Vicky The Devil is an urban Cinderella drag queen in the quest for a prince charming and her own “happy ending”. One night, Vicky gets hit by Concepcion’s car, an ultra conservative retired teacher addicted to casino slot machines. Despite belonging to opposite worlds, Vicky and Concepcion will become close friends. Their friendship will put to the test when Vicky’s dark side shows its head.
The film is a documentary focusing on heavy metal in the late 80s and tackles topics like drug addiction, alcoholism, sex, masculinity, and of course, rock and roll. However, this didn’t feel like any documentary I’ve ever seen before.
Its predictability shouldn’t distract from the enjoyment that the pure cinematic imagination behind the camera elicits. It is a movie of crises both moral and mortal, oozing with CGI, and thoroughly enjoyable.
Ultra-violent storytelling has never been my thing, but the issues with Scarface go beyond that. The film perpetuates harmful stereotypes about Latinx immigrants and uses gore and misogyny for shock value that never serves any purpose. The whole venture is frustratingly empty, and left me desiring something more.
These confines won’t really encourage you to read the film as a metaphor for the nerve-inducing experience we’ve all been through over the last year, however — and in the interest of maintaining your dignity, you probably shouldn’t. While the sociopolitical commentary may have worked for the similarly-themed Buried (2010), in which we find Ryan Reynolds on his own buried alive in the Middle East, but this futuristic take on the premise is best left as a piece of distracting entertainment. Nevertheless, the atmosphere is no less suffocating, literally and dramatically.
A surprise sequel takes place ten years after the original movie based on the title of the same name, but with a twist to the fairy tale.
