Actually, I think I should rephrase that. It's not that I didn't know what was going on (the plot is on the cusp of being straight-forward at times), it's just that the film, written and directed by John Albo, goes about implementing its ideas in a manner that is, let's just say, highly unorthodox. How 'bout I put it this way: If the film I'm watching starts to remind me of Dandy Dust and Dr. Caligari, you know some seriously unorthodox shit is transpiring onscreen.
Questions like: Did that woman just lay an egg in a marsh? And: Why is Trevor Goddard humping that stuffed bear in a pair of assless chaps? will no doubt tumble from your lips as you're watching this movie. And that's okay. Just as along you don't say: "What the fuck did I just watch?" I'm not a fan of that expression.
Just to let you know, the reason I was reminded of Dandy Dust is because there's a scene that features a bald, bloodied woman covered in bandages dismembering a body in a bathtub. As for Dr. Caligari. Well, I was reminded of that film because it features a smallish cast acting real meshugenah and junk all within the sinewy confines of the gayest gay wet dream in existence.
In a weird twist, it just so happens that the gayest gay wet dream in existence also boasts the leggiest leggy floozy to hit the gay wet dream circuit in donkey's years. Except, this here leggy floozy utters words from her talking hole unlike any leggy floozy I've ever seen. But more on her in a minute. To properly understand this so-called "Domestic Symphony," you need to start at the beginning.
Anyone care to guess what Monty (Trevor Goddard) is doing when the film begins? (Railing against "faggots and dyke feminists," who are, according to him, ruining the country?) Well, yeah, he does do that. Here's a free tip, whenever someone asks you what Monty is doing at any given moment, say he's exercising. You wanna know why? That's right, because he's probably exercising. You don't get a body like Monty's by sitting around all day eating Cheetos.
Truth be told, when we first meet Monty, he's using a blowtorch on a hunk of metal. However, I don't think he's actually making anything. No, what I think he's trying to do is give all the guy's in the audience man-boners. While I would love to tell you what he's trying to do to all the women in the audience with this display of fire-based machismo. In all honesty, I have no idea what's going on down there (female genitals confuse and frighten me).
Sharing a loft/gym with his brother, Bertin (Rudi Davis), Monty is from Australia and is really into physical fitness. So much so, he's the phys-ed teacher at the local university. It's only a two credit course, but Monty hopes to become head of the athletic department in two years.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, the exact moment I started to feel inadequate was when Monty began to crouch walk around Bertin while carrying a large barbell. Simply put, the man's a machine. However, this feeling inadequacy began to lesson a bit after seeing Monty have sex with a lingerie-clad blow-up doll while viewing a slide-show that featured photos of himself flexing.
Meanwhile, in another less gym-like part of the loft, Bertin, who's a student at the university Monty works, is trying to keep his new exotic pet a secret from his brother. Of course, in true Flexing with Monty fashion, this exotic pet turns out to be some kooky-looking dude in a cage.
In-between all the brotherly horseplay (which there is a lot of), we learn more about Monty and Bertin's complex relationship, and Granny (Gwen Van Dam), their eye-patch sporting grandmother. I don't know what's more disturbing, the sight of Monty holding his hand over Bertin's naked, writhing buttocks as he slept, or the sight of Granny giving Monty a massage. Actually, the sound of Bertin's aborted foetus crashing into that metal bucket takes the cake, disturbing-wise.
While Monty clearly hates the gays. That doesn't stop him from placing ads in the classifieds that offer his services as a male prostitute. Telling Bertin that he's going to visit a "sick friend," Monty puts on his best leather duds, hops on his motorcycle and heads over to the house of a man who responded to his ad, which boasts, among other things, that he has a nine and a half inch cock (cut) and a firm bubble-butt. When he gets there, he finds a coked up fairy Goth who looks the non-existent third member of Suicide.
It's true, I've seen enough so far to convince me that Flexing with Monty is a unique motion picture worthy of my attention. But the scene where a nun (Sally Kirkland) comes over to Monty and Bertin's loft, asking them to donate money to help restore people's skulls, is when the film really starts to get kinda awesome. For instance, the dialogue that centers around Monty's biceps (which are, according to him, "pregnant with power") is simply to die for.
If that wasn't enough, a leggy floozy (Michelle Zeitlin) comes over to drink wine, talk about books and dress up like a horse, or was it a cow? No, I think it was a horse. Either way, I loved the seams on the leggy floozies nylons and the creaking sound her dress would made whenever she moved.
Oh, and I almost forgot. As Monty and the leggy floozy are getting to know one another, Bertin is making a pie. That's right, a pie.
At this moment, I have no idea what's going to happen next, but the leggy floozy, the pie, the literal horseplay are all leading up to something. While it might not be profound, I bet it's going to be strange.
Propelled by a charismatic performance by Trevor Goddard (he makes you like him, despite his dickishness), and a leggy one by Michelle Zeitlin, Flexing with Monty is the definition of a cult classic. While the product that appears onscreen is enough to cement its status as a "cult classic," reading about the film's troubled history (they began filming in 1994) will no doubt inflate this status even more.
Great movie! I plan to bring it in as a midnight movie one of these nights... where it really belongs.
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