It may be a case of the Emperor’s new clothes, but he certainly looks good naked.
Maybe it’s because he was barely 18 when he wrote Larry Clark’s Kids, or the fact that he hangs out with David Blaine. Or maybe it’s just that his trousers are too baggy. Whatever the reason, some people still think Harmony Korine is a charlatan.
Mister Lonely, a whimsical fable about a Michael Jackson impersonator and some skydiving nuns, does little to try to convince the doubters otherwise, but for those willing to accept Korine’s work on its own terms, it’s a brilliantly bonkers triumph.
Diego Luna plays a bargain basement Michael Jackson impersonator, eking out a living in Paris. He meets 'Marilyn Monroe' (Samantha Morton) during a gig at an old people’s home, and she persuades him to return with her to a commune in the Scottish Highlands.
There they join other celebrity impersonators in tending sheep and rehearsing for a variety show. Meanwhile, somewhere in Latin America, Werner Herzog and the aforementioned nuns are riding motorbikes through the sky, elevated by faith alone. Told you it was brilliant.
Pseudo-philosophical voiceover aside, Mister Lonely is a much more joyful, genial work than either Julien Donkey-Boy or Gummo. It gives its audience permission to laugh, which is lucky, because when you fail to decipher the symbolism of a talking boiled egg, that’s about all you’ll have to fall back on.
Otherwise, Diego Luna’s dancing is the crotch-thrusting, moon-walking stuff of Bar Mitzvah disco legend, and James Fox is comic genius as the Pope with personal hygiene issues. "I do bathe," he pouts defensively at one point. "I just don’t use soap." This is not a film, incidentally, for devout Catholics.
Is it exploitative to laugh at the delusional? Well, yes. But once you’ve caught your breath there’s something else to admire – their balls-out boldness. And that’s the best thing about Mister Lonely.
It’s a film about people who refuse to let reality spoil the fun and, unburdened by that, they achieve incredible things. They moonwalk to perfection, skydive without parachutes, and some of them, of course, even make movies.
A controversial director and a bizarre storyline suggests an intriguing proposition.
It may be a case of the Emperor’s new clothes, but he certainly looks good naked.
In a choice between traditional and safe or experimental and flawed, opt for the latter every time.
