Review of Naked Lunch (1991) by Legitsalt — 14 Feb 2021

Naked Lunch was my real first experience with classic David Cronenberg, and, at first, I wasn't sure what to make of it; granted, some degree of this was by design. However, amidst the surreal confusion, the movie resonated with me. I understand that it an adaptation of a book, one with perhaps a more vexing nature, but I haven't read that, nor was that what impacted me. Sure, Naked Lunch is, in some ways, obscure and nonsensical, but I found the presentation of the narrative and imagery so striking and relatable for me. I have previously read and been fascinated by Kafka's works, by their worlds and their emotive undertones. Naked Lunch feels as though it is the next step in Kafka-esque artistry, translating so many of the images and sensations while heightening the surreal through the use of a visual medium. But more importantly than this, Naked Lunch perfectly encapsulates the cruxes of anxiety, paranoia, and depression with which I am all too familiar. The editing and composition were so evocative of these emotions that, during my first viewing, I kept flipping from feelings of reflective dread and incomprehensible awe. I saw more truth in Naked Lunch than almost any other film.

Like Kafka's mortal works, Naked Lunch is filled with ideas and images, many of which fit together into separate arrays, but not so neatly as to encapsulate everything. There is an air of absurdity to every action that clouds the consolidation of the story. In such a way, the movie resembles a game of telephone; every individual scene links up with another one, but through repeated translation, it changes form until it is almost unrecognizable. This form of storytelling allows the film to cover more ground and ideas to include infinitely many partially important tangents without obstructing the whole experience. The speed and diversity of ideas allow for various readings and prevents the movie from pushing a singular ideology or perspective. By throwing so much at the wall, the film sets itself up for success. Not only will different things stick with people but also things will stick with different people.

Cronenberg's oeuvre is overflowing with uniquely surreal imagery, concepts, and, most notably, practical effects. Naked Lunch is the perfect vehicle for all of these to shine through, with its unreliable narrator and heavy drug presence. The creature design and interfacing hold up quite remarkably, granted there are a couple of brief moments where it is easier to see the trickery at work. The set design and casting also bring the piece to life; the movie accordions from feeling bustling and expansive to tight and agoraphobic. These alterations aid the feelings of anxiety and paranoia. There is a sense of worldly distrust and grand conspiracy accompanied by that of loneliness and delirium. The film's personality invites you to become invested in its world, cycling through reality and fiction. The two becoming murky as the world's rules are defined.

Because of Kafka's stature and self-concept at the time of his death, many of his works remained unfinished. Naked Lunch resembles the disarray and emptiness of these works despite the film's completion. The omnipresence of these sensations suggests dearth is perhaps inherent to the genre. The film is so distinct and charming that I frequently return to it in idle thought. It feels like the projection of a free-flowing thought stream, saying whatever comes to mind. But within this stream, there is the soft pull of an undercurrent of structure and meaning. I don't know if I currently or will ever understand the purpose of it all, nor if I need to. Naked Lunch has provided me a unique sensation and experience. It gives me a snapshot of my life while at the same time providing an escape from it.