Director: Dominik Moll
French filmmakers seem to be really good at psyching us out by showing us just how tasteless and twisted our intuitions can be. Lemming is clearly more evidence that the French are out to get us. They may not want our women or children but they very clearly crave our souls.
Watching a gory film is like sitting through an unexpected therapy session. You settle on the couch as the shrink nudges his horn-rimmed spectacles, encouraging you to tell him all about your problems. Your eyes widen at the prospect of having someone to confide in, but having briefly consulted with your mind – your heart is hesitant. You notice kindness in the shrink’s eyes as you loosen up. You feel comfortable enough to start blithering about how daddy never hugged you enough. You build trust in him and tell him about how the uncle next door hugged you always too tightly and way too regularly. You talk to him about how you had just figured out that your own body was as much of a miracle as a garbage disposal unit. You want him to know that you tried like hell to stop that creepy man from distancing your mind further from your body. The shrink takes off his spectacles as you wonder if you are in the correct position to slouch your head sideways and cry on his shoulder. Much to your surprise and slight dismay, the shrink wipes his brow and promptly puts them back on without offering to help ease your pain.