Sudasassi has the skills to pay the bills and can direct the living s**t out of anything, it seems. But great direction can only do so much if the material runs too thin. In this case, the material runs so thin it totally vanishes.
Near the beginning, one of the older women being interviewed snickers over the notion of some old man trying to stick it in her. She says it would be like trying to stuff a marshmallow into a piggy bank. This utterance is startling and idiosyncratic, a wonderful foot to start off on. However, that is the first and last thing you will hear from the interviews that isn’t completely mothballed.
I understand that the taboo of talking about sex out loud for certain generations is a hard habit to break, but the subjects are still way too inhibited. There is simply nothing revealed that isn’t predictable to the point of being stale. It also drags like an old man’s balls rolling out from a pair of shorts.
“…has the skills to pay the bills and can direct the living s**t out of anything…”
At one point, it is discussed that time is like a bubble, with your past surrounding you at all sides as you move forward. Bubbles also float around with no direction, much like the pacing of the movie. It looks great, but there is only so much meandering a viewer can take until you start praying for cataclysm.
The subject of spousal rape is completely mishandled, with a bad decision to have just mundane acts shown to cover the horror, undercutting it completely. I both expected and still demand the kind of domestic violence representation that made I, Tonya, such a landmark picture.
Memories Of A Burning Body has an impressive concept, and the surface is well executed, but there is no floor, just a ceiling. Think of it like a visit to a great tea house, where everything is served on an elegant tea set, but the tea is weak and not hot enough.
"…sports spectacular style but is in desperate need for more substance."
