Pat Boon is not just Pat Boon; it’s also Peggy, Fat Slim, Klux and Klux, and so on. A whole menagerie of more or less animalistic characters dragging their futile desires, their frustrations, or simply their nonsense through a fantasy of a depressive and racist 1930s America. And Winshluss revels in it, with the ruthless brilliance he’s known for in the silent narrative (one can’t help but think of slapstick cinema) or when telling the story of relentless fate. Broken dreams and hearts, grotesque and pitiable destinies that all end up crossing paths to form, together, a hilarious treatise on human stupidity. And fate.
In Pat Boon, no one wins… except, perhaps, Pat himself?
Because that’s how Winshluss is – it’s beyond him: everything always has to end in love!