Inside the mind of madness

The three films of Lodge Kerrigan invariably deal with two major themes: mental instability and yearning for the love of a child. On the surface, these two themes don't seem to intersect at all. Masterfully, however, Kerrigan has found ways to make them intertwine in his oft-disturbing, surreal and constantly brilliant films. \nHis debut feature "Clean, Shaven" was first released in 1994 and has recently been released in a fully enhanced DVD format by the Criterion Collection. Criterion has cleaned up the audio transfer and enhanced the image, clearing away hundreds of particles of debris that littered the original print, all under the watchful supervision of Kerrigan himself.\nKerrigan's films have a way with the audience not because they are obsessed with keeping your attention the way mainstream movies are, but because they are so visually and aurally fascinating. "Clean, Shaven" has barely any dialogue at all, allowing the viewer to be absorbed into the world of the film based on its visual and aural merits. The lead character, a paranoid schizophrenic named Peter Winter, speaks less than 20 lines throughout the entire run.\nKerrigan's specific avoidance of having his main character speak serves to pull the viewer closer to his unbalanced mental state. Instead of keeping you at a distance by making Peter a conventional movie lead that talks often and is constantly manipulating his circumstances, Kerrigan places you inside the mind of his protagonist, a frightening and disorienting place.\nThe story follows Winter, played uncannily well by Peter Greene, as he spends days searching for a daughter that was given up for adoption when he was put into a mental institution. Many critics, essayists, theorists and even psychologists have attested that "Clean, Shaven" is the best exploration of schizophrenia ever put on film.\nThe camera follows Winter as he roams from hotel room to hotel room, never letting up on its suffocating close-ups. The score by Hahn Rowe is a tour-de-force, combining eerie, off-kilter piano music with the constant droning of an out-of-tune radio. We never hear specific sounds, just indiscernible and ever-shifting voices amidst a blaze of white noise. The point of the "audio assault," as Criterion essayist Dennis Lim put it, is to bring the viewer into a visceral understanding of what Winter hears every second of every day.\nOn the commentary track, famed auteur Steven Soderbergh engages in a dialogue with Kerrigan about the techniques he used to set up these various conclusions. Though he expands on his intentions, he never gives any proof of what the answers may be, preferring instead to let the film speak for itself.