got lost somewhere after the first act.
Many countries have worked through their massive societal changes through satire, but rarely have any done it as uniquely as this. So, if BAD LUCK BANGING OR LOONY PORN makes it to a cinema near you, make a point of going to check it out. If for no other reason, just go to watch the rest of the patrons squirm.
2021 | Romania / Luxembourg / Croatia / Czech Republic | DIRECTOR: Radu Jude | WRITER: Radu Jude | CAST: Katia Pascariu, Claudia Ieremia, Olimpia Mălai, Nicodim Ungureanu, Alexandru Potocean, Andi Vasluianu | DISTRIBUTOR: microFilm, Berlinale 2021 | RUNNING TIME: 106 minutes | RELEASE DATE: 1-5 March 2021 (GER)
