"The Misandrists" is a lesbian hand grenade. It's a raucous clenched fist of queer feminist outrage thrown in the face of anyone who dares to give the patriarchy even the smallest bit of wiggle room.

In its gleeful distaste for conformity, it's a paragon of modern punk-rock moviemaking.

An invigorating alternative not just to the unending cascade of banal queer-themed fare--if nothing else, LaBruce's outlandish scenarios activate thought experiments for those pondering a corrective to our present gynophobic kakistocracy.

The Misandrists presents an unusual atmosphere, one mainstream cinema can not even conceive of, let alone get on a screen.

LaBruce doesn't have a way out of "The Misandrists," but time with these bizarre characters is compelling, and his directorial interests aren't diluted.

"The Misandrists" is take-no-prisoners cinema, which makes it cheeky entertainment. The film's early scenes suggest an entirely different film than the one LaBruce ultimately delivers.

Tastefully composed and art-directed.

Mr. LaBruce utilizes camp, that unifying language of queer cinema, to undermine the credos of trans-exclusionary radical feminism.

Rest assured, LaBruce has thought all this through and has answers that do more than provoke.

A diverting bad-taste frolic for the sufficiently jaded.

Pungent and unflinching.

'The Misandrists' is quite the miracle, a combination of satire, social commentary, light comedy, bad dialogue and obvious stock footage that, somehow, ends up working.

LaBruce makes room for a nuanced critique of gender essentialism even as he celebrates this male-free utopia is what elevates The Misandrists beyond a merely (admittedly very) satisfying rendering of a salacious premise.