Review of The Naked Kiss (1964) by Joe F — 29 Apr 2010

Proto-feminist iconography kick starts Samuel Fuller's multifarious masterpiece in the variant of, the first, (and to the best of my knowledge, last) time a woman beating up a man with her purse is meant to represent anything other than comedy.

Marked by a schism of laughable clichés and manic brilliance, The Naked Kiss doesn?t hold up as a canonical masterwork, but rather as a paradoxical hybrid; one that can only be described as a timeless artifact.

The reason for this paradox is its inability to be commodified. In the following decade, (1970?s) the film?s touchy subject matter would have seemed commonplace, unfortunately for Fuller, the film was so ahead of its time, that it couldn?t possibly predict the "de rigueur" amorality that would come to underscore his progressive ideals (marry this with the studio's inept editing, then you got something very peculiar).

The decadence that came to exemplify liberation is very absent in Fuller's film, as each and every touchy issue is handled with a laughably self-righteous moral purity. This moral purity is so convoluted, that its attempts to reconcile itself with any progressive ideal comes off, not as hypocritical like one would expect, but rather absurd.

This overambitious juggling of ideas could only be made at one time, at one place, and by one person. It?s a budding of new ideas, with one foot forward in enlightenment and one back in the church. Simply put, it's perfect.