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From dirty beds strewn with used condoms to patchwork tents scrawled with the names of everyone she's slept with, Tracey Emin knows sex sells. This succinct digital-video artwork is no exception, with the gobby Brit-art bad girl returning to her hometown of Margate for a semi-autobiographical story about the fumbling uncertainties and outright dangers of adolescent sex.
Progressing from love bites to DIY abortions and slit wrists, this confessional tale's no crowd-pleasing multiplex movie. The shaky hand-held camerawork, over-lit scenes and out-of-focus zooms are likely to make most self-respecting cineastes wish moneybags ad/art magnate Charles Saatchi had stuck this in a gallery and spared the big screen.
There's no denying, however, that Emin's voice is distinctive, her in-your-face attitude unsparing yet shaded with an underlying compassion. Certainly Emin's trademark blend of British miserablism, disco tunes and a wicked sense of vulgarity will please her fans.
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