First of all check your inhibitions at the door. You won't see another film any time soon where every main character copulates, interacts and reconfigures socially as if the camera were an intractable and omnipresent feature of daily life. In fact, J.C. Mitchell's camera is the indisputable hero of the film, dissecting, probing, partying, performing psychic surgery. And at last, the camera demands that the truth of one's self be dealt with, faced full on, and accepted if you don't, the camera seems to say, the price will be heavy indeed. Shortbus has a rich historical background, even though no American director has dared to swim in these waters for decades -- if ever. "Severin," Bunuel's repressed housewife from Belle de Jour is borrowed lock stock and barrel by Lindsay Beamish (marvelous!), except swung to the opposite polarity. Shortbus finds Severin an experienced, jaded dominatrix who longs for normalcy. Encolpio, Aschylto and Gitoni from the Fellini Satyricon (James, Jamie and Ceth) seem transported directly to the Warhol factory of the 1960s (why not?), where they replay their headlong duplicate/triplicate hall of mirrors game, toying with sanity, mortality and pleasure. Sofia and Rob, the films central straight couple, are caught meanwhile in a one-sided orgasm directly from Bergman's Face to Face. She's even a therapist(!) whom Severin (Bunuels heroine) deftly rescues by first making Sofia confront her father, and second, by whipping husband Rob (literally) into joyful submission. Despite J.C. Mitchell being the spiritual child of these great directors and their films, the voice of Shortbus is confident, singular and original. Mitchell is now front and center, the voice of American avant garde cinema. Welcome to the underground.
