copiado de sixpack films xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Kurukshetra – the field of the eighteen-day mythological battle, which is told in great detail in the 100,000 double verses of the Sanskrit Mahabharata epic. The Kurukshetra-Report – Games in an empty white room. Two men in a clinch: punching, beating, kicking, strangling, groaning, whimpering, shouting. In rapid alternation: familiar representations of violence from the cinema and other arts. The ballet of Far Eastern martial arts alongside pure Blood-Realism with make-up on. But no justifications or explanations here. No story, no motif, it is simply so. Provocation and material for the endless censorship debate that revolves around the assumption that films provoke and foster violence, render viewers victims. But how, when the viewer isn't really so innocent? How, when, in an act of regression he even enjoys engaging with the pictures of violence. That's nothing new, and not only in dreams. Constructed in its most beautiful form in a forgotten film genre, in slapstick, but also in cartoons: a ceaseless beating and stabbing, a torrent of baseness. Infantile sadism, polymorphous perverse sexuality. A worldwide audience once helped these films to tremendous success – and mobilized censure and criticism. But that is simply vulgar – which is, after all, true. Yet the picture of a simple, regressive viewer is incomplete. Infantile amusement enters into a paradoxical tryst with the appraisal and admiration of the depiction's artistry that makes entirely clear that no one is harmed in the outrageous attacks. Which, in the end, also applies to the feature film and its stars. For that reason, thanks also go to Alexander Pach and Marc Patrick Dressen, who slam and are slammed so skillfully for Ascan Breuer's demonstration of violence. (Werner Dütsch)
