I confess I knew very little about this controversial film-fest fave going in, but my naiveté turned out to work in my favor, since it allowed me to experience the utter shock with all defenses down. Of course, my duties as your humble author require me to pass the resulting knowledge on to you, thus preventing you from having the same unblemished experience. On the other hand, having viewed this nearly indescribable film, I feel it’s my duty to warn you that it’s not for everyone – particularly the first half-hour.

Having said that, let me now say this about BAD BOY BUBBY:

Damn.

I mean that in a good way, but rest assured, no one will spin this DVD and remain unchanged afterwards. You may curse Aussie director Rolf De Heer (THE QUIET ROOM) for ever undertaking a career in film; you may suddenly feel a thunderbolt of life-changing revelation; you may engage in a profound discussion with your companions; or maybe you’ll just sit back and ask the screen “Whaddafuck?” Others will, understandably, pop the disc out of the player within the first act, slide it into the toaster oven and set it to 425 degrees.

Me, I have to admit that I both loathed and loved this film in equal proportions. Not because of any failings on the filmmaker’s part - the quality is high throughout, on all levels - but the feelings it evokes alternate between utter disgust, total despair, and innocent happiness, often cycling through each from one minute to the next. A blurb for the film depicts it as “BEING THERE directed by David Lynch,” and although stylistically there are many Lynchian overtones, there is an essential humanity at the core of De Heer’s story that Lynch’s aesthetically distant works often lack. It calls more to mind the real-life tale of Kaspar Hauser (as depicted in Herzog’s excellent film), the “Wild Man” who, after a lifetime of captivity, had to learn, as a child would, how to function in mainstream society. There have been other man-child figures successfully depicted in similar situations - from BEING THERE’s Chauncey Gardener to RAIN MAN’s Raymond Babbitt - but none of these films capture the anguish and alienation as effectively as this offbeat carnival of weirdness.

Our hero, known only as Bubby (Nicholas Hope), has spent every second of his 35-year existence in the gray, squalid 2-room apartment he shares with his hideously disturbed mother Florence (Claire Benito), who keeps him as a virtual slave – feeding him stale bread and gravy, forcing him to sit still for hours on end while she’s at work, keeping him in thrall with the odd beating and near-strangulation, as well as mounting him nightly for some of the most disgusting sex scenes I’ve ever seen. This treatment has understandably driven Bubby into a severely autistic, nearly animal state, coupled with a physical terror of venturing outdoors - due to Mum’s daily (often violent) reminders that the air outside is poisonous (she dons a broken gas-mask on her way out each morning), and repeated admonishments like “If the poison don’t get ya, Jesus will.” Bubby’s only other source of companionship is a stray cat, upon which he enacts many of the same abuses foisted on him daily by dear old Mum.

We get the impression this nightmarish routine has repeated itself daily for the past three decades with little or no variation... until one day, there’s a knock at the door, heralding the return of Bubby’s estranged Pop (Ralph Cotterill), a drunken part-time street preacher who until now was unaware of his son’s existence. This sudden change in the family dynamic awakens new feelings in the man-child Bubby, including jealousy and resentment toward his sexual rival (at one point he tries to dress like Pop to impress Florence, even gluing hair clippings to his face to mimic Pop’s beard), and a growing suspicion that the air outside may be breathable after all: Not only did Pop come in without a gas mask, but Bubby’s “experiments” on the cat by cocooning it in cling wrap prove that Mum was lying when she said “cats don’t breathe.” It’s only a matter of time before Bubby, after a savage beating at the hands of his drunken folks, decides to try the cling-wrap test on them as well.

Thankfully, after 35 years of terror and pain (and 35 minutes of the same for the audience), Bubby is free, roaming the streets of an unnamed Australian city with absolutely no sense of human interaction beyond a lifetime of abuse. The results, while not always unexpected, are diverse and amazing in their execution, not only revealing the inner workings of Bubby’s tormented soul, but exposing the varying degrees of humanity shared by the “normal” people he encounters along his erratic journey.

This second act introduces Bubby (and us) to a colorful assortment of characters. Many are harsh and abusive - as one would expect from this kind of tale - but others, initially baffled by Bubby’s behavior, slowly come to the realization that Bubby is merely a confused boy in a man’s disheveled body. Most accepting among his newfound friends are the members of a luckless rock band – a bunch of fun-loving, hard-drinking, amiable losers who appoint him as their mascot. They even agree to conceal the news that he murdered his parents, despite a large reward placed on the headline-grabbing “Cling Wrap Killer.”

It is through this new association that Bubby truly comes into his own in the big wide world – specifically when, in a moment of fun, the band offers him the mike at a gig. This unleashes a torrent of bitter, angst-ridden recitations of his parents’ many abuses, which the crowds interpret as a wild stream-of-consciousness poetry slam, and which liberates Bubby from his childlike persona, transforming him into his adult incarnation as “Pop.” Adopting his late father’s suit and clerical collar – as well as his gruff, lecherous voice – Bubby undergoes an internal transformation that takes on subtly supernatural overtones.

This change manifests itself when Bubby encounters a group of severely-disabled young adults in the care of the sweet nurse Angel (Carmel Johnson), who is stunned to discover that Bubby can translate her charges’ unintelligible slurred speech. After some trepidation, Angel invites Bubby to take part in therapy sessions with the kids, to great success. His childlike compassion toward the patients, paired with his growing desire for Angel (partly due to her bountiful breasts, which remind him of Mum’s... blecch), leads to an unlikely but strangely sweet romance, through which the “Bad Boy” steps aside to reveal a good man waiting to emerge.

The film’s ultimately life-affirming worldview flies in the face of traditional morality tales – especially considering its deeply ingrained contempt for religion and rejection of a higher power (ironically, it’s a church organist who spells out this philosophy to Bubby when he says, “We must learn to think God out of existence.”) Despite this defiant nihilism, BUBBY the film ultimately finds hope in the very human act of communication, primarily through music – Bubby the man is drawn, like Frankenstein’s monster, toward music as a hungry man to the smell of bread – and the importance of empathy when communicating with another living being. The poor guy has to learn all of this rather quickly to avoid further anguish, but by the story’s end it’s apparent he’s getting the hang of it, and we come to admire him for it. Without descending into cheap sentimentalism, De Heer depicts his hero’s self-affirmation with tenderness and charm, thus purging the taint of horror created by the opening scenes. It’s an amazing journey, but it will likely leave you emotionally drained – or maybe just confused as hell.

Well, that part’s up to you. But thanks to those nice demented folks at Blue Underground, at least you’re given plenty of good material to make an informed decision. BUBBY is presented here in its original scope ratio (probably a video first in the US), and the results are stunning. Being of fairly recent vintage, the print is nearly flawless – but the mastering job was no doubt quite a feat, due to the fact that De Heer made a conscious effort to change the visual appearance of the film several times, even as far to change cinematographers at regular intervals. This began as a scheduling consideration, so the film could be spread out over time as money came in, but was still adopted even after full financing was secured. The result is a constantly revolving kaleidoscope of unique visual styles which reflect the ever-shifting landscape of Bubby’s world. Another quirky conceit is the audio track: De Heer adapted a special binaural microphone to be attached to Nicholas Hope’s head so that audiences may “hear” the world exactly as Bubby does. In theory, this sounds pretentious and potentially annoying, but in practice it’s actually unobtrusive and lends a claustrophobic feel to the audio. It’s equally effective in either the stereo and 5.1 mixes available.

Many extras are on hand to enhance the experience, and explain De Heer’s eccentric approach in more detail – namely in the half-hour documentary “Christ Kid, You’re a Weirdo,” wherein the director breaks down the film’s remarkable style. Then Hope himself tells his side of the tale and how he approached the character in a brief but interesting interview, “Being Bubby.” He also stars as a serial killer in the included short film “Confessor Caressor” (which is quite disturbing). In addition, we get a nice range of stills and the racy Australian trailer.

I encourage you to check this one out, with a few important caveats:

1. Cat lovers should avoid this one at all costs, or at least be prepared to give little Mittens a hug and a can of Fancy Feast after the film is over. Cats do NOT fare well in Bubby’s world.

2. If you are the slightest bit squeamish about depictions of incest – particularly involving really ugly people - be prepared to avert your eyes through much of the film’s opening scenes.

3. If you find the following phrase offensive, you should avoid this film: “God is a stupid cunt.” Those aren’t my words, mind you; I’m just quoting the movie, so skip the angry e-mails.

If you made it this far without crinkling up your nose like someone being offered a spoonful of boiled dog vomit, then you may be prepared for the indelible experience of BAD BOY BUBBY. Love it or hate it, you won’t forget it any time soon.