Last night I went to see The Book of Revelation. A very self-consciously arty piece, with a couple of familiar faces, and some great still shots of urban Melbourne. But unless you really have a deep abiding interest in the flaccid willy or seeing a well muscled man writhing in chains, I wouldn't bother. The verdict by the erudite miss D was just - , clunky. We could see what the director was trying to do, we could see that you rarely get highly stylized pieces in Aussie cinema, that this extreme set-up had something to say about power and abuse and maybe gender. But the dialogue just hit the floor like a big damp bag of sand. And I always just feel embarrassed for the actor in simulated masturbation scenes.
Also, if you're like me and respond to boredom with a bit of banter, and attempt to be a bit too cool for school, especially don't go and see it in a small art-house cinema. Not that you'd have much choice in a film like this. I got shushed for the first time in a while, and wasn't even really drunk, which I think was the case last time I was shushed in the cinema. Strangely, the two men with matching shoulder bags in the row in front didn't appreciate my real time critique. I thought the point about Australian accents jarring in stark moody cinematography was quite insightful, actually. But it was after the scene with the hooded woman making use of a giant strap-on, that I was just casually asking my lovely companion if you could get them in silver these days? I didn't even think it was that loud.