I was shocked to see not a single review for this film and I rewatched it on YouTube after so many years. So surprised to see it uploaded on the platform during the lockdown. So here are my thoughts on the film, "The Devil's Cleavage" starts sort of like John Waters doing Blue Velvet and then becomes a satirical noir melodrama before collapsing into a perverse fever dream. There is bad acting, bad makeup, bad music (all deliberate) and there is adoration & ridicule for the glamorous Hollywood from the period 1950-1960. What sets the Kuchar's film apart is the style, which mimics that of early cinema, shot of sets using the sometimes harsh and inconstant natural light of the sun. There's a strange and haunting atmosphere imbued with Hollywood pastiche with more poise, mystery full of filth and sleaze. The Plot follows an unhappy nurse (played by the ever-scowling Ainslie Pryor) who dumps her family and hits the road with a jar full of fake vomit in tow. She then meets a shady motel manager (Legendary Curt McDowell of Thundercrack) who becomes obsessed with her. But above all in the film there is all the magic of cinema (re) created, a mysterious and fascinating celluloid freak show in which to get lost as in a dream. From the visual point of view the result of Kuchar's feature debut appears very personal and unsettling, with an unusual and even perverse charm; perverted because often and willingly. George Kuchar handling the screenplay here declines a narrative matter formed by a complex and natural assemblage of romantic nostalgia, disturbing situations, Shakespearean drama and oblique humor. This is an unsung bad taste masterpiece and I highly recommend it to the fans of David Lynch, Jacques Baratier, Hisayasu Satô, Guy Maddin, Michael Findlay, Roberta Findlay, John Waters, Richard Kern, Andy Warhol, Akio Jissoji, Lindsay Anderson, Walerian Borowczyk, and Jean-Claude Brisseau whose birthday is today. Finally, I'll Quote Douglas Sirk opinion on the twins, "Cinema is blood, tears, violence, hate, death, and love.' Kuchars reminds us that cinema, like life, is also bedpans, earwax, sleazy fantasy, ineptness, compromise, and laughter."
