Someone brings out a doll of Adolf Hitler in embryonic form, complete with hair and mustache. You know this is a film of very serious ideas, because it’s unclear whether this is intended as comic relief or meant to be taken straight. The doll is a work of art created by Amy (Amy Everson), the enigmatic character at the center of Felt. We encounter this listless young woman in dribs and drabs of plot, with particular emphasis on her unhappy encounters with men who like rape jokes and her habit of dressing up in masculine costumes while skulking around the woods. She’s a San Francisco artist who creates with felt, including grotesque depictions of genitals. (Embryo Hitler is made of felt, too.) The life of the party, she ain’t.
Felt is a more-or-less experimental indie that feels a little like watching Blue Velvet from the zonked point of view of the Isabella Rossellini character.