Filmmaker Anna Biller's debut feature Viva, a play on 1970s sexplotation films with a twist of modern feminist commentary, is, to put it kindly, a shock to the senses. Known for the stylism of her work, the veteran shorts and do-it-all filmmaker tackles cinematic genres with a respectful wink and sensually arched eyebrow. While appropriating fully the essence of the worlds she pulls from, defining with detailed production design and carefully-studied cinematography her own interpretation, Biller defies with underhanded precision the thematic and socially-implied constraints of those genres. It's commentary without force, a quiet but acute mockery of society swayed by male dominance.

On its superficial level, Viva is quite simply a story of coming-into-being. Repressed housewife Barbi bores of her life preparing martinis for her oft-absent workaholic husband Rick. After losing her secretarial job when she refuses to submit to a lascivious boss' advances, Barbi sets out to find work as model, an innocent action which catapults the unassuming heroine into the classic 70s hedonistic fallbacks of drug and sexual exploration. Following a heated argument with the picture perfect husbie, Barbi, along with her carefree and buxom neighbor Sheila, takes a job as a call girl, renaming herself along the way Viva, because as she says, "...in Italy [it] means "to live." Because that's what I want to do now - to live!" Expect much full frontal nudity thereafter.

As with most stylistic films, the introduction runs rough. In knocking off a genre, Viva's consequent stilted performances take time to speak for themselves. Having no individual rhythm or meaning on their own, each performance depends on another to hold itself up. Fortunately, because of this, as the films broadens its focus from the limited world of Barbi's home to that of her alter-ego Viva's orgiastic community, the themes of the film and their importance shine through the stylism progressively. It's a film, namely, that the audience grows into with each frame.

On this same note, Biller in playing the title role seems to fall into the same pattern. In comparision to her screen comrades Mark (Jared Sanford), Sheila (Bridget Brno) and Rick (Chad England), Biller appears at first uncomfortable in character. The distinction between stilted performance and bad acting pulls thin in the first act. As her character encounters increasingly complex situations, however, Biller falls into her performance, seeming to revel in the sexual directness allowed here. From the outset, Sanford and Brno live within their characters without hesitation, a feeling that is only enhanced by Sanford's over-the-top goofiness and Brno's Marilyn Monroe-esque beauty. Similiarly, England authentically lives in character, his acting so honest that his wholesomeness plays immediately familiar. The minor roles too are integral in pushing the narrative, and much of its strength depends on those including the pushy Brit Clyde (Marcus DeAnda), lipstick lesbian Agnes (Robbin Ryan) and nudist hippie Elmer (Paolo Davanzo). In this sense, it's truly a film of no small players. The constant and energetic exchanges between all the actors allow for the commentary to sneak into the audiences' conscious.

As for the political and feminist commentary itself, it's both implicit and accurate. In walking the line of female pleasure and liberation, Biller exposes the necessary underlying narcissism of sexual freedom. In other words, one must feel a love of self to allow for a love of sexual communion. This is seen pointedly in the film during Viva's musical performance at the orgy. In her golden headress, she seems completely comfortable and pleased with herself and that then allows others the space to admire her the same way, this despite the fact that she is obviously not the most attractive woman in the room. The attraction then derives, as it perhaps rightly should from a feminist perspective, from Viva's personality of mixed vivacity and innocence.

In flipping from the outside perspective to Viva's internal understandings of her own pleasure and liberation, the film leaps and bounds into a strange and quite random animation sequence. Rather than shoot a hackneyed sex montage, this colorful interlude, while straight out of left field, does return the framework of the film to its starting point--that of childishness, coyness, a willingness to poke about the issue of sex without encountering it. The return here also signals that Viva will now revert back to her childlike self as Barbi.

From its quilted lampshades to its psychedelic and sexual paintings, every frame of the film is visually stunning, the amount of care and concern invested in making the film's world an art piece evident. Likewise, the costume design follows in perfect notes of sexiness and naivete, and while frankly Biller and Brno are far from the socially-accepted stick-thin models of modern beauty, the costumes leave them in the best position to exude that sexiness. Add to this the care put into C.Thomas Lewis' shot design and the result is that of a perfectly cohesive art film.

As an art film, however, there's little chance of a mainstream audience embracing this, and in knowing the fact, Biller has tailored her market brillantly to the underground and film festival circuit. There are, however, signs of cult classic in the making here: the general boldness of the directorial voice and the unabashed political commentary go a long way to carve a niche, and in exploiting this niche, Biller may find perhaps that her odd little feature will step up to its title and continue to live.

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