By Last Caress.

Adonis and Aphrodite, from the gleefully disturbed mind of David Chaudoir, is a hand grenade in monologue, a cautionary Jackanory for anyone who ever wondered whether the humdrum stupor of their middle class, middle aged suburban stasis might be enlivened by having impulsive group sex with the neighbours. And, well, haven’t we all wondered that? I’m wondering it right now, and I live next to a chicken shed.

Mike and his wife live in a pleasant, quiet middle-class suburb in Barnsley, South Yorkshire. They’ve got new next-door neighbours, referenced throughout by the names emblazoned in etched marble on the front of the house: ADONIS AND APHRODITE. She’s a Greek Goddess, he’s… well, Greek (“That’s not racist, is it?” wonders Mike’s wife). The suspicion amongst the neighbourhood is that they’re nouveau riche; lottery winners, maybe. A Bentley here, a Ferrari there. Lots of building work being done to the property, some of it sumptuous, some of it too sumptuous. Be that as it may, our new Greek neighbours invite the rest of the street to a lavish party. Mike and his wife have a whale of a time but the most significant event of the evening occurs at the very end, as Mike and his wife announce their farewells. Aphrodite kisses Mike’s wife passionately, exciting her in ways she’d never previously experienced. Adonis gropes and fondles her behind, exciting Mike in ways he’d never previously experienced. Back at home, Mike and his wife have passionate sex. Twice.

The next day, Adonis and Aphrodite show up at Mike’s doorstep, and whisk him and his wife away for a meal at a well-heeled hotel. They take a room there. So begins the swinging.

Okay, you can have that one. The swinging. That’s the first sharp left narrative turn taken by Adonis and Aphrodite but it’s not the last, and the others I shall not divulge. But be assured, this tale spins off of its axis again, and again, and again (and if you’re already aware that writer/director David Chaudoir, who also made the phenomenal Bad Acid, has a penchant for blackly humorous horror, you may be able to guess at which direction the tone of the picture may take at some point). Not bad at all for a twelve-minute short movie which isn’t really a movie at all in the traditional sense, but an Alan Bennett-style Talking Heads monologue delivered entirely from inside a greenhouse by Mike’s unnamed wife, played sublimely and with a misdirecting homespun Yorkshire warmth by Madeleine Bowyer, whom Mr. Chaudoir had specifically in mind as he crafted Adonis and Aphrodite, and one can see why. She is tremendous.

It’s high time now that David Chaudoir was afforded the opportunity to craft a full-length feature. Having now been delighted by both Bad Acid and Adonis and Aphrodite, I have no doubt it would be vaguely Lovecraftian in its content and uniquely British in its delivery, unabashedly retro-cool and laced with ink-black humour throughout. Can’t wait.

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