There are two things I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know much about: the moment of my own conception and the precise moment of my death. Nevertheless, ensconsed in a junky car, the title character of video director Brett Simon’s “The Sailor’s Girl” provides psychic visions of just those two moments to her clientele.
Like so many shorts by young filmmakers, the premise resembles a lesser episode of “The Twilight Zone,” but the execution here is bizarre but compelling. (Why are all of the Girl’s clients male? Why does she provide the service from a junky old car? Are we supposed to compare her to some kind of an express-service hooker?)
It might have all come together, but the violent conclusion is poorly motivated and not especially shocking or pithy. Oh, and I also just had a vision of my parents making love….Damn you, Brett Simon!
