American Hunter (Or A Study In The Arizal Index)

Man moves. Cars explode. Words, heavy as meat, fall from his mouth. The chase goes on. No end. No matter.

Christopher Mitchum navigates the rarefied art of speaking and punching, often in overlapping measures, as he gropes his way through a narrative architecture so tenuous it dissolves like un-putty. A microfilm of nebulous import, a great heaving tide of stonewashed denim, and automotive mayhem devoid of consequence—all conspire toward a feverish spectacle beyond the dictates of logic or taste.

The weary acolytes of The Stabilizer—that ungovernable séance of cinematic derangement—will shudder in recognition before this latest phantasmagoria from Indonesian maestro of chaos, Arizal.

The Arizal Index has been applied to American Hunter and the math is simple. Take the runtime of American Hunter, divide by the number of stunts per second, then square the action -per-scene ratio. The result? 254,477,877:1. The resulting figure should, in theory, tell you precisely how much "Oh fuck, what am I watching?" is contained within any given film.

This number does not merely suggest that American Hunter is the most gratuitously action-bloated film ever, it proposes something far more unsettling: that this film is the event horizon of reason itself, a swirling, kinetic mass of cinematic endeavour from which logic can no longer escape.

Presented as part of our ongoing sequence of films lovingly handpicked to ensure enough sales to pay for bar staff.