Preposterous and Playful, Postmodern Surrealism, is a Stab at Defining the Work of Director Guy Maddin. His Influences may be David Lynch, Luis Bunuel, Salvador Dali, Silent Movies, Jackson Pollock, and the (Kitch)en Sink.

Maddin is a Maddman, Maniacally making Movies that are so Visually Stunning that it is Possible to Enjoy His Art like Wallpaper. You can even turn the Sound Off (although even His aural chops are interesting sound samples).

Back in the Psychedelic Sixties, Clubs and Private Parties often included, as Ambiance, Visual Projections on the wall for Background and Atmosphere that Added an Other Worldly Feel and a Treat for those Experiencing an Altered State of Consciousness.

This Film attains that Disconnect with Saturation of Colors and Bizarre Images that have Tenuous Connections to what is Going On. What is Going On is in the "Eye of the Beholder" as the Filmmaker makes very Little Attempt at Continuity or Commonplace. Things seem to be there for Wonderment and Awe and if it makes some sort of Sense, so be it.

The Joy in Watching Maddin's latest Film is in the Richness of the Retro, Painted with Modern Technological Techniques that Mimic Ancient Technological Techniques that Stimulate Synapsis with a Dopamine Enhancing External Input of Unfamiliar Familiarity.

Forget about Storytelling, that is a Hook that Maddin only Hints at and when He does it is with a Giggle and a Guffaw. This is Eyeball Popping for Eyeball Popping Sake. It is Splashed on the Screen with a Purpose that has very Little Purpose other than to Stimulate and Entertain. It's Low-Brow Flourishing with High-Brow Conceit.

It's the Kind of Film (and there are very few like it) that makes Wes Anderson's Work seem Mainstream. This could be Enjoyed in 30 Minute Splashes because Nothing is Really Connected.

It's a Kaleidoscope of Thin Threaded Attachment that doesn't Require or Expect a Two Hour Concoction of This Sort to be Anything but Spurts of Quirky Nonsense done with no other Purpose than to Unreel, Impress, and Unreel some more, and Provoke, then Unreel, Unreel, and it is all Gloriously and Completely Unreal.

In a time when Hollywood seems completely incapable of creating anything original (not b/c it's all been done before, which I would argue is the case for music, but b/c Hollywood is run by non-creatives who only look at dollar signs and are terrified of risk),the unique works of Guy Maddin stand out like a precious stone. Love him or hate him, you have to admire his dedication. For the layperson, his films are often hard to access or decipher. In this way, his works remind me of the late great David Lynch (he's not dead, but seemingly retired). I am not as well-versed in Maddin films as I am with Lynch, but I'm also not the first to point out their similarities. For one, they have a very similar soundscape. This film in particular employs Lynch's standard drones of dread, synthesized melancholic strings, and industrial sfx. However, Maddin adequately stakes out his own territory, as well. His employment and recreation of various vintage film stocks is somehow both convincing and unique. His tendency to embrace distortion and outdated special effects goes further than I've seen with any other filmmakers.

As far as plot, the film employs a standard concept, the story within a story, but it also takes this concept further than I've ever seen done before. The narrative structure is in fact two nesting russian dolls, presented one after the other. The framing story (not counting the bookends which feature a hilarious Louis Negin giving bath-taking advice) concerns a group of men marooned inside a submarine, unable to resurface due to a large block of melting jelly which will explode if depressurized. But then the impossible happens. Not unlike the supernatural events in Tarkovsky's Solaris, a lumberjack suddenly appears in the submarine, unaware of how he got there. From this scenario, we enter the story of the lumberjack's last memories. Before this concludes however, we've gone off on another tangent, another story within the story. And thus continues the narrative, falling further and further down the rabbit hole, until finally, as if coming up for air, we reverse directions and begin to zoom out, resolving one story at a time, until we're back in the submarine. However, as I mentioned before, this is only one of two plunges the movie makes before we receive a conclusion to the tail of the submariners.

The titular Forbidden Room refers, I believe, to the Captain's Quarters, but also derives from a 1914 silent film now considered to be lost. Which leads me to the second big concept of the film. All of the stories, vignettes, and tangential meanderings are based on silent films which can no longer be viewed, as they have either been lost or destroyed. This part I didn't know going into the movie, though I wish I had, for it adds an interesting element to the often surreal storylines. For a moment, when the film was just beginning, I had a tinge of worry that it would be an exercise in style over substance, and I know many would agree with me on this. However, as the different concepts were picked up and dropped, I became engrossed in the tone shifts, in turns erotic, surreal, melancholy, and humorous, and realized I was being swept up in the narratives.

For those uninitiated in an intentionally bombastic visual style, the Brechtian effect of constantly being reminded that you are watching a film may prove too difficult to overcome. But for those of you who can enjoy an attack on the senses, such as with Natural Born Killers, while still managing to pierce through the surface level and immerse themselves in the plot buried underneath, this film might be for you. And if it isn't, don't despair. I readily admit, this is one of the harder films to access. Just don't make the mistake of writing a belligerent review employing extremes and absolutes. We've already got plenty of those, as typified by most of the reviews for The Forbidden Room. Although, I have to admit, there is a certain comical irony to seeing a reviewer call a film impenetrable, inaccessible, undecipherable, only to be followed by a glowing review written by someone who has seemingly done the impossible - deciphered a plot!! There is definitely a plot here, and though it was a struggle at times, I managed to retain my awareness of which stories were inside of which, which stories had finished and which had yet to be resolved, etc. So give it a shot. Hopefully this review has, to some extent, prepared you for what you are about to see. And if it isn't working for you, turn it off. But please, for the love of god, don't tell me about the hours you invested which you will never get back. Nobody gives a rat's bottom about your stupid precious hour, especially when you continued to waste time by writing an asinine review about your experience.

I admire the film making and the art direction for The Forbidden Room, but while it initially dazzles, it quickly becomes rather tedious. There is no real payoff for the effort it takes to sit through it, and it does take some effort. The most entertaining part for me is the opening titles. The only movie I can compare it to is Stalker, and it isn't a fair comparison. While both share the washed-out, sepia tone Lynch-like visual style, Stalker has a discernible plot beyond just its style. I'd love to intellectualize the film and say it has deeper meaning, but outside of the art direction and distressed film look, after sitting through it I've decided there is just no "there" there.