the most ridiculous of impossible bodies, and so, on some level, the most tragic of Frankensteinian monstrosities
What kind of brain thinks up this stuff? Relic emerged from somewhere within the fevered brain of Euripides Laskaridis. He appears as a kind of tailor’s dummy with distended padding, like some tumorous transvestite poodle. He inhabits a room as banal as it is surreal: there are lamps, a pot plant, an inflatable globe. The floor amplifies the clack of his heels, light switches detonate as he flicks them. He dons a wig, gown and pearls to become a compere, mouthing nonsense. He bursts through tinsel like a cabaret act. In burlesque bikini, with 70s moustache and hairstyle, he spanks a gym ball. He sits on a statue while a sponge dribbles suggestively, like pee. He is the most ridiculous of impossible bodies, and so, on some level, the most tragic of Frankensteinian monstrosities. Your own brain keeps thinking what the fuck? and then: what the hell, just go with it. It’s worth it.