If you're wondering what it's like injecting a movie into the mood, Fried Barry could answer your question. Previewed at the 38th Turin Film Festival, which has already given us satisfaction with The Dark and the Wicked and the documentary Gunda, this South African lysergic trip does not yet have an official release date, but we are confident that in some way it can also upset the masses italics.
Why the director and screenwriter Ryan Kruger cares highly about conventions and dogmas, packaging a product capable of pointing to the image like a needle in the skin, sucking us into its delusional world where nothing is as it seems and everything really is.
Even because if an alien wanders the streets of Cape Town, inside the body of a heroin addict who looks like he came out of an 80s movie, what can ever go wrong?
Barry looks like a punk who has aged in his denim jacket, devoured by drugs and with a virtually ignored family behind him. The perfect receptacle for an alien who slips into his body like an LSD tablet, a guest of those who are already spectators of life.
Fried Barry has been poised to destabilize ever since the classic abduction, between grinding laughter and images that make your eyes itch. Then the delirium begins, mad and calculated.
Barry's South African odyssey rolls into the slums of a Cape Town devoid of any humanity, where stroboscopic flashes attenuate and explode every microcosm our dear alien comes into contact with.
Fried Barry is a mix of alcohol and drugs with wonderful side effects, pleasantly disturbing in their unfolding, like a pyrotechnic road accident: we all know we should look away, but we can't.
And then Ryan Kruger snaps his fingers, making us spectators just like Barry, drawn strongly by the film, as if we had no choice. And it's nice not to have it.
My Barry got fried
In all this stroboscopic visual tour de force he, Barry, stands out: Gary Green's body is a canyon of unexplored possibilities. The actor is phenomenal in making an already iconic face even more hallucinated, like a sharp hole devoured from within.
There is an amused madness in his interpretation, capable of adding a hallucinogenic layer to the film, which exploits his face from every possible angle, squeezing it like cinematic clay.
Fried Barry is above all the face of Gary Green, capable of attracting and repelling already from the poster, perturbing in all its manifestations, which Ryan Kruger does not hesitate to fathom, between drawn grimaces, haunted eyes and jaws that have a life of their own.
Our journey begins and ends with him, in the midst of politically incorrect jokes and corporal horrors, a new Dante on ketamine ready to take a ride in our hell, the earthly one.
Remember the episode of Futurama where does Bender imagine becoming human? Fried Barry takes inspiration from there, however, overturning its protagonist: the alien-Barry is a victim of events in all respects, dragged into this tunnel made of cartoons and decay, as if his upward spiral were inevitable.
Keep your mind open like a kaleidoscope and expect anything: Fried Barry injects movie genres and drags us on his trip, between science fiction, horror and all the sub-categories that compose them.
Because if the power of the images wins over everything, then thanks to their nuance you go a step further, using it as a vehicle without any frills.
Everything in Fried Barry serves, in a pop and brilliant hallucinogenic journey, a carousel of horrors from which we would never want to get off.
Ryan Kruger knows exactly what he's doing: a disturbing sci-fi that inoculates itself with laughter and body-horror, conveyed by one of the most shocking cinematic bodies of recent years. And even if you exchange a celluloid syringe, with Fried Barry you never end up in withdrawal.