Rubber Johnny Written and directed by Chris Cunningham Warp Films DVD and 40 page book (2005) $14.98 Available at Amazon

Though the hype generated from the 30-second teaser that surfaced three years ago and intense excitement over the director's 2003 video collection lends to the belief that Cunningham would offer an epic feature-length film, Rubber Johnny is only six minutes in length. There are no trailers; there is no hidden content, and not a single extra on the DVD. Nothing. However, you need to get over the irritation you're feeling because you spent $16 on, to quote a few disheartened LiveJournal posts, "a fucking Aphex Twin video", because Rubber Johnny is an epic work -- it's just crammed into a tiny space (there's a pun there, which you'll understand after looking through the 40 page booklet, which is filled with sketches of Johnny and digitally morphed photos of testicles, perineums and anuses grafted onto the wrong places.)

The premise here is simple: a pasty, greasy Elephant-Man-like creature (boy?) lives in a darkened cellar with only a Chihuahua and a few disparaging comments from an off-screen bully (the father?) to keep him company. However, like most Cunningham works, the form serves as a host to his sensory-overloaded visual content and virtuousic editing technique. Presented in grayish green and white night-goggle vision, the film is an observation of what Johnny does when no one's looking. After waking up from a nap (an exhausted state probably caused by packing his giant sagging head around all day), he jumps to life and spastically (yet somehow gracefully) tools around the room in his wheelchair, deflecting blipping laser shots with his hands, wrists and head like a deformed Wonder Woman. He stops sometimes to catch his breath, peeping at the camera from behind a pillar, but quickly returns to his routine, often sans wheel-chair. Johnny hyperactively scurries to and fro to dodge his attacker -- whomever that might be -- and, of course, repeatedly pulls the infamous face-turning-inside-out-against-a-pane-of-glass move we've seen in every ad for the film.

In the tradition of Cunningham's video for Squarepusher's "Come on My Selector" and the Michael Jackson-esque dance sequence for Aphex Twin's "Windowlicker", all wheel screeches, handle locks, fluorescent light fizzles, muscle twitches, severe contortions, battle wounds and otherwise movements are precisely, no, immaculately choreographed and matched to every musical element of Aphex Twin's "Afx237 V.7" (from his 2001 release Drukqs).

Though it's very subtle, ambiguous and overshadowed by the intense eye-candy, Rubber Johnny is an intriguing story with a series of variables that the director leaves up to your imagination, preference, life experience, and perhaps your gastrointestinal endurance if you're eating while watching the film. That is, Cunningham's creative and innovative imagery provides a very intriguing stage, but his enigmatic characters and multiple-angle narrative are what allow your imagination and thought processes to beg you to divine Johnny's motives and what actually happens outside this room. The beginning of the film shows Johnny (possibly during a flashback, but it's hard to tell due to his constantly morphing physical appearance) as a volatile, infant-like thing who, under the scrutiny of an interviewer, asks for his "mama". Or is it "ba-ba"? And who is this interviewer guy? His placid yet insistent questioning and suggestions ("Don't breathe like that; it will make you feel really strange.") suggests that he might be the scientist who engineered this beast in his secret lab. Honestly, this and the vision of Johnny slumped naked in his wheelchair are truly heartbreaking, but Cunningham's hints and suggestions change our perspective on Johnny several times throughout the film. He changes from a mentally and physically challenged (challenging) burden to a superhuman being capable of dodging bullets, to a creepy aggressor lurking in the cellar of your nightmares, to (the biggest surprise) a pathetic, almost comical, over-medicated dude -- as seen in Cunningham's shot of Johnny expertly sniffing a line of white powder across the length of the room. And what about the dog? Is he the thing shooting at Johnny, or simply a bystander to a deranged mind in action, or the source of DNA injected into Johnny's parents, or maybe (gasp) it's his...

The brevity factor sort of fades away when you examine Rubber Johnny's quality, presentation and subject matter. Cunningham bombards you with details, which will linger in your haunted imagination for days after the six minute film ends. And do you really think you could endure an hour-long anticipation of "this guy's head is going to explode any minute now"? By remaining succinct, the aesthetic and emotions never wear thin or sink into mind-numbing territories (read: you will nervously grip your drink with equal pressure for the entirety of the film).

Or maybe Cunningham is just a jerk -- you have to presume that anything involving troublemaker Richard D. James is going to somehow piss you off. Many suggest that Cunningham finished Rubber Johnny years ago, then sat around waiting for the proper amount of buildup before releasing it -- but does this have anything to do with the product? Yes, historically speaking, as the idea that such angry conjecture exists around the project is the brand of a true artist. Love him or hate him for "tricking" you, Cunningham can cause a ridiculous stir about his work, even before 90 percent of his accusers even see it.

Setting this extra-artistic minutia aside, the fact is, Rubber Johnny isn't a disappointment, and it isn't just a music video (unless you consider "Thriller" just a music video). It's hard to say precisely what it is, but it's certainly thought-provoking and visually inimitable.

Still, $16...

-- Dave Madden