melange

In truth, it was anything but: A screwball mélange of satire, slapstick and gonzo body horror, the movie would have been notable enough for starring two Oscar-winning actresses, Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn, as lifelong frenemies who find immortality — and all the curses that come with it — via a magic elixir.

While Trump’s rally was a queasy melange of racist insults and frightening promises, Griffin’s show was a spectacle of raw, force-of-nature talent.

Some members in the audience showed up in costume but none could compete with the wondrously weird mélange of butoh dance, shadow puppetry, ghosts of various varieties, nurses seeming straight out of horror films along with models, tormented and otherwise.

And indeed, little really happens in screenwriter Evan Johnson’s mélange of lowbrow humor and high-concept wit beyond the straight-faced delivery of bursts of ridiculous dialogue and weird encounters with the self-pleasuring bog people — and eventually, a glistening, car-sized brain.

Though competent, the flashy computed-generated effects give the impression of being recycled instead of uniquely designed for this lackluster mélange.