It’s rare enough to find a film that believes in revolution, much less one willing to posit a post-revolutionary world. What do we do with one that imagines both, but worries about how oppression will be handled after the rev?
Born In Flames is flawed but fearless; it’s a masterpiece. Its creator, Lizzie Borden (yes, Lizzie Borden), is out to gut some motherfuckers. But her film cares about people, it’s democratic in its airing of voices, it recognizes difference, and it doesn’t have an answer. It’s a punk rock interrogation of radical culture and politics, and it’s as smart an independent film as any made in the last 50 years.
The title is taken from the Red Crayola song that plays no fewer than four times, always as a propulsive political force and a connecting thread. The pulsing of the song is the movie’s backbeat; watch the movie twice, and I guarantee the opening notes will make you want to beat up a rapist. As you should.
Trailer:
Song:
You can watch the whole movie here.
