TRASH HUMPERS

http://www.trashhumpers.com

I decided to go with my main man-the delectable Mr Aporia-to a screening of "Trash Humpers" at the Factory in Marrickville as apart of the Underground film fest on Saturday 11th September, not exactly knowing what to expect, and certainly not prepared for the vomit-restraining throat-ache upon our thankful exit. I knew of Harmony Korine by reputation only, having seen a trailer or two of Kids and Gummo but never indulging my (possibly exterior) inner wanker enough to dedicate an afternoon to finding parts on youtube-so it is possible that I set myself up for a gross shock to my own sense of self-worth and understanding of the very fabric of my relationship with the meaning and purpose of cinematic horror from the beginning.

The initial (unrestrained and vocal) reaction from the audience as a single entity was shocked, but prepared snickers and then open laughter at the sight of three geriatric degenerates humping trashcans and causing general mayhem in a parking lot under an eerie street lamp. And so it begins-these three characters (not that they can be called 'characters' exactly) repeat these acts of performing blow-jobs on tree branches, jerking off leaves, eating dirt and defecating on houses. The initial reaction which I had to the experience of viewing such material in a cinema setting was an extreme and overwhelming disgust at my own laughter- a sentiment which could be felt in the almost instantaneous quelling of laughter from my fellow audience members. Korine seems to have created a physical reaction from his audience where a painful realisation of the tragedy of the material which we find so hilarious becomes self-disgust at the mere meaningless of it. This soon becomes the tool of the film (which is not ones) horror.

With a complete rejection of plot or character development, narration or any opportunities of recognition or empathy, the only thought which would occupy my mind during the 80 minute screening (apart from checking the time 10-15 times) was that there was not a chance that I would be exiting the theatre having gained anything at all from the experience. Two days later I'm certainly not ready to face the ringtone samples available on the Trash Humpers website. So apart from the obvious mocking of Korine at the desperate need for audiences to endure the merciless exercise of a film-makers ability to alienate and torture viewers in the quest to find meaning out of something so obviously meaningless and absurd- how did a film which appears to purposefully drain itself of the right to artist credibility become something I need to write out of my system? Any attempt towards a linear understanding of the film will definitely prove fruitless and frustrating.

The film evolves around three "characters" who have no discernible personalities, or identity, even the fact that they are elderly is questionable, as their costuming seems to purposefully reveal bodies which are almost youthful, in comparison to the heads which are clearly severely deteriorated with old age. The constant presence and interaction of the three "protagonists" with nostalgic symbols such as childrens play toys, nursery rhymes and push-bikes makes the most evident statement of the film-the decomposition of the human body in old age to its infantile state in the physic and mental sense. The "trash humpers" exist without connection or reliance on the presence of housing, societal structure, family, health, food or the restrictions of the law. They could easily be seen as a glimpse of a mere underclass suffering at the expense of the American Dream, however, Korine is concerned with the American Nightmare, and not with any counter-culture (organised or other) in any typical sense. The horror and tragedy of this focus is where "Trash Humpers" becomes something completely different.

The most haunting aspect of the film is prominent in the extent to which we are relentlessly immersed in this existence, with our reality beyond the space of the theatre diminishing rapidly as the film continues until it is dubious that a safe return to normality is possible. The activities of the trash humpers worlds are alienating and shocking, and if not for the roles of three other degenerates, it is possible that the film would be absolutely pointless. One maid-costume-wearing homeless poet who seems to possess some intelligible talent is murdered by the three primary subjects without purpose or consequence after reciting a poem which outlines the pleasures and purpose of humping trash as an anarchic act which ironically protests the commodity fetishism of consumer culture. A second character is shown entertaining the three subjects with crude racist and homophobic jokes which have an obvious of purposeful lack of meaning and tact, highlighting the senseless and feeble ignorance of both the value of the poets words and the stupidity of the mans jokes as equal in their effects on the three characters.

In the final ten minutes of the film, it seems Korine finally relents in offering the (exhausted and possibly hateful) audience a chance at feeling something possibly related to empathy or an identifiable "emotional understanding" of two characters amid this viscous and overwhelming mood which is so new to his audiences capacity. The female character, whilst drunk and alone, is heard making the desperate (but rarely legible) claim "I don't know what I'm doing, Lord. You're 'sposed to be guidin' me", before stealing a baby and playing with it like a doll in her desperation, to the horror of the audience. A second character driving a car waves at a neighbour before ranting about the dread of conforming to church, a job, children and the restrictions of family life.

As I exited the theatre and began to listen to the (almost entirely) just plain confused and cheated responses from my fellow audience members, I did feel as though I had just escaped a Clockwork Orange-esque torture-cinema, however, I couldn't get the last ranting man driving the car out of my head. "I'm free, and I bet you when they're dyin', I'll just be gettin' my second wind. I feel like a new man, like a young boy".