Charles Bukowski’s The Little Tailor is a depraved, rotten little film… in a good way. Jack (David Gueriera) is a tailor who has wandered a little too far into the deep end. He’s decided that his clients are more of a burden to him than anything else, and therefore he begins amassing a collection of dead bodies in place of business. This leads to an awful smell and an affluence of flies, which is pointed out to Jack when his friend Harry (Justin Dray) drops by. A friend who, at first disturbed by Jack’s new murderous habits and apathy towards it all, picks up the phone to seemingly call police and then, instead, unscrews the mouthpiece and fucks the phone. Yup… he FUCKS THE PHONE.
It’s around that point in the short when you realize that you’re out at sea with no compass and only the two lunatics to guide you in. Except, they don’t act like lunatics, at least not all the time. Jack doesn’t come across as the type of guy who just murders people and leaves them to rot in his presence, and while Harry definitely has more of a sleaze to him at first glance than most, you still don’t imagine he’d fuck a phone.
To those ends, both David Gueriera and Justin Dray, as Jack and Harry respectively, deliver top-shelf performances. Couple that with the quality editing and some superb cinematography, and you’ve got a damn fine little film. A damn fine little film that makes you feel like you need a thorough physical and spiritual cleansing immediately after watching.
This is 16 minutes spent in a world you probably don’t want to accidentally visit, but at least we as an audience get out unscathed. Well, physically unscathed. Psychological effects could be a totally different set of wounds.
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