There’s something very weird going on in Hollywood.
And it has been going on for a long time.
You can look for yourself in Kenneth Anger’s books.
Strange stories about Clara Bow.
The first “It” girl.
From the film of the same name.
And how she kept her skin so soft (ostensibly).
But the range of weirdness in Hollywood seems to move along a continuum.
There are levels.
Not unlike Freemasonry.
The hedonism of Henry Miller would be a very low level.
But what we are dealing with here, in this film, is an allusion to a higher level.
Really, the highest level.
There really isn’t a more mot juste for this phenomenon than Satanism.
And, perhaps, even that word does not fully describe what is at issue.
If one was hard-pressed to boil it down–to refine it further, perhaps “evil” would be the essential element.
Recently, the internet collective known only as QAnon “dropped” a crumb of information regarding an establishment in Los Angeles known as the Cannibal Club.
You can find all Q drops here.
The drop in question is #3917 from April 8th of this month.
Here is the website to which Q linked.
It indeed follows the train of thought I delineated above.
You will see the Henry Miller quote (an author I deeply admire).
But then you will see a perversion far beyond (to my knowledge) anything Henry Miller ever wrote about.
What you see on the Cannibal Club website appears to be a restaurant which serves human flesh.
However, with a bit of research, I came to the conclusion that this particular institution (as it is presented) is likely fake.
The names of the principals all come back empty. None of them have a digital footprint that I can find. Sophie Lafitte. Elspeth Blake. Hero Conners. Raven Chan.
The photo of Cannibal Club’s proprietress, Elspeth Blake, was first cached as a stock photo in 2012.
The photo of Raven Chan also was first cached (before it was used on the Cannibal Club website) as a stock photo. Both photos appear to have originated on the website istockphoto.com . They are generic pictures.
The Cannibal Club website went live with content in 2009. Neither the menu, nor the “events” have changed.
My conclusion was that this was a joke made by demented, artsy liberals in order to seed panic in America’s conservative population.
That was my hypothesis: it is almost certainly a sick joke.
But here’s the rub…
Things like this very well may exist.
Indeed, they probably do.
And thereby we come to the film Lost River.
It came out a mere two years before Trump was elected.
Before Harvey Weinstein was convicted of sex crimes and sent to prison (where, last I heard, he had coronavirus).
Before jet-setter Jeffrey Epstein “hung himself” in a Manhattan jail cell.
You know, Epstein…the guy who flew Bill Clinton and Kevin Spacey to Africa.
All this was before Kevin Spacey had numerous sex crime charges brought against him.
And two of his accusers recently dropped dead (over the past year) bringing both cases to a halt.
I appreciate the style.
Very heavy on the David Lynch (with a modicum of Harmony Korine thrown in).
The focus on “place” is very similar to the technique David Lynch and Mark Frost used to ground the town of Twin Peaks in the TV series of the same name.
In the woods.
And in secret clubs.
Director Ryan Gosling did a pretty good job with this film.
We will forgive him for lifting the ambiance of that Orbison scene from Mulholland Dr. to repurpose it in his Lost River blood-and-guts cabaret.
Because the reason I watched this film at all was for Christina Hendricks.
She has the potential to join a modern pantheon which, at this time, includes only Thora Birch and Kat Dennings.
Though we are never told this in the film, it is set in Detroit.
And that makes sense.
Deserted neighborhoods with crumbling houses.
But it could be anywhere in America if China’s economic warfare (COVID-19) is not soon countered.
Matt Smith does a good job as Bully: the embodiment of serial-killer animalism.
The cartel head.
Gosling did a great job location scouting for the zoo scene.
The abandoned zoo.
Very much like the film Hanna and its scenes in the abandoned Spreepark of East Berlin.
Ben Mendelsohn is a fucker.
Such a prick.
He’s not an animal like Bully, though he has rage inside him.
He is more of a predator.
And he is much more powerful.
His character, Dave, is a banker.
And Dave tells us, during the course of the film, that he sets up a little “club” in each of the towns he goes to.
Seems Dave gets moved around a lot.
Gets the books on a firmer footing.
And moves on to the next town where he can oblige the poor and demented with a bit of blood lust with his clubs.
Lots of blood.
Lots of lust.
Dave overlaps nicely onto the persona of Harvey Weinstein.
Christina Hendricks is immediately propositioned by the bank manager.
Dave is a thoroughly-unscrupulous scumbag.
Hendricks just wants to hang on to her home…dilapidated though it may be.
Saoirse Ronan does a nice job in a relatively-minor role here.
She glitters occasionally…as she plays her Casio on her bed with sparkly finger polish.
Whispering out a little song.
Or as she tucks in her pet rat for the night.
But it is not the ginger Ronan we are used to.
Her hair is black.
To fit with the landscape.
And to let Hendricks (also a redhead) stand out as the star.
Saoirse is the “girl next door”…literally.
In the tradition of American Beauty.
By this method we can trace Gosling’s influences.
The overarching one is David Lynch.
This film is creepy.
Much of the creepiness comes from the casting.
It really is an amalgam of Lynch’s freaks with Harmony Korine’s amateurs.
There is the grief of the mute grandmother.
Caught in a loop of family films.
Mourning her late-husband who died tragically.
It is sad.
The inability to talk for some time after a shock.
The family films are sad.
Watching how they used to be.
The way they were.
And the grandmother still a widow…with a fishnet veil for mourning.
There is some rubbish in this movie.
Kind of how the second season of Twin Peaks went off the rails.
Eva Mendes is good here.
In the basement is something very Ex Machina (also 2014).
And even more so John Cale’s Vintage Violence.
Apparently, customers can come down and “murder” real people in these shells.
The shells are of a hard, clear plastic.
The shells supposedly prevent any real bodily harm.
But we never really see them in action.
Iain De Caestecker is pretty good here.
There is a realness in the urgency of his running.
Gosling’s editing crystalizes this.
Running for love.
Running to save.
To set off running.
Unprepared for how long the journey really is.
Something special here.
Good vs. evil.
To be selfish.
To ignore the needs of others.
To follow the voice of God.
To follow the instruction of the Holy Spirit.
To be humble before God.
To fear God.
To feel evil all around.
When it comes, and when it goes.
But the most quizzical scene is when Christina Hendricks cuts her own face off (in simulation, of course) in exactly the way we have heard about in the infamous, rumored Frazzledrip video.
Two years before such a thing came to light.
What a strange coincidence.
Let us synthesize more.
Could there be clubs (in L.A., for instance) where children have their faces cut off (for real) in front of an audience of sickos?
Further question, how does Hollywood (in L.A.) have the “imagination” to write these sorts of scenes?
Sure, there’s the old French film Eyes Without a Face.
But that was cosmetic.
It wasn’t for the thrill of spectators.
It was a medical procedure gone wrong.
Gory as it was, it was to SAVE the face of his daughter that the misguided doctor went on a hunt for faces.
Here, the faces are potlatched (apparently).
But again, this is just a “cabaret”, we are told.
We see behind the scenes.
So where is the truth in these “jokes”?
What kinds of personalities find humor in this?
John Podesta famously jokes about cannibalism in Time magazine and elsewhere.
He jokes about the cannibalistic Donner party.
He had cannibal art hanging on his office wall (a loan from his art-collector-brother Tony Podesta).
Strange fixation, that.
Verging on Silence of the Lambs.
Really vile stuff.
This is an interesting movie.
Gosling has talent as a director.
He should make more films.
This was his debut.
He has directed nothing sense.
My only quibble is this: Christina Hendricks was so misused here.
Saoirse Ronan was almost equally misused.
Gosling needs to watch more Godard.
You don’t cast Grace Kelly only to have her wear the same sweater for the whole film.
But it’s also Hendricks’ fault.
She has talent.
But she must embrace who she is.
She is not a good enough actor to be a puritan.