Fassbinder wasn't known for comic hijinx (if you've sat through SATAN'S BREW, you'd remember it), but probably the most sheerly pleasurable of all his movies is this rather premature but quite welcome self-parody.
The maestro's Bavarian-slob ripoff of Warhol's Factory is keenly lampooned in this oh-so-languid art-movie take on TWO WEEKS IN ANOTHER TOWN. Fassbinder plays a grubby and wildly sadistic producer holed up in a half-swanky, half-tatty seaside hotel with half a movie in the can and no finishing funds. That's the Beckettian setup for a lobby full of achingly sexy and heroin-esque Fassbinder heroines, pretty boys getting their feelings hurt, drinks swallowed and thrown, and a lot of people getting yelled at in public. If that sounds like par for a familiar course, the difference is that here it's all played for yuks--but with such an exquisite deadpan you can practically hear R.W.F. smothering his guffaws behind the camera.
The maestro's Bavarian-slob ripoff of Warhol's Factory is keenly lampooned in this oh-so-languid art-movie take on TWO WEEKS IN ANOTHER TOWN. Fassbinder plays a grubby and wildly sadistic producer holed up in a half-swanky, half-tatty seaside hotel with half a movie in the can and no finishing funds. That's the Beckettian setup for a lobby full of achingly sexy and heroin-esque Fassbinder heroines, pretty boys getting their feelings hurt, drinks swallowed and thrown, and a lot of people getting yelled at in public. If that sounds like par for a familiar course, the difference is that here it's all played for yuks--but with such an exquisite deadpan you can practically hear R.W.F. smothering his guffaws behind the camera.