In the rogues gallery of cinema history there is now a place made available next to the immortal Elmyr de Hory.
And that spot rightly belongs to Mr. Brainwash.
Which makes Banksy an analog for Orson Welles.
And the whole thing begging to be let into the joke.
F for Fake.
And even that pernicious Truman Show.
And another avant-garde situation piece: The Party.
In terms of quality, Exit…has Truman beaten.
But it isn’t really a comedy.
Not if your life is a lot like that of Thierry Guetta.
And mine is. [Minus a million bucks].
I mean, Elmyr is a sort of hero of mine.
And FFF my second favorite film ever.
So Exit…lacks the pointed humor of The Party and the timeless sophistication of FFF.
But it is a thoroughly enjoyable film.
I was pleasantly surprised!
Street art is exactly what you get.
Graffiti. And a stray graffito.
Making a film backwards.
Reconstructing what never was.
Kilroy was here.
Watching the unwatchable.
Like the human genome project.
Banksy a director.
And if Shepard Fairey is looking for a fresh face, I would suggest Boban Marjanović.
He has a posse.