American Fable is ambitious, maybe too much so sometimes, but there's an intense pleasure in the boldness of the film's style.
Have you ever, friends sometimes ask me, just walked out on a movie? Yes, I say, I have… but not very often, because I’m being paid to sit there to the bitter end. In that case, they say, how do you know when to walk out? I didn't have a really satisfactory answer to that one until last Sunday night, when I walked out on “The Last Survivor.” Now I have an almost 100 percent accurate definition of when to walk out: When the cannibals start eating the human flesh.
That happened, oh, maybe 25 minutes into the movie, which had already distinguished itself as among the most idiotic films ever made. Survivors of a plane crash had penetrated into the rain forest and pushed aside the vines, and then the screen was filled with big subtitles which announced: Actual scenes of cannibals eating human flesh.
Were they really cannibals? Who knows? But they certainly seemed to be enjoying, themselves as they ripped flesh from bone and snatched morsels out of each other’s fingers (or fingers out of each other’s hands, I suppose). I got up and walked toward the door. Several of my fellow audience members, however, stopped in the aisles on the way to the popcorn stand so as not to miss this rare passage of authentic anthropology.
By walking out early, I missed my chance to find out how the last survivor did, in fact, survive. I can only assume he did it by accident, since the movie opened by establishing that all of its characters were terminally stupid.