The cinematic equivalent of sleeping pills, “Sigmund” is a boring, pointless short that is well shot and handsomely mounted, but to little or no purpose.
Sigmund Floyd (James) is a handsome young African American advertising executive who is having some psychological problems. His girlfriend Rhonda (Davenport), concerned about the amount of time he is spending with his mother, urges him to seek professional help. Laying on the couch of Dr. Bruer (Boller), Sigmund reveals that he has been vocalizing his inner thoughts while at work, calling his boss a dick and telling his assistant she has a nice a*s. Obviously, he is suffering from a Freudian obsession with his mother, who is very attractive.
Eeeww. Let’s just focus on the disturbing notion that this fellow wants to make bouncy-bouncy with his own mother (he even rubs his crotch while they are talking about it). This is supposed to be a comedy, although the humor has gone on vacation along with the good taste and acting talent. Why is this funny? Actually, there is nothing funny on display here. The dialogue is painfully bad; director Elder, who has a good eye and knows his camera angles, should stick to shooting other peoples scripts.
The actors do what they can, but they are like sheep being led to the slaughterhouse. None of them has any energy, or natural spark, to keep us interested in the proceedings. And the lead, James, seems to be in need of a good nap, sleepwalking through the entire film.
“Sigmund” is like a beautifully wrapped package on the department store Christmas tree. It looks wonderful, but there is nothing inside.
