This film treads a remarkably thin (perhaps non-existent) line between self-consciously satirical art and anarchic pornography. A sort of sexually liberated Eisensteinian journey, Makavejev proves that truth is always stranger (or at least more disturbing) than fiction. Waxing brilliant at times, and at others resigning to a sort of "Pull My Daisy" super-realism in the beat tradition, there are few films from this period that effect a more riveting commentary on Communism (whether or not any conclusions are actually reached).
Review of WR: Mysteries of the Organism
