One of the most beautiful aspects of postmodernism is that once a work of art aligns itself with this revolutionary movement that has questioned reality for the better part of half a century, there’s very little that can be viewed as implausible. So many artists have found ways to stretch the boundaries of the collective human imagination, so much that anything can be logical if it has the right amount of conviction behind it. This serves as a good entry point into Reflections of a Blender (Portuguese: Reflexões de um Liquidificador), the hilarious and irreverent dark comedy written and directed by André Klotzel, who tells the story of a mild-mannered Brazilian housewife and amateur taxidermist who finds herself committing a violent crime, with the only witness being her closest personal companion – who also happens to be her sentient blender, with whom she shares many of her deepest insecurities and darkest secrets. Klotzel, who has made a name for himself as the mind behind a few well-received but deeply underrated cult films produced in his native Brazil, is someone who intrinsically understands how to represent the darker side of humanity in a way that is amusing and insightful – and every moment of this film feels like it is plucked directly from the mind of a maniacal artistic genius, someone who knows how to shock and repulse, but in a way that is constructive and interesting. Candid and scathingly funny, Reflections of a Blender is a work of unhinged ambition, and a truly unforgettable gem of a film that requires our attention and ability to suspend disbelief, which only has the most fascinating results as we work through the film.

It is a bizarre tendency that we as a global culture is inherently opposed to the idea of repulsion as a form of artistic expression, especially since (when used correctly), it can be a brilliant tool for telling a memorable story, granted it does not go beyond the point of decency and actually has a purpose. Transgression without depth is just glorified sadism, and has very little artistic merit, unless you are one of the few provocateurs that can get away with an endless stream of debauchery that exists without any context. Klotzel may enjoy challenging conventions, but he’s still a filmmaker who understands the value of a good story, and through the overtly off-the-wall experimentation, he manages to turn Reflections of a Blender into an effective and evocative work that is positively simmering with a functional kind of malice, grappling the boundary between dark comedy and horror in a way that we don’t see very often, occurring at the perfect intersection between the two and proving to somehow be more complex in how it delivers the striking details without becoming too overwrought in the meta-commentary that supposedly fuels the entire film. It can sometimes veer towards uncomfortable, especially as we come to realize that this film is not about the most pleasant characters, and the moral grounding of the story is dubious at best. What it does do extraordinarily well is graciously and without too much controversy, particularly if the prospective viewer has the same wicked sense of humour that propels this bizarre film.

The image of an elderly woman gleefully dancing around her blood-splattered kitchen in between feeding body parts into a blender is not particularly pleasant, and required a performer that could get to the root of such a character and bring her to life in a way that actually has some meaning. The protagonist in Reflections of a Blender is a challenging character, but one that Ana Lúcia Torre was more than willing to take a risk in playing, providing us with one of the most unforgettable and outrageously daft comedic performances of the previous decade. A veteran actress known for playing more mild-mannered, principled characters on both screen and stage, Torre was certainly not the person we may have expected to take on this role – but her steadfast commitment to the role, and the insightful amount of depth she brings to the film is beyond admirable, and proves that she is the consummate professional needed for the part. The film revolves entirely around her character, and thus has to carry the majority of the plot – and her ability to find the perfect balance between comedy and drama is what gives the film its very distinctly absurdist tone. Torre plays the role as if she is in a sobering drama, with a few very clever insertions of offbeat humour in the characterization, which shows that she and the director were certainly on the same wavelength when it came to constructing this film, which is equal parts a satirical social horror and a deeply reflective character study, one that leaps into the mind of a murderer and presents us with a wickedly funny account

This ultimately all points to the fact that Reflections of a Blender is a film that functions primarily as a social satire, using the most darkly comical details to carefully dissect reality in a way that is disconcerting but also wildly hilarious. Klotzel approaches the material with a certain sophistication, filtering the story through a lens that is almost innocent in its perspective on the main character and her actions – as far as she’s concerned, all Elvira did was resolve a small problem, which was done for the greater good. There’s a sinister tone that underpins the film, but it is far from unpleasant, and we actually find ourselves being entertained by seeing how far the director could take this material before it became too grotesque, which mercifully never happens. Even as it’s most grisly and graphic, Reflections of a Blender is incredibly entertaining, and it actually manages to avoid too much controversy by utilizing more questionable imagery in a way that is restrained, which somehow makes it even more effective. The macabre elements occur in brief bursts rather than coming in an endless cavalcade of violence (which is often a quality that several filmmakers feel is the only way to make an impact), and Klotzel seems to be taking a cue from the filmmakers behind films like Man Bites Dog and Serial Mom (both of which were made by directors who understood the importance of carefully-curated repulsion)in showing a more nuanced side of cold-blooded murder and the aftermath, and still finding some way to humanize a truly despicable character, to the point where actually find ourselves sympathetic to her plight, against our own better judgment.

Couple this with the extraordinarily detailed perspective on middle-class Brazilian life, and the harsh socio-economic conditions that many faced at the time, and we find a delightfully irreverent satire that knows exactly what needed to be done in order to be effective. There’s not a lot to say about the premise outside of remarking on how the film goes in search of some deeper meaning behind the social inequality and challenging economic situation – and while it isn’t quite the Kafkaesque indictment on the bureaucracy that some may expect (although it does have some intriguing overtures), there’s a lot of interesting information contained within the film that feels genuinely quite compelling, and helps us find our way through this peculiar, nightmarish version of the world being presented to us. Anchored by a macabre but hilarious tone, and made with the commitment of someone who unequivocally believes in the power of good satire, Reflections of a Blender is a challenging and captivating work that is both wildly entertaining and deeply thought-provoking – and with its sincerity, willingness to go beyond the relatively straightforward premise to deliver a more nuanced account a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, the film manages to be truly unforgettable, and a fascinating document of madness, contained within a very strange but quintessentially charming dark comedy about the most adorably deranged woman any of us are bound to encounter.