Oh boy.

Time Out New York has this to say in its review of Matthew Barney's latest piece of filmic "art":

"Barney, naked and ass-reamed with a giant turnip, is strapped to the underbelly of the tractor, rubbing his engorged penis against the machine and squeezing feces out of a stuffed monkey onto his abdomen. It all has to do with biomorphic transformations and defying the second law of thermodynamics - obviously - but the clueless will be equally mesmerized."

I really cannot comprehend how someone can attempt to attach any kind of meaning or impact to the above description. It's especially troubling how disgustingly condescending the writer of this review can be towards "the clueless," when "the clueless" are actually "the people who have enough sense to realize that rubbing your penis on a tractor while smearing feces on yourself has less meaning than running on stage at a Saturday evening performance of the Lion King and screaming, 'Look at me! Look at me!' until a stagehand drops a sandbag from the grid." But I guess when your girlfriend runs around looking like this, you at least have to try and keep up.