Korine's established himself, by now, as a talented and impressive image-maker. The promotional posters for Mister Lonely all include the film's most impressive compositions (though there's one in particular I've yet to see in promo material: that of a blue-clad nun teasing a dog with a stick, surrounded by green forest with torrential rain pouring down). The opening images of this film, of Michael Jackson lookalike (Diego Luna) riding a small motorbike round a track, is strangely compelling and beautiful: Roy Orbison's "Mister Lonely" plays on the soundtrack, and the images unfold in slow-motion. There's also a funny and terrific sequence in which the same character mimes a dance, without music (though a radio sits like a silent dog next to him), in the middle of a Paris street; Korine splices in sound effects and jump-cuts that evoke both a feeling of futility and dogged liberation in the character's dance routine.
The first instance of the segment dealing with the nuns is also strangely poignant; Father Umbrillo (Werner Herzog) is an autocratic priest about to fly with some nuns over, and drop food into, impoverished areas nearby. In a scene that is both light-hearted and affecting, Herzog must deal with a stubbornly enthusiastic local who wishes to make the plane trip with them in order to see his wife in San Francisco. As the exchange develops, Herzog draws out of the man a confession: he has sinned, and his frequent infidelity is the cause of his wife having left him in the first place. This scene, short and sweet, gains particular weight after one learns its improvised origins: the sinner is played by a non-actor who was on set when Korine and co. were filming - and his adulterous ways had given him, in real life, a lasting, overwhelming guilt.
Henceforth, the film is hit-and-miss; a succession of intrinsically interesting moments that add to a frivolous, muddled narrative. Whereas Gummo and Julien Donkey-Boy maintain their aesthetic and emotional weight via coherent structural frameworks, Mister Lonely feels like a victim of editing room ruthlessness. A few scenes were cut from the film, which would have otherwise painted fuller pictures of certain characters, due to continuity errors in costume - a result, no doubt, due to the absence of a shooting script and Korine's tendency for improvisation. One deleted scene in particular - in which 'Charlie Chaplin' (Denis Lavant) and 'Madonna' (Melita Morgan) have sex - would have added much more emotional conflict to a scene later on in the film (I won't spoil it, but it's there to deflate any feeling of warmth or celebration, and, as it is, only half-succeeds).
The two strands of the narrative, unconnected literally, are best approached as two entirely different stories with the same allegorical meaning; one compliments the other and vice versa. (It's something to do with the conflict between one's ambitions and the reality of the current situation.) But there's not enough of the Herzog scenes to merit their place in the film, and so any connection between these two allegorically-connected threads is inevitably strained - and the inclusion is, in retrospect, tedious.
This is an ambitious step forward from Julien Donkey-Boy that suffers mostly, at least in the lookalike segments, from having far too many characters for the film's running length, a flaw that would have been even worse had big star names played everyone (as was originally planned).
With many of the imagery's self-contained beauty, and moments of real, genuine connection with the soundtrack, this feels like it'd be much more suited to an art installation or photo exhibition. As an exploration of mimesis and the nature of impersonation, it'd lose none of its power - indeed, for me, it would perhaps be more impressive. The loneliness attached to iconic performativity (such as that encountered by both the icons themselves and those who aspire to be like them) is well-captured in images such as that wherein 'Marilyn Monroe' (a gorgeous Samantha Morton) seduces the camera with a Seven Year Itch pose in the middle of a forest, or when 'Sammy Davis, Jr.' (Jason Pennycooke) settles, post-dance rehearsal, with his back to the camera overlooking an incredible, tranquil lake.
As it is, moments like these, and all those where the titles of randomly-chosen Michael Jackson songs crawl across the scene, are married to one another in a film narrative far less affecting than it should be.
(For those who see it, I lost all faith during the egg-singing scene, late on. You'll know which scene I mean because it sticks out like a sore thumb, as some sort of gimmicky attempt at the new cinematic language for which Korine has previously been hailed.)