He Died with Felafel in His Hand

"Which is pretty gross actually if you think about it." ▼/▲


Aussie film, light, black comedy (which really exists, people). Scattered plot. A bunch of drop outs and druggies attempt to set up and keep house in various buildings and with various people. Relationships form and are broken, people change. It's a lot like Friends, now that I think about it, except they all have accents and swear a lot and, of course, "he" dies with felafel in his hand which I don't remember ever happening on Friends.
Based on the book, by Jon Birmingham, who apparently lived through all this crap and then had the foresight to make some money off of it.
As the film's protaganist explains, "I've lived in 49 shared households in what seems as many years. I've been ripped off, raided, threatened, burnt out, shot at, cheated on, scabbed in every one of those years. My beds are foam slabs on the floor. My cupboards are stacks of stolen milk crates. I've lived with tent-dwelling bank clerks, albino moontanners, psycho fucking drama queens, acid eaters, mushroom farmers, brothel crawlers, hard-core separatist lesbians and obscurely tiger-throated Japanese girls! I'm in a psycho-fucking nightmare from hell and I'm fucking fed up with it!"

There you go.

Favorite Moments: Burning "his" clothes and stuff. Strangely touching (and cheap) from a directorial point of view.