Whenever you have Alverson, Turkington and Heidecker together, I'll pay for the ticket. These guys are seriously skilled at dreading, confusing and depressing you while still living you in awe (well most of the time). The dead spaces are plenty and they might infuriate you after the umpteenth montage, but they are impressively efficient in putting you inside the mind of our boy Neil. And the cinematography is great.
Capolavoro destabilizzante che disgrega la percezione dello spettatore catapuldandolo in un incubo cupo e deprimente nel quale Turkington è quint'essenza del male di vivere, genio incompreso, alieno in una società sempre più disumanizzata e isterica. ''Qual'è la differenza tra courtney love e la bandiera americana? Non si dovrebbe pisciare sulla bandiera americana.''
If Gregg Turkington's Neil Hamburger persona represents the nadir of millennial irony, Alverson has done us the service of exploring even deeper depths. If the self is a construct, it is not just for fun; the performed self fills in a void, just like entertainment does. Entertainment (the movie) is scuzzy and bleak (though it looks real good), because it looks past the constructions into the heart of a nullity.
I can appreciate Entertainment as a thought piece. The movie fails to deliver and that is its intention. The comedian flounders both personally and professionally because of his deadpan lack of affect. This movie outs the many conventions that demand we perform and comes to question the obligation of its own medium. Why is there this burden of performance/liveness? (See Jose Esteban Munoz' Disidentifications)