The slow dissipation of murderous arrogance through the postmodern act of reenactment. In seeing Anwar Congo slowly wake up to the gravity of his crimes, audiences in Indonesia (where the film is/was ((?)) banned) and the world over awaken to this little-discussed chapter of the Cold War.
One of the more unique cinematic artifacts I’ve ever witnessed.
For a moment, let’s say Rupert’s redemption arc at the end of the film isn’t another product of his delusions. In this case, the film indicts its audience, as it makes us as obsessed with celebrity as Rupert is.
He’s on the cover of every magazine in America, gets a book deal, and shoots to the top of showbiz upon his release from prison—why? Because his obvious mental illness is ignored and we catapult him to the status of icon.…
Say it every night, before you slip into unconsciousness: I AM a revolutionary.
“Does it ever end? Of course it does. It did.”
It gives me such joy to wake up at 6 o’clock in the afternoon, having spoken too much the previous night, putting on a somewhat decent and out-of-character outfit, only for it to rain, and for me find myself at 2 a.m., watching this melancholic film about the “end.”
The end of an era, the end of a hustle people were pulling on others and themselves, the end of staring out at the waves. May we all be as true as Doc.
