"Their thoughts are opaque to me," coldly notes the androgynous observer Adrian Tripod (Ron Mlodzik, who would make Michael Jackson look manly by comparison) at "The House of Skin." The patients, it seems, have started secreting some kind of foam from various orifices. Before long, the hemorrhaging is commonplace. Tripod licks the secretions from one man's face as he lies dying. One colleague, "once a fierce sensualist," contracts a venereal disease that causes his body to produce new organs. The disease is deemed a "creative cancer" and the extraneous organs harvested (though they continue to develop). Another sprouts a "cerebral antenna" from his nose. Like STEREO, CRIMES OF THE FUTURE is an insular, silent movie with voice-over narration that is delivered in a carefully measured, clinical monotone. There are some grating sound fx in CRIMES OF THE FUTURE that almost suggest we're looking into a fishbowl (and call to mind the "industrial symphony" sounds in David Lynch's ERASERHEAD). This is an experimental masterpiece. As the narrator puts it: "We are now all disciples of a new master, it seems."
Review of Crimes of the Future
