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of the time spent watching "Shaye and Kiki," the first DVD release
from Indican Pictures, will be spent with a furrowed brow. Writer/director Eric
Fournier and co-conspirator Shaye Saint John have assembled a benchmark for the
bizarre that will leave most scratching their heads and reaching for a drink.
Had someone misinformed me that this film was a three-way collaboration between
aliens, John Waters, and a homeless guy in South Central, I would have accepted
that premise immediately without need or want of an explanation.
Saint John, who co-wrote "Shaye and Kiki"
with Fournier, is a mask wearing quadriplegic, and stars as the central
character (Shaye). Speaking only in a high-pitched whine that is as
annoying as it is difficult to understand, her life and times are the
focus of the film. Rounding out her overall creepy appearance, Shaye has
creepy wooden extremities that basically function as set pieces,
clumsily allowing her to do things like shave her legs, surf the
Internet, and slap fellow characters. The movie, such as it is, breaks
out into 30 episodes that purport to share brief glimpses into Shaye's
existence. None of these shorts is more than five minutes long and none
have any discernable connection to any of the other. Thus, there is no
plot, no narrative, no premise, and one might be tempted to conclude, no
point.
A brief sampling: Shaye feeds a stray cat Cheerios;
Shaye attempts to enhance the appearance of her nine-year-old friend
Kiki (a doll with a charred face that appears several times in the film,
often decapitated) with makeup; Shaye distresses because Kiki auditions
for a movie and must take her "bottoms off" to get the role;
Shaye does a public service announcement about fireworks where her
friend, Sandy, catches fire; and so on.
Fournier employs various and redundant camera
methods, color schemes, and lighting variations that leave the indelible
mark of an amateur, either by design or lack of experience. The effect
is perpetually irritating and occasionally unnerving. The obvious
question occurs about half an hour down this rabbit hole: why do we care
about the daily events of a disturbed, Joan Rivers-mask-wearing
quadriplegic? Like many good questions, it goes unanswered.
What is not in dispute is that the creators
audaciously blur the line between actual filmmaking and poor
experimentation with lens filters and basic camera technique. The
overall purpose will remain lost on most viewers as they struggle to
comprehend the message hidden within a bewildering overdose of
screeching confusion interlaced with childlike imagery. There are hints
of self-parody and satire flung at the camera but none are fleshed out
enough to resonate. Is the "Shaye" from the movie really Saint
John's alter ego, a mocking caricature of someone else, or even an out
of work gas station attendant on a harrowing acid trip?
To be fair, "Shaye and Kiki" is probably best
understood, if at all, in a broader artistic context rather than by
conventional means. It is, perhaps, unfair if not completely
inappropriate to attempt to compare or contrast "Shaye and
Kiki" with mainstream film, and I suspect the creators would be
offended at the very suggestion. Genuine artistic expression can take
virtually any form, many of which large segments of the population fail
to appreciate. For instance, I've never been able to recognize the
virtue of modern abstract sculpture, yet my indifference (some would say
ignorance) doesn't keep many such works from commanding millions of
dollars at auction.
Saint John herself is apparently a bit of a
legend at the California Institute for the Abnormal Arts, a reservoir of
peculiar forms of expression where venerable freak shows can come together and
create in peace. Back in the mainstream, however, the only residue of interest
that materializes from "Shaye and Kiki" is the emergence of the
unmistakable persona of its star. Over the arc of 30 brief encounters, Saint
John reveals herself as a casually amusing, yet obviously unhinged, pre-Madonna;
a more intelligent yet equally self-absorbed (and, of course, limbless) Anna
Nichole Smith. Her limitations don't stir sympathy, nor does she desire
sympathy, and once her obvious deficiencies are set aside, a distinctively enduring
character remains.
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