Ecstasy of the Angels (1972)

I hope that in twenty years, the political cinema of today will have aged better than much of the political cinema of the '70s. At least our ideas of political activism these days aren't inextricably (and inexplicably) linked to ideas of sexual freedom, leading to a myriad of films in which boring people have boring sex as they spout boring "revolutionary" rhetoric. This example of the sex-and-politics genre is easily one of the lamest that I've yet seen. Director Koji Wakamatsu has a big ol' Symbolism Stick to swing around, and he won't be content until he's bopped you over the head with it a whole lotta buncha times. The movie moves like molasses, and its obnoxious ciphers posing as characters fail to hold interest. (They could be discussing theoretical trigonometry for all I care.) The ending perks things up a bit, but even that is basically stolen from Zabriskie Point so Wakamatsu can still go fuck himself. Note to aspiring protest-happy filmmakers: Throw bombs or pitch woo, but don't do both.

Grade: D