Superstarlet A.D. In a post-apocalyptic future, there are a few neanderthal-like men, and lots of gun-toting females. As stated by the movie’s director, the only articles of clothing that have survived the collapse of civilization are “vintage undergarments.” The population is divided into vicious gangs based on hair color.
Sounds like a great concept for a politically incorrect, recklessly bad movie. And, according to one review, “a meditation on pop, sexual ambiguity and the role that pornography and fashion photography have played in blurring the lines between genders and lowering feminine self-esteem.” No. It was merely bad, which becomes excruciating in a 65-minute film. You find yourself reaching for a non-existent fast-forward button on your theater seat.
Still, you have to love a theater that will not only book a movie like this, but also have the cinemaphotographer there to talk to the audience about her company’s next feature film.