With a name like Viva, one would expect a film chock-full of color, adventure and emotional journeys, but Anna Biller’s 2007 sexploitation comedy leaves one feeling anything but alive.
The premise, of course, is great: A throwback B-movie with campy acting and natural nudity. But the fact that this film could even remotely be considered a comedy is an enormous blow to the entire female-identifying population.
Its main character, Barbi (played by director Anna Biller), is a neglected housewife yearning for an injection of appreciation and adventure into her simple suburban life. However, when fired from her secretarial job for refusing to be groped by her employer, Barbi soon finds herself with even less independence.
Feeling desperate for some sense of accomplishment, Barbi decides to pursue modeling. Ultimately though, through a series of manipulations, she is left separated from her husband, drugged (twice), raped (three times), and eventually thrown into a call girl service under the guise that she’ll be meeting her “true match.”
So, while the film does artistically recreate the ‘60s seamlessly, its archaic ideals really shadow the beauty of this feat. Because regardless of how spot-on your costuming is, it can never compensate for myriad misogynies, repeated molestations and then the casual dismissal of those thereafter.
Now, if you were to overlook Viva’s political failings (which would require legal blindness, mind you), it’s little more than a low-budget film, and in serious need of direction.
Sure, it’s sprinkled with feel-good moments and ironically quotable dialogue, and it spontaneously becomes a musical about an hour in, but its half-baked plot and botched delivery makes me seriously question how a movie of this caliber even bothered to be released the same year as Juno, Across the Universe and Zodiac.
Having personally paused four times in order to rouse the courage necessary to see it through, I would also just generally suggest that all individuals sensitive to graphic depictions of sexual violence stay firmly away and, perhaps, tucked safely in the cinematic embrace of literally anything else.
For those, however, with eyes of iron and stomachs of steel: bring snacks, bring a friend and be prepared to have a massive “WTF” debriefing immediately afterwards for the sake of your psyches.
Biller is championed for her integration of sly, narcissistic feminism into her productions. But: a) no, and b) conceptually, narcissistic feminism is described as the decision to be a little more selfish, self-loving and a lot more particular about what equality means and how to get there, not as alternating between pro-liberation dialogue and Rohypnol doses.
And where it may camp-up stereotypical sexism to a level of absolute ridiculousness, the entire film is so ridiculous that there’s nowhere near enough contrast to infer any real positive or feminist stance.
Granted, had Biller gone out, guns blazing with a scathing satire of gender roles and retro misogyny, it might’ve been even less fruitful than its eventual descendant. But, radicalism sure seems like a better sin than offense and emotional triggering.
