Overall, Saint-Narcisse is a wild ride that’s enjoyable in all its B-movie glory — the production design that’s just a little too kitschy, the dialogue that’s just a tad too ripe — while also titillating the intellect.
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LaBruce dresses up kink in priestly robes and biker leather and raw skin and sets it out on a runway walk in open daylight.
Some might balk at the film’s light, non-judgmental tone towards incest, abuse, sexuality, and religion, but LaBruce is smart in how he lets that tension rest on the audience and whatever baggage they may bring to the film instead of trying to acknowledge or appease to it. If anything, Saint-Narcisse is a welcome piece of provocative entertainment, existing as its own weird and sincere comedy for those willing to take the ride.
There’s an entertaining commitment to the story and its references in Saint-Narcisse (a real place that may be impossible to photograph badly, such is the natural beauty that surrounds this demented tale). And La Bruce knows a striking leading man when he casts one.
For the most part, LaBruce tries to maintain fidelity to the idea that camp is best performed straight. If keeping up the pretense of unwinking entertainment causes the pace to drag at times, at least this movie never fails to follow through on its scandalous promise.