“Aggro Dr1ft” is maybe the best example yet that Harmony Korine has completely lost his mind. It’s the work of a total madman.
Korine’s film is what would happen if a low-brow Terrence Malick directed a story about horned demons, assassins, strippers and rappers, all shot in trippy infrared.
The film is a nightmare to get lost in. Korine claims it isn’t a movie anyway, and that he doesn’t care that much for movies at all any more. But, contrary to the rumors, “Aggro Dr1ft” doesn’t really play like a video game either. It’s its own crazy statement from a filmmaker who has always pushed boundaries.
Set in a future Floridian dystopia, the world’s greatest hitman, Bo (Jordi Moller), a family man who, in the film’s ultra-repetitive voiceover, says the “old world is no more,” plans one last hit. His wife, mostly moaning and twerking, tries to get his attention, but Bo is a poet, a philosopher, and he ignores her — he’d rather ruminate, via voiceover, deep thoughts, like “I am an assassin” and “I am a solitary hero.”
His arch nemesis, and stalker, is a buffed-up figure called Bo, owner of strip clubs, constantly growling, “YEAH! URGH! DANCE, BITCHES!” at his caged and scantily clad women, who are already dancing anyway.
Women’s bodies are routinely on display. Bo’s mansion is filled with sex workers, hostages, and he also loves, for some reason, to hump his machete, which turns out to be one of the film’s more amusing moments. “YEAH! URGH! DANCE, BITCHES!”
The film is driven by this great and atmospheric electronic score by DJ AraabMuzik — some of the compositions are reminiscent of the Giallo scores Dario Argento used in his classics.
“Aggro Dr1ft” is all about the vibes. It was shot entirely in thermal vision, resulting in a surreal imagery of neon colors. One can call it an experiment, a way for Korine to break the mold of moviemaking, making something “different” in the process. The result is that some moments actually do leave you in a trance, while others bewilder.
The dialogue is also, purposefully banal, and hilariously repetitive. What else can you say about a film that has a character repeating the line “Dance, bitch, dance. Dance. Dance. Dance, bitch, dance bitch.” Moments later, Bo suddenly appears, again reiterating, in hushed tone, “I am an assassin.”
It’s just that kind of film. There’s a lack of meaning to the whole thing, but that’s precisely what Korine seems to be going for. He wants to hypnotize you with his images rather than involve you with its thin story. The audience for this movie, if you want to call it that, is practically non-existent.
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