In the list of "canonized" rape revenge movies, there is no doubt that Lipstick is deserving of all the roses imaginable. Unfairly maligned and often written off as simple exploitation (not to say that's a justifiable move in the first place), Lamont Johnson puts together a picture that finds itself in a more nuanced position than audiences have given it credit for.
Sure there is some awful and disgusting violence that the camera doesn't bother to shy away from, but, as Irreversible is so often praised for, sometimes the abhorrent visualization is the point. Coupling this hellish nightmare with the brutality of the courtroom for the victims is a risky move but one that the movie sticks the landing. in lesser hands this would really slip into messier situation that may not have been redeemable before the credits roll.
If this had just ended in a traditional sense, I think Lipstick could have been forgotten as an extremely beautifully shot and composed flick that gets lost in the exploitation shuffle, and you could very well make the argument that exactly that has already happened. A movie with less than 1200 views and a 2.9 rating on Letterboxd is nearly a kiss of death for all but the most adventurous movie watchers.
I certainly hope the recent blu-ray release(that is fantastic by the way) can give a new life and new hope to a potential reappraisal of what is a foundational piece of a genre that deserves an honest look without immediate dismissal. Sure, rape revenge movies are difficult to swallow, I don't think anyone is denying that, but I also think it's worth grappling with the best of them in good faith as well.
At 89 minutes, Lipstick is worth the full price of admission and much much more. The Hemingway sisters are fantastic in their debuts and Chris Sarandon plays such an incredible scumbag that you start to hate his guts as much as some of the characters. The queasy stomach-churning visuals that hang in between art-like sets of photoshoots and architectures are bound seamlessly by a nauseatingly infectious electronic score that triggers an innate fight or flight sensation by the end of it all.
I hope more people give this one a shot sooner rather than later.
In the list of "canonized" rape revenge movies, there is no doubt that Lipstick is deserving of all the roses imaginable. Unfairly maligned and often written off as simple exploitation (not to say that's a justifiable move in the first place), Lamont Johnson puts together a picture that finds itself in a more nuanced position than audiences have given it credit for.
Sure there is some awful and disgusting violence that the camera doesn't bother to shy away from, but, as Irreversible is so often praised for, sometimes the abhorrent visualization is the point. Coupling this hellish nightmare with the brutality of the courtroom for the victims is a risky move but one that the movie sticks the landing. in lesser hands this would really slip into messier situation that may not have been redeemable before the credits roll.
If this had just ended in a traditional sense, I think Lipstick could have been forgotten as an extremely beautifully shot and composed flick that gets lost in the exploitation shuffle, and you could very well make the argument that exactly that has already happened. A movie with less than 1200 views and a 2.9 rating on Letterboxd is nearly a kiss of death for all but the most adventurous movie watchers.
I certainly hope the recent blu-ray release(that is fantastic by the way) can give a new life and new hope to a potential reappraisal of what is a foundational piece of a genre that deserves an honest look without immediate dismissal. Sure, rape revenge movies are difficult to swallow, I don't think anyone is denying that, but I also think it's worth grappling with the best of them in good faith as well.
At 89 minutes, Lipstick is worth the full price of admission and much much more. The Hemingway sisters are fantastic in their debuts and Chris Sarandon plays such an incredible scumbag that you start to hate his guts as much as some of the characters. The queasy stomach-churning visuals that hang in between art-like sets of photoshoots and architectures are bound seamlessly by a nauseatingly infectious electronic score that triggers an innate fight or flight sensation by the end of it all.
I hope more people give this one a shot sooner rather than later.
