Let me keep it simple. This is one of those films that "looks" depressing from beginning to end, and I don't like depressing films. Granted there is some interesting camerawork by veteran cinematographer Marc Fossard and the jazzy soundtrack by Alain Goraguer is sort of intriguing. However the whole idea of an American film done in French by the French is difficult to digest. It starts out interesting enough as a crude exposé of racism in the American South but degenerates into a sexploitation ode to the legendary superiority of African American virility. That's the only explanation I could come up with after watching the main character, Joe Grant -a black man passing for white- arrive at the fictional town of Trenton, and unleash a veritable sexual revolution among the female population. It is never explained how or why every girl in town wants to get into Joe's pants. After all, the man is only there to avenge his brother's lynching, and does absolutely nothing to cause such a nymphomaniac reaction! That is only one of the many uncertainties that plague the script of "J'irai cracher sur vos tombes". I have never read the Boris Vian novel in which is supposedly based, nor do I intend to ever do so. (For me it is quite enough to enjoy Vian´s musical exploits with his muse Magali Noël). But I digress. Back to the film, there's not much to redeem it, unless you enjoy Trenton's seedy atmosphere, a brief lesbian kiss, a topless beauty swimming in a river, sado-masochism behavior by all, violence, and, of course, Joe's uncalled for sexual magnetism, as played by the extremely virile Christian Marquand. C´est dommage!
Review of I Spit on Your Grave
