BAD LIEUTNANT (2nd American Film Festival, 1993)

A drug-addicted and corrupt lieutenant of the New York Police Department is crushed by his betting debts. The only thing that can save him is a $50,000 reward offered by both the Church and the Mafia for two rapists who brutally violated a nun in her Spanish Harlem church. But the lieutenant's manhunt for the perpetrators soon becomes a search for his own redemption. Bad Lieutenant, Abel Ferrara's tough and uncompromising study of existential chaos, captivates with its consistent staging in every respect and Harvey Keitel's radical and impressive performance. They drink, they fuck, they do coke. They want to hurt, consume and lose themselves. There is yelling, beating and killing. With Abel Ferrara, all the valves are always open and all the floodgates are lowered. Feelings are burned by the gallon, and they ignite nothing but violence and pain. Yet everyone hopes for mercy and happiness. Every path leads to its bitter end, and for all the power and fascination Ferrara's heroes exert with their falling addiction, he always finds images that mercilessly expose their autism and hubris. In Bad Lieutenant, this is the scene in which Harvey Keitel lies unconscious on his living room sofa early in the morning after one of his drug excesses, while the family has already taken up their daily routine. As fascinating as his self-destructive unconditionality may have seemed before, it presents itself as poor and banal when he lies there on the sofa. A hypocrite, a loser, a poor sod. (Michael Althen for Viennale)