So what is this house? What is this home? Why so many locked doors to forbidden rooms? Why no windows? Why so many rules? What does it mean that Red and Blue are true “home bodies” who never get to leave their habitat and never seem to want to? Blue, especially, seems content with their ritual repetitions, whereas Red seems to have a gnawing dissatisfaction that something’s not right. Because they are finally “old enough”, Papa sends them the most unusual of holiday gifts: an androgynous humanoid named Pal (eerily played by Ess Hödlmoser) who can’t talk, has to moreorless be led around and positioned, and seems to have been primarily provided to keep Red company, to feed her curiosity, and to initiate her into some of the darker secrets of life. Red, who has shown signs of becoming bored with her roommate Blue, takes a shine to Pal who she assigns a feminine gender, and designates besties. Blue gets jealous and pushes back, causing a disastrous upset of all the twins have ever known or expected to be normal in their home.
The Ho Twins are perfectly cast as Red and Blue and exemplify what Carolyn Mauricette has identified in her Fantasia program capsule as a surreal take on the nature vs. nurture argument. Blue is a creature fashioned from control and eager to conform whereas Red has an agency that thinks outside the box, definitely outside the homefront, which leads her to the film’s “what-the-fuck?” ending where she literally finds herself outside the box.
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Remember that exchange in David Cronenberg’s remake of The Fly (1986) where Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) says to his girlfriend Veronica (Geena Davis): “Have you ever heard of insect politics? Neither have I. Insects don't have politics. They're very brutal. No compassion, no compromise.” Silver’s Insectasy explores the same theme of brutal nature by pivoting the theme on the fulcrum of pleasure. Is pleasure the act of doing something because it feels good? Or is it an act that—by not doing it—will make you feel bad? Or—if one is being brutally honest (since brutality is the point)—does sexual behavior really have anything to do with either pleasure or pain? Or is it a smaller function in a larger collective design or functional dream?
Sadie’s sexual interactions with others on both sides of the fence—nebbish chainsmoker Theo (Emmett Roiko) and sapphically aggressive Honey (Lyndall Huber)—edge her closer to understanding what is truly erotic for her and is underscored even further when she meets fellow entomophile Julius (Jan Roeth) whose “are you into bugs?” come-on is undeniably sexy and offers Sadie a chance to make her fantasies come true. The money shot in Insecstasy is worth the price of admission.
Next thing they know they’re back in their apartment trying to put together what they just witnessed but, oddly, their recollections are uneven and don’t quite align. Ricky doesn’t even remember dropping the groceries and running. In the days that follow so much doesn’t quite fit together to make sense. Have they just sat down to watch a film or have they already watched it and was it shorter than they expected or was it four hours long? As Vincenzo Nappi describes it in his Fantasia program capsule: “time stretches and bends … memories morph into lies, reality becomes malleable, and Ricky finds himself at the mercy of ‘The Yellow Thing,’ an entity that wears people like costumes.”
Nappi further characterizes Sour Minnows as an “experimental reworking of the hangout film”, whose relateability is exactly what makes this movie so satisfying. This isn’t just mumblecore naturalism because, first of all, the sound design is crystal clear so that the viewer catches each halting nuance of conversation—the way words overlap each other eliciting genuine bewilderment, confusion, and doubt—and these aren’t just slacker performances killing time on screen. The performances by the entire ensemble are flawlessly delivered, each pause pregnant with mystery, and understated to maximum effect. Their doubletakes peer into uncertain futures.
I’m ordinarily not fond of irresolute endings but Sour Minnows has me just fine with unanswered questions, implausible perspectives, and the wonderful chaotic possibility that wandering through hallways at a cineplex might lead me to peek out my bedroom closet door in doppelganger excess. I fully accept that watching life from impossible angles might mean the angles are watching back. So far, one of my top five from this year’s Fantasia!
