kagablog

caroline sabin as marie in the dead man 2: return of the dead man

In the Ice Age: THE DEAD MAN 2: RETURN OF THE DEAD MAN and TEN MONOLOGUES FROM THE LIVES OF THE SERIAL KILLERS - dark visions from Ian Kerkhof.

After 80 minutes submerged in the apocalyptic world of Ian Kerkhof it becomes a little easier to understand why mankind is becoming ever more decadent: beyond interpretative philosophies, Kerkhof finds explanations for small and large massacres. Man thrives on spontaneous, pointless gratification of his primary drives, and what can be more pointless than killing?

All over the world religions and ideologies are in retreat; even the order of the state is threatened nowadays by necrophiliac fascists; Oklahoma City proves that even the stability brokers of the US government and multinational companies are humanitarian compared to the brainless terror sown by self-appointed purification squads.

THE DEAD MAN 2: RETURN OF THE DEAD MAN is a vulgar horror version of Beckett: an old man wanders through a landscape ravaged by the final war of destruction, in which only a bar and a taxi keep functioning. He loves being pissed upon by the young Marie and being humiliated by Madame Edwarda (“I’m God!”). Kerkhof’s images of an eerie beach and the skeletons of buildings which were once factories evoke pure terror: the end is not destruction but eternal stasis.

TEN MONOLOGUES FROM THE LIVES OF THE SERIAL KILLERS is a tour de force of destruction: the fictitious monologues of the killers from their cells sound all too logical. They share a common acceptance of their fate which is in apparent contradiction to their actions: they simply enjoyed raping and killing. The only emotion they know is self pity. This is often measured out broadly; to the point of the crazy logic that the victims are themselves responsible because they are identified with the fathers and mothers who made the killers suffer so terribly in their youth.

The most impressive sequence of the film is an unedited amateur film showing images of a happy childhood in the sixties while the murderer’s voicevoer tries to justify his killings with hallucinations about a childhood that he depicts as being terrible. The killer tries to evoke pity because he sees himself as a victim, but in the next instant he again indulges in his lustful death fantasies.

Ian Kerkhof leaves the spectator with the vague feeling that the final battle of this society will take place between rigid fascists who institutionalise killing and torture, and unorganised individual serial killers - and the difference between these two groups is becoming ever narrower.

ANDRE SIMONOVIESCZ
BERLIN TIP
March 1995