That was an excellent one.

Good concept, poorly executed.

This is a small, humorous movie in some ways, but it has a huge heart. What a nice experience.

Exactly the movie you think it is, but not the movie you want it to be.

it is one of words who could define it. because it is not exactly a film. but a sort of experience. eroticism, colors, poetry, steps and gestures and the water of a state out of definitions. a lovely story who must be created by the viewer. this is all. a poem. bizarre. fascinating. cruel. old fashion and modern at all. it is piece from a period who seems unrealistic to the young public. or eccentric. but it is only honest confession about dreams, fantasies, desires and truth behind taboos. in delicate manner. as eulogy to the male body. as escape from reality. as fresco from an ancient time who has the form of nostalgia and self definition.

PN is one of those films that even Roger Ebert runs across now and again that really defies categorization. It is a fantasy, a spectacle, a tour de force, an indulgences, a homoerotic cornucopia, idealized male sex. It's possible to see different emphases every time its viewed.Is it a precursor to Fellini's "Satricon"? To "Midnight Cowboy"? A youth, Bobby Kendall, in a romantic idyll who sees his grubby hustling trade on NYC's as a Roman bacchanal, a prancing matador. Does Bobby really see the world in which he lives or does he choose not to see it? The unanswered mysteries and questions this film raises, despite its last minute snatching from the hands of its creator, make it a Mona Lisa of filmdom. Even if you don't like it, you'll be intrigued by it and want to talk about it. That's why it's worth viewing.

I don't know why the rating for this is so low -- well, that's not true, I do know: it's arty, it's got no dialogue (we have radio weather forecasts in lieu of that), it's in grainy pink, and it doesn't have a story. But it is a successful glimpse into a gay dream, and a successful passing on of that experience -- and the title character, a wonderfully objectified youth, is the perfect gay ideal: pouty lips, messy brown hair, dark features, a fantastic and well-exploited rear, and a sculpted body. And he's unclothed for most of it, a Caravaggio boy.The film is a good example of ingenuity on the director's part -- it's a small-scale melodrama not unlike those of Guy Maddin, if Maddin was more lushly sensual and less manically comic. It's not a porno, but it is extreme gayness, and the mere essence of that is enough for some people to get it up. But regardless, it is very erotic; a number of scenes (stripping the boy's undies off, sucking his own fingers, slowly humping the ground in nature) push the right buttons. There are some inventive scenes, like the boy getting a beejay from a leather man swimming in a milky liquid (and then after that a urinal-fetish scene). I haven't seen "Un chant d'amour," so I don't know the degree to which this is influenced by Genet, but it does have its parallels to the Genet-inspired third of "Poison." 9/10

This production fits into the category of art more than it does video, film or cinema. It's not something you'd see at the theater at the mall; there's no dialogue, and there's no "story," or at least not one that fits neatly into our cinematic paradigm. Rather, this is an hour-or-so-long kaleidoscopic arrangement of sounds and colors and forms in the background and teasingly partial revelations of the male body in the foreground. The "art," in imitating life, leads us to Bobby Kendall narcissistically looking in a mirror, being a matador, flying and fantasizing. Actually, you could link Pink Narcissus to one category in our cinematic paradigm: Suspense. Viewers who like the male body will be in suspense for an hour, dying to see just another inch of Bobby Kendall's body.