The Misandrists

Clever, yes. But its slow execution and cardboard acting doesn't play nice.

The Misandrists presents an unusual atmosphere, one mainstream cinema can not even conceive of, let alone get on a screen.

Mr. LaBruce utilizes camp, that unifying language of queer cinema, to undermine the credos of trans-exclusionary radical feminism.

The result feels haphazard, rendering the 85-minute running time a slog, and is stuffed with bad-on-purpose lines like, "Wake up and smell the estrogen."

Rest assured, LaBruce has thought all this through and has answers that do more than provoke.

A diverting bad-taste frolic for the sufficiently jaded.

...featuring intentionally cardboard characterizations and wooden acting along side highly charged sexual images, the script is replete with references to political theory that move so quickly from the lips of the actors that I couldn't keep up.

If John Waters and Karl Marx co-directed a remake of The Beguiled, the resulting feature would be very much like Bruce LaBruce's The Misandrists.

As I've argued elsewhere recently, the film landscape feels very polite right now and maybe a blast of straight-no-chaser LaBruce is the antidote we need.

"The Misandrists" is a lesbian hand grenade. It's a raucous clenched fist of queer feminist outrage thrown in the face of anyone who dares to give the patriarchy even the smallest bit of wiggle room.

In its gleeful distaste for conformity, it's a paragon of modern punk-rock moviemaking.

An invigorating alternative not just to the unending cascade of banal queer-themed fare--if nothing else, LaBruce's outlandish scenarios activate thought experiments for those pondering a corrective to our present gynophobic kakistocracy.