Tribeca 2019: BLISS Review – A Punk-as-F**k Vampire Acid Trip
Starring Dora Madison, Tru Collins, Rhys Wakefield, Jeremy Gardner, Graham Skipper, George Wendt, Josh Ethier, Jesse Merlin, Matt Mercer, Rachel Avery, Chris McKenna
Written by Joe Begos
Directed by Joe Begos
Somewhere between Blade’s “Blood Rave” and Sean Byrne’s The Devil’s Candy writhes Joe Begos’ Bliss. This punk-as-fuck vampire hallucination cranks the dial on artistic aggression and bathes in exploitation bloodlust to a soundtrack of pure clash-rock anarchy. Begos’ midnighter is about sex, (lots of) drugs, and headbanging rock & roll, all slathered in spilled blood until every inch of frame becomes sticky to the touch. Once you pop this wretched coppery pill, it’s 75 minutes of crimson destabilization like if Only Lovers Left Alive abandoned civility and joined underground industrial rock circles. Proficient in paranoia, and homicidal in expressionism. Is any of this making sense? Welcome to the vampiric thrasher that is Bliss.
Begos’ muse is Dora Madison, who plays artist Dezzy in the middle of a possibly career-threatening creative rut. Dezzy is willing to try *anything* that’ll kickstart her inspirations, which leads to a fateful night filled with drugs, booze, and zero inhibitions. When she awakens the next day, her reddish painting begins to take form – but she can’t remember adding figures reaching upwards. As Dezzy chases productivity every night by submitting herself to what she believes are narcotic blackouts, a sickness overtakes, and her habits become increasingly suspect. Where does she go every night? What is she doing when out of control? To Dezzy, those are ignorable questions given how her masterpiece is finally taking shape.
Begos’ intention is only ever to kill fast and kill furiously. You’re here for effects work by Josh and Sierra Russell, proficiently indie as prosthetic cadavers melt away like ice cream bars under a hot summer sun. George Wendt gets a pound of flesh ripped from his forearm, someone loses their head, blood stains every article of clothing Dezzy wears (then sheds) – Bliss is a psychotropic orgy of crunchy guitar riffs and gruesome carnal cravings. In more ways than one, you’ll get the feeling you’re watching some gutter-nasty Rob Zombie music video knockoff. Take this as a compliment when focused solely on the marriage of music and life-stealing mayhem. That Graham Skipper sequence (killer mutton chops, by the way, my man)? Holy hardcore.
On the other hand, Dezzy’s plunge into creative “bliss” is both wild and uninhibited…sometimes to a fault. Narrative fluidity is that of a clouded high, floating through blackouts and flesh-munching with lax connective attention. Dezzy loses consciousness, comes-to on her floor the next morning, and must piece together whether it’s blood or paint all over her “hungover” naked body. Rise and repeat, that’s Bliss. The murkiness of whether it’s Hadrian’s (Graham Skipper) pure uncut cocaine and DMT concoction dubbed “Diablo” or the influence of a vampire’s kiss is chaotic uncertainty. For how whacked-out Begos’ vision and Mike Testin’s transcendent cinematography remains, it’ll test the patience of viewers who demand structure. You’re here for the spectacle, not the “hows” and “whys.”
Dezzy is a scuzzy LA gypsy who damns the man in every sentence she punctuates. Madison’s curse-heavy performance is…a lot. When thrown into swirling fits of interpretive dance-painting or primal attack modes, Madison is a performative force of nature. When dealing with deadbeat boyfriend(ish) Clive (Jeremy Gardner) or berating “scab nose” posers, Dezzy’s character can benefit from less overplayed stereotyping. Her path – especially when super-sexy fluid friends played by Tru Collins and Rhys Wakefield are involved – spirals without abandon, which is precisely as Begos intends. Experimentation leads to self-inflicted punishment leads to Dezzy’s always intoxicated personality (either drugs or thirst), as the vampire inside is overridden by acid-washed egotism sometimes too rich to swallow. Don’t get me wrong, the actresses’ talents are made obvious – but her character can be a bit “hipster cartoonish” when rebelling at top volume.
The details of Bliss are meant to entrance. We’re supposed to feel out-of-body. Characters are caricatures, not realistic. Cameras in one scene capture falling bodies in slow motion as drugs take hold, then enter hyperspeed only moments later once adrenaline kicks in. Everything from Chet Zar’s original painting (Dezzy’s art) to a soundtrack that punches you bloody raw is in your face by choice. From softcore threesomes to unspeakable acts of vampiric violence, highlights come and go – just don’t expect powerful connections. You’re either along for the ride or out on scene one; there’s no easing into Begos’ latest.
Again, Bliss is The Devil’s Candy but with filthy rock and dirty drugs. The Russell’s practical grotesqueries are a low-fi blast of runny goop, torn flesh, and shredded warehouse corpses. Dora Madison’s “starving artist” (get it) comes from a place of unrequited ambition, torturous uncertainty, and personal struggles to never become just another listless square. It’s all such a fangs-out bite of black-as-night depravity, but going full-bore gonzo isn’t always the answer to exploitation success. Begos and editor Josh Ethier splice together one hell of a 2 AM backroom private show, even if it’s sometimes a sensory overdose without storyboarded help. Cinematic appreciation has never been more dependent on the eye of the beholder (aka you).
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Bliss
Summary
Bliss is a max-capacity hit of vampiric hallucinogenics that’s as mind-altering and punk-to-the-core as it is proudly, as intended, unstructured. Both a promise and a warning dependant on each viewer’s favorite flavor of horror.
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