Review: American Guinea Pig: Bouquet of Guts and Gore

I can’t decide if I was in no position or the perfect position to experience American Guinea Pig: Bouquet of Guts and Gore the first time I saw it.  Let me explain.

The setting was Days of the Dead: Atlanta.  I was drunk to say the least.  That evening, I procured six edibles.  Yes, that kind of edibles.  Three pot brownies and three pot caramels.  My intent was to space them out and eat them over the course of the weekend.  I ate one immediately, then proceeded to continue drinking.  About 15 minutes before the screening, I decided to eat another as I found a seat.  As I sat down, I noticed a popular independent horror director sitting in front of me and handed him the other half of my brownie.  I’m not naming names.  I don’t wanna get anyone in trouble.  We’ll just say that his name rhymes with Madam Ballrant.  Anyway, I reached into my pocket to get another, and all I felt was empty wrappers.  It was then that the realization set in.  Throughout the course of a couple of hours of not paying attention and the drunken horror con social butterflying that my position as the horror scribe of Atlanta affords me, I had eaten all of them.  Jason Hoover later referred to it as “hero dosing.”  In other words, I was about to be FUCKED UP.  

As the movie began to run and it all kicked in at once, the thought “I really hope this is a long flick, ‘cause I’m not gonna be able to stand up for a while” crossed my mind.  Then, as I saw two women being abducted, I found myself incapable of doing anything but staring, slack jawed, at the screen.  For the next seventy-something minutes, I couldn’t look away.  I don’t think I even blinked.  It was like some Cenobite in the employ of Unearthed Films had affixed hooked chains to my eyelids, Clockwork Orange style, and was refusing to allow me even a momentary respite from the most intense gore I had ever seen being mainlined into my brain.    

I am happy to report that after a second viewing in a less drunk and far less stoned mindset, the movie retains its power.

For those unfamiliar with the Guinea Pig films, it was a series of seven (well, six and a “worst of”) Japanese ultra-gore films produced in the 80’s.  They became infamous after being found in a serial killer’s collection.  The apocryphal story of Charlie Sheen seeing Flower of Flesh and Blood (the second in the series and BOG&G’s spiritual father) and reporting to the FBI that he’d just seen a real snuff film is one of extreme cinema’s most beloved tales.  Now Stephen Biro, owner of Unearthed Films and the  American distributor of the Guinea Pig flicks, has undertaken the creation of another cycle, this one made in the good ol’ US of A.

Simply put, this is probably the most effective gore flick ever released.  What Marcus Koch has achieved here is a legitimate game changer.  This is a bold statement considering all of the flicks I’ve seen, but I have never seen gore effects this good before.  The way the skin moves when it’s cut.  The way the instruments catch on the bones.  The meticulous cross sections of severed limb stumps.  This is truly the masterwork of a man at the top of his game.  This is Marcus’ Day of the Dead, if you know what I mean. 

One complaint that you’re likely to hear about this film is that it has no story.  Well, yes and no.  There is no story in a traditional sense.  It’s the same as Flower of Flesh and blood in that the mutilation is the sum of the experience.  There is a higher concept and some intriguing symbolism (I’m still not sure what to make of some of it) if you’re inclined to look deep between the lines for it, but it’s definitely not out in the open.  The film is primarily concerned with being a real time chronicle of two women being dissected.  That’s it.  It’s an exercise in grueling atmosphere and visuals.  It’s an endurance test.  Speaking of which, people will say it moves slowly.  Those people missed the damn point.  There’s something either deliciously transgressive or sadistically nerve-wracking (depending on your perspective) about watching the clothes being slowly cut off of the ladies for a few minutes before the blood starts to flow.  It’s torturous foreplay.  It’s those agonizing minutes after being sent to your room but before a parent arrives for that whoopin’.  It’s those terrifying three seconds between stubbing your toe and the pain impulse reaching your brain.  The fact that it lingers on every minute detail forces you to feel rather than watch.

An aspect of filmmaking that is often unjustly overlooked is sound design.  To be honest, there’s not a hell of a lot of indie flicks whose sound you can say much nice about.  The sound design in this one, however, is superb.  As good as both the gore itself and the grim ambiance are, those aspects on their own wouldn’t shine nearly as much had the audio been entrusted to lesser hands.  Jimmy Screamerclaus takes an already potent brew and sends it over the top.

Caution: The next paragraph contains a slight spoiler.

One particular aspect of the film’s setup struck me as an absolute stroke of perverse genius.  Before their ordeal, the women are shot up with a nerve agent and given several drops from a medicine dropper.  When it is revealed that these drops were LSD, you immediately knew where the psychonauts in the crowd were by either a gasp or an “OH HELL NO!”  In addition to just being a unique and sick little addition to the proceedings, the real genius of that bit of business is that it adds a whole new level of identification for anyone in the audience who has done acid.  The camera may, literally and figuratively, be making the viewer share the gaze of the killers, but anyone who has ever dosed can’t help but imagine what it would be like to be tripping on the table.  You become trapped in the headspace of the victims, and it’s a truly harrowing idea.

Something happens at the end of this flick that caused a tremor in even some of the most hardcore members of the audience that night.  Hell, Madam Ballrant got up and walked the fuck out.  As the audio residue of that final image continued over the credits, we were left with the question, “Um, is it ok to applaud?  Can we do that while this is going on?”  It was a sublimely awkward moment.  As I filed out of the room with about two thirds of the people who were there at its start, I was pretty much silent until after a few shots and a couple of smokes.  AGP:BOG&G is the kind of flick you have to recover from.  Whether you’re looking for a breath of fresh air in the tired “faux-snuff” sub-genre, want to test your mettle (or that of your unsuspecting friends) with some depravity, or just want to marvel at an impressive practical effects achievement in the age of CGI, American Guinea Pig: Bouquet of Guts and Gore is for you.  Those weak of stomach or constitution need not apply.  Nathan says check it out.

The Horror Business Archive

I know it's been a while since the blog has been active, Cellmates, but I assure you that I am still alive and well.  Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.  I've just been insanely busy with a multitude of other projects.  One of those projects has been my new podcast, Horror Business.
Horror business is a show all about the untold stories of the unsung heroes of the horror community.  The folks that may not get all of the press, but deserve a turn in the spotlight.  The ones who exhibit the kind of passion that makes me proud to call them my horror brethren.  It airs live every other Monday at 10pm on the FDTC Network.  There will be a link at the bottom of this article.  Horror Business alternates weeks with my other show, Missing Link Mixtape.  On MLMT I play two hours of killer tunes from all genres.  They all have a theme that ties them together, and if you guess that link, you could win fabulous prizes.
Until now, if you didn't catch the shows live, you were screwed.  Fortunately, that is no longer the case.  I can't archive Missing Link Mixtape for legal reasons, but Horror Business is now available to stream or download whenever you want.  Listen to them at work.  Listen to them in your car.  Listen to them while you mow the lawn.  Get some sneaky earbuds and listen to them when you're pretending that you're paying attention to your girlfriend.  Whenever you need a horror fix, enjoy the dulcet tones of the Son of Celluloid and his various guests.  I'll be posting the links to future episodes as they happen, but here are the ones that are currently available...

Episodes 1 and 2 - Brad Slaton of the Picking Brains Podcast

Brad is a podcaster and interviewer extraordinaire, one twisted bastard, and the guy responsible for getting me into podcasting.  We discuss our show, interviewing everyone from Penn Jillette to Glen Danzig, controversy, and the podcasting game in general.  Play the Horror Business drinking game and attempt to do a shot every time Brad says "fuck."  Spoiler: You would die within the first 15 minutes.  As an added bonus, episode 2 contains my epic "torture porn" rant. 

Link: Episode 1

Link: Episode 2

Episode 3 - Ryan Cadaver of The Casket Creatures
Ryan is the front-beast of Atlanta's ghoulrock juggernauts The Casket Creatures.  We discuss running a haunted house, the state of horror punk today, the writing process, crazy shows, and the Count Chocula/Chuck E Cheese conspiracy.

Link: Episode 3

Episode 4 - Stephen Biro of Unearthed Films
Stephen Biro is an author, filmmaker, and owner of Unearthed Films.  Join us as we chat extreme horror, the Yakuza, God and Satan, and the American Guinea Pig Series as well as some EXCLUSIVE announcements regarding upcoming Unearthed releases. 

Link: Episode 4

Episode 5 - James Balsamo of Acid Bath Productions
Filmmaker James Balsamo is no stranger to long time Cellmates.  In this interview we talk 
boobs, blood, slashers, science, boobs, horror legends, physical media, 23 hour shoots, Dave Brockie stories, and boobs.

Link: Episode 5

Every Monday Night at 10 you can...
TUNE IN ON THE WEB AT: http://fromdusktillcon.com/radio
LISTEN ON YOUR PHONE AT: http://mixlr.com/fdtc-radio

What Halloween Means To Me Day 18: Stephen Biro

With the Halloween love-fest going on here, I figured we might need a devil's advocate.  A voice of contention.  Enter Stephen Biro.  Stephen is the head of Unearthed Films, who distributes some of the most bizarre, obscure, brilliant, controversial, and downright f**ked up movies to be found anywhere.  Go check them out HERE.  Stephen is also an author.  He recently put out his first book Hellucination, which is a memoir of his taking large amounts of hallucinogens, traveling to heaven and hell, and meeting God and Satan.  Unearthed Books is also about to unleash Masters of Taboo: Cannibalism, so keep an eye out for that tasty morsel.  I knew he would bring a unique perspective to the countdown, and he didn't let me down.  So Stephen, what does Halloween mean to you...

      “I was asked to write about what Halloween means to me. I’m sure The Son Of Celluloid was thinking that I was going to gush over the Holiday that so many of us in the horror industry enjoy and wait for all year long. It used to be exactly like that when I was six years old. I would go shopping with my dad for one of those terrible plastic facemasks with the rubber band stapled to it to hold it onto your face and the flimsy plastic raincoat with the Chinese stamp of some character,or even a logo of a TV series character; so, for one night, once a year, you can parade around pretending to be that (often lame) character from that old defunct TV show asking for candy from your neighbors… and getting it. The shock and surprise of finally getting home and dumping out all of that free candy.  Letting your parents inspect it for razorblades and LSD, then give it back to you. As a child, that three to five pounds of candy was like a gift from Heaven. Manna from the skies… and you just never wanted it to end.

      Those were different times. They were wonderful times, and little did I know back then that I was a walking billboard for Frankenberry Cereal. Yes, either at seven or eight years old, I chose to be Frankenberry, and that stamp on my plastic pajamas I so proudly walked around the neighborhood in had a box of Frankenberry as my super hero emblem. I didn’t know it at the time. I was innocent and I loved the cereal.  Dammit, I was going to be the strawberry flavored Frankenstein monster that was a part of a nutritious breakfast while stomping around the neighborhood; demanding everything that was never even close to a vitamin-fortified piece of red-dyed-funky-marshmallow or a stale, processed piece of wheat coated with sugar and passed off as part of my daily food group.

As I grew older, the girls began to dress sluttier and the parties became wilder and Halloween was good again. Once you pass the section of teenage-hood where you can’t bang on doors and demand sugar encrusted treats but you couldn’t go out and party yet - the years between fourteen and seventeen -  usually sucked.  Then the drugs, booze, and sluts took the place of candy consumption.  Then Halloween was good again.  Halloween began to take a turn in the early nineties and began to become fashionable, or should I really say, profitable? As a child, you may not notice that you’re a walking billboard for a cereal company.  But as you get older, you start to see it for what it is; a huge money cash grab that Americans were not only falling for, but were too stupid to realize. The adults were drawn into hosting adult costume parties.  We have parades, haunted houses, make up, costumes, designer jewels, and slut uniforms as far as the eyes can see. Sugar soaked dementia fills the coffers of the candy companies, who only work for that one-month a year where candy sales are thru the roof. There are specialty stores that only open once month a year to sell us rubber spiders, eyeball keychains, plastic wire zombies crawling out of the ground, fog machines, smoke machines, strobe lights, Halloween lights, fake fangs, fake hands, fake wounds, fake smiles, and all of the spooky stuff that we as a society are willing to buy in the name of fun, laughter, merriment and surprise.

      Don’t worry; I’ve fallen into the same pit as you.  Every year, the wife and me hold the ultimate Halloween party, complete with dead bodies, fog machines, and even lasers, strobes and dry ice. It’s easy to get caught up when the damn Chinese make everything and shove it down our throat in the sense that, if we don’t have fun, we don’t loosen up and pretend to be something we are not. Then, we’re failing and not as fun as we should be. Nobody wants to think they’re not fun. Everyone wants to let loose, dress up, drink, flirt and show the inner kid inside; but it’s all a ruse. It’s just a mass cash grab, playing with our emotions as human beings… and we don’t see it. We have been under the sway of big business since we were children, and even the older of us are still lurching ahead as zombies out of a George Romero movie towards the mall.

      The manipulation of mankind has been going on for centuries. Thank De Beers back in 1930’s and 40’s for manipulating society to buy a diamond ring to show that you love the woman you’re going to marry (and how much you spent depends on how much you love her).  In 1872, Julia Ward Howe called for women to join in support of disarmament and called it Mothers Day for Peace and Disarmament.  Then, in 1908, Anna Jarvis of Grafton, West Virginia turned it into a day to honor one's mother, which she promoted until it was taken over by Hallmark.  You know… the greeting card company. Commercialization of the holiday became so rampant that Anna Jarvis herself became a major opponent of what the holiday had become and spent all her inheritance, and the rest of her life, fighting what she saw as an abuse of the celebration. Valentines Day has been taken over. Hallmark and Godiva Chocolates make most of their money for the year from that month. Thanksgiving has been taken over by the NFL, Budweiser, and Frank Purdue.  Christmas… fucking Christmas is just a shove it down your throat expenditure that no one is safe from; spending too much money on their kids, wives and husbands, and everyone else around you. 4^th of July? Fuck, back to the Chinese again with their fireworks and smoke bombs and sparklers. Don’t worry, this isn’t an anti-Chinese rant disguised as a Halloween rant, it’s just all the useless stuff we buy to celebrate holidays that are now shoved down our throats are starting to piss me off. And it’s not because I run a horror dvd label either.

      Halloween has never been a big seller for horror companies who release movies, because everyone and their mother release as much horror product into the septic pool I call the retail market that sales are the same. What I am bitching about is the wholesale destruction of a holiday that used to be fun. It was the last Holiday that suddenly began to become so commercialized that it makes me sick. Fifteen years ago, if you wanted a haunted house, you had to make it, props and all.  And if you had a strobe light, you were ahead of the game; especially if you had some sheets to turn into ghosts. Now you can buy inflatable cats as big as Ford trucks, Styrofoam gravestones, mechanical zombies, and even bubbling radioactive barrels with moaning, melting zombies pulling themselves out for a measly $250.00

      If a woman wants to dress like a sexy spider, there is a costume for that.  If someone wants to dress like an old man, there is a costume for that. If someone wants to dress up like a used tampon, there is a ready made, manufactured costume for that.   Toilet bowl, check, Hellboy, check. Hot sauce bottle, check.  Halloween used to be about ingenuity; making shit yourself, being proud of it, and wearing it several years in a row until someone puked on it and then… time to change the costume for next year. You don’t need to make anything, just buy it and set it up, stick your head in it or slip it on, and it’s made to break. When do you see anyone wear the same costume year after year?

      I long for the days when I could dress up as Frankenberry and parade around as a child, not knowing I was a walking billboard. A part of an ever growing system of checks and dollars, corporate strategies and manipulations that would always increase, taking away that wonder and innocence of youth that I try to relive and can never, ever put it back into the box it was once in.

      Now if you will excuse me, I have a two story inflatable cat and ten styro-foam gravestones I need to set up in the front yard.”

9 more days 'til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween.  9 more days 'til Halloween.  Silver Shamrock.

SOC's First Book Review: Hellucination by Stephen Biro

To be honest folks, this is about the fifth time I’ve written this review, and it took me a while to decide if I was going to review Hellucination at all. As much as it may not seem so due to some of the things I say and some of the stuff I review, I try to maintain a moderate to low controversy level ‘round here. For that reason there are two things I don’t bring up on SOC. They’re the same 2 that everyone says you don’t discuss if you want to maintain the peace…religion and politics. The thing is, it’s gonna be really tough to review Stephen Biro’s memoir Hellucination without discussing religion. For the most part I’m just going to talk about it as a book, but the religious side of things can’t help coming out from time to time in this review. Therefore, after much deliberation, I will be waiving the “no religion talk” just this one time. Now that we’ve got that little disclaimer out of the way…

Synopsis: A drug-fueled trip through the gruesome levels of Hell may sound like a fictional horror story to some, and since the traveler in question was movie distributor Stephen Biro, it could just as easily have been one of his film projects. But Stephen's experiences were the real, life-changing sort. They're also proof that the Lord does work in mysterious ways -- extending all the way to squares of LSD and nitrous oxide cartridges.
Armed with psychedelics, hallucinogenics and a brave desire to meet God no matter the personal cost, Stephen pushed beyond the boundaries of safe drug use. He took the most nightmarish of trips from a cramped one-bedroom apartment that he used for running his underground video business. With initial difficulty finding God in his altered state, Stephen instead encountered depravity and grotesquery enough to make his soul weep, but he pushed on. And if that wasn't bad enough, his Hellish experiences bled over into his waking days, and his friends and acquaintances began identifying themselves to him as Antichrists, deities and other assorted beings from "the other side." Reality was blurring and shifting, and Stephen was run utterly ragged. Could he fulfill his quest to learn universal truths before his extreme drug use took its toll?

Hellucination: A Memoir spares no disturbing detail of the unusual route that one man took to find Christ and the God of the Bible. The memoir also follows younger Stephen through his 1970s childhood and his bizarre early encounters with religion that drove him to Atheism.

For those not familiar with Stephen Biro, who wrote this book, he runs Unearthed Films. If you don’t know about Unearthed Films, well, you’re probably not into extreme horror cinema. They’re known for putting out such cinematic atrocities as the Guinea Pig movies, the Vomit Gore trilogy, Cannibal, and Aftermath/Genesis. I met Stephen at Days of the Dead Atlanta. I was drunk as hell, standing outside smoking when someone behind me said “Hey you with the press pass!” You know, one of those classic horror convention greetings. Anyway, turns out it was Mr. Biro. We talked for a while, and he turned out to be a really cool guy. He even hooked me up with a killer assortment of flicks including the amazing Where The Dead Go To Die, Das Komabrutale Duell, Header (all of which I’ve reviewed on SOC), and the flick that will be the next EC3 review. When he found out that I was also a former psychonaut, he gave me a copy of Hellucination. He told me “It’s about me doing a bunch of hallucinogens, going to heaven and hell, and meeting the devil and god.” Now that’s a sales pitch. The book is about that and much more…and if you’re thinking that a purveyor of some of the most sublimely vile movies imaginable is a rather unlikely source for a testimony of how he came to god, you’d be absolutely right.

First off, the 800 lb gorilla in the room must be addressed. There is a problem inherent in spiritual memoirs. Conventional wisdom would suggest that to experience the story as a true one, the reader must first share the spiritual beliefs of the author. Basically, if you were going to read the autobiography of a ghost hunter, you kinda have to believe in ghosts or, in your mind, it isn’t a true story. This could be a stumbling block to some. I’ve told people about this book, and they’re on board until they find out it’s a Christian book. Yes, I had to put aside my distaste for religious dogma in one or two places (particularly the end), but it never really gets preachy. In fact, this book would appall a lot of the more judgmental Christians. In my mind, that’s a very good thing. Here’s how I went into it. I don’t necessarily believe in everything Biro discusses in this book, but it’s obvious from the honesty and conviction of his writing that he does. Since he wholeheartedly believes that what he wrote is the truth, I can accept that this was written as a true story in the author’s eyes and experience it that way. It really doesn’t matter if I believe in possession or anti-Christs or anything else, because this is his perception of what he’s experienced, and I can accept it on that level. After all, Aristotle said "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it,” and he was friends with that So Crates guy from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, so he must be smart, right?

So, putting aside the book’s spiritual platform for a moment, let’s look at the most important question; is it a good book? The answer is an emphatic yes. Biro writes in a very conversational style, which is quite engaging. The subject matter may make this a heavy read at times, but the prose keeps you moving along. A lot of it is told in traditional first person narrative style as Stephen recounts his experiences, but he frequently employs second person, directly addressing the reader. He also goes one step further, actually making you, the reader, a character in the story. He physically places the reader in the framing devices of his story in a unique and extremely effective literary device that I can honestly say I’ve never seen before.

His writing also has a very cinematic quality, both in that Biro has a gift for the verbal dynamic of describing the physicality and mood of a scene and that much of the action seems to be directly or indirectly inspired by movies. When he is describing the things he experienced during his time using LSD and nitrous oxide (aka whip-its…dun dun dun dun dun…whip it good!) to push the boundaries of reality, sometimes characters from movies and television, such as Morpheus from The Matrix or Rob Zombie, actually cross over into his world. Other times, when he’s describing his experiences that don’t directly involve specific films, they still seem to color his exploits. One can pick up elements of flicks like Clockwork Orange and Tetsuo: The Iron Man in certain passages for example. The middle portion of the book where we are back in “every day reality” but nothing and no one is quite what they seem is very reminiscent of the movie Jacob’s Ladder. That’s not saying that these parts of the book are actually based on these flicks however. As anyone with experience with hallucinogens can tell you, anything you’ve ever seen or heard can come back to influence your perception of reality when you’re tripping.

Which leads me to another thing that impressed me about this book. It also brings up a subject I don’t discuss on SOC a lot, drugs. As some of you know, in my late teens and early twenties I did a lot of drugs, and hallucinogens (LSD & Psilocybin mostly) were always my favorite. Therefore, when Biro talks about the combination of acid and whip-its, I can relate to the mental state he was in when this stuff went down. I have always said that experiencing a psychedelic episode is something that cannot be adequately described to someone who has never done it. It’s like sex, it doesn’t matter how well you try to describe it to a virgin, it’s just something that can’t be comprehended unless you experience it. Biro, however, does the best job I have ever heard of verbally explaining what tripping feels like. I honestly don’t know if someone who has never done any hallucinogenic drugs will fully understand where the character is, but Biro will definitely get you close enough.

The most striking portion of the book is Biro’s decent into Hell itself. His vision of hell is absolutely inspired, with each of the seven deadly sins having its own infernal realm and fitting punishments. Depending on whether you believe that this is the actual, God-created hell of the Bible, some great storytelling on Biro’s part, or a drug induced nightmare vision, either Stephen, God, or Acid deserves a lot of credit for their flair for grotesque imagery and symbolism that borders on the profound. Seriously, the punishments conceived of here fit the sins in ways I had never even thought of before. Amazing. In certain areas it has the same type of atmosphere as the hell sequences in some of Edward Lee’s books like Flesh Gothic or The Chosen. Being the huge Lee fan that I am, that’s definitely a compliment. The whole book is outstanding, but this section grabs you by the throat, mainlines straight into your brain, and leaves you woozy and wondering what the hell just happened. Yes, pun intended.

As a pro-spirituality/anti-religion former believer who was raised strict Southern Baptist, one thing that I find very interesting is unconventional Christianity. That’s why I got so into Christian metal in my early teens, because it was diametrically opposed to the Christianity I had been raised on. I would most definitely call a journey to accepting Christ through heavy drug use and graphic bootleg movies unconventional. While it ends up with an evangelistic passage, it never takes on the pretense of a sermon. It’s just a guy presenting his experience and what he feels to be the truth for your consideration. That’s actually really refreshing in a Christian book. I almost hesitate to call it a religious book because of the negative connotations that label has. Hellucination incorporates all kinds of ideas about philosophy, psychology, metaphysics, spirituality, religion, and the human condition; presenting them in such an intriguing and entertaining way that the sheer entertainment value makes it palatable even to the most anti-religious reader.

Random Thought: At one point Biro references the Stroh’s Wet T-Shirt Contest. I have never heard anyone else reference that particular video, and thought I might be the only one who remembered it. THAT caught me by surprise.

Stephen Biro’s Hellucination is a fascinating read. The book’s strength is that it works on whatever level you want to experience it on. If you’re just looking for a good story, it works. If you want to dig deeper into Biro laying his soul bare before you, he does. If you want to go even deeper and use it as a gateway to address questions about reality, both earthly and supernatural, you can. No matter what you’re into, there’s something here for you. If you’re a horror fan, read it for the possession, violence, gore, madness, bizarre and grotesque imagery, and references to great obscure flicks. If you’re into spirituality and metaphysics, read it for its exploration of themes regarding the afterlife, preternatural beings, and the fate of the human soul. If you’re into psychedelia, you will definitely find it here if the book will just stop melting long enough for you to read it (yeah, you know what I’m talking about.) If you’re into religion, read it for a chronicle of a route to God that I guarantee you’ve never heard before. If you’re not into any of those things, just read it because it’s a damn good book. Two severed thumbs up. Nathan says check it out. Hellucination is available on amazon or directly from Unearthed (LINK).

Review: Das Komabrutale Duell

Stabbings! Socket wrench limb transplants! Blood geysers! Beheadings! Face ripping! There, have I got your attention? Good. I figured that would do the trick. International horror is an area where I’m kinda hit and miss. Italian horror I’m well versed in. Japanese horror I’m well versed in. Current French horror I know. Filipino horror and Ozploitation, I have a passable knowledge of. Korean horror I know fairly well. One area that I have only really discovered in the past few of years and I’m doing my best to delve further into is German splatter flicks. I mean, of course I’ve seen and adore all of Jorg Buttgereit’s films like any other self respecting horror freak. I’ve seen Andreas Schnass’s Violent Shit series, and I’ve seen a couple of Olaf Ittenback movies, though strangely I have yet to see his best known film The Burning Moon. I need to go deeper though, and catch up with the likes Marc Rohnstock, Timo Rose, and Andreas Bethmann. While reading up on German underground splatter, I had heard of a German flick called Das Kommabrutale Duell from 1999, even hearing some call it the goriest flick they’d ever seen. So when Stephen Biro at Unearthed Films gave me the opportunity to review Das Kommabrutale Duell, which I will abbreviate as DKD from here on, I was all over it. Let me tell you guys, this flick is a hell of a lot of fun. Oh, one last German horror note. I’ve been trying for what seems like forever to track down Marian Dora's movie Cannibal. It’s out of print and it’s going for a damn fortune on ebay, so if any of you happen to have a copy and wanna hook your old buddy SOC up, I’d be eternally grateful. Yeah, I just put a personal wish list request in a movie review. It’s my blog, and I can do that kinda stuff. Get over it.

Bludgeonings! Shootings! Power drill torture! Fight Scenes! DKD tells the story of a brutal feud between the Eightlets Mafia and the Bandera family. Stephen, a member of the Banderas, has recently gotten out of the hospital after spending years in a coma after an Eightlats attack. Back on the streets he finds that the war is still raging, and that his rivals have murdered his pregnant girlfriend. The Bandera family has an advantage, however. They’re immortal. No matter what you do to them, they just keep on coming. That’s about it. The story is paper thin, but that’s not the point here. That pesky story business is just there to give director/writer/producer Heiko Fipper an excuse to give us 85 minutes of pure nonstop violence. As Joe Bob would say, there’s no plot getting in the way of the story. With this flick, that’s a good thing.

Electrocution! Bondage! Dismemberment! A severed head in a toilet! The acting is fine in this flick. In a serious drama, it probably wouldn’t fly, but it’s more than good enough for this. I especially liked the manic performance Mike Hoffman as Mike Eisentemplar. The scene where he growls the immortal line “Stop babbling like an idiot and tear my fucking head off!” was actually the turning point where I went from “this is pretty cool” to “I love this flick.” There are some other choice lines in this like “Your ribcage is hanging open. I’ll staple it shut in the basement” and “You’ve gotta staple my junk!” Yeah, if this film is to be believed, that stapler can fix damn near anything! The direction is interesting. Sometimes it’s shaky, but that seems more like a side effect of the handheld camera than an intentional gimmick. The frequent freeze frames and slow motion kinda left me puzzled. The editing employs old school iris shot transitions and Warriors style wipe cuts, which I love. There are also some really cool camera angles employed throughout. The fight scenes could have been shot better, in that they could have hidden the AWFUL punches that missed by a mile a little better, but other than that, Fipper proves himself competent and exhibits some dramatic and impressive visual flares.

Swordplay! Table saw skull splitting! Hot glue gun brain surgery! Eye gouging! Everything I’ve talked about so far, the plot, the acting, the directing, the dialog…you know, the things you usually read about in a movie review? Well, they might as well not have been mentioned at all, because they’re all there just as a means to deliver what this flick is really about; the carnage. This one goes way above and beyond in that department. I don’t know if you could tell by the review so far, but DKD is pretty much wall-to-wall gore. I would estimate that there are 3-4 minutes in the entire film where some sort of violence isn’t taking place. Most of the gore looks decent, some of it looks great, and the blood looks awful. Well, not all of the blood, but most of the time what’s spurting out of those Hong Kong-esque arterial sprays looks more like an unholy dollar store tomato soup/coffee/diarrhea concoction than blood. You can’t help but laugh at it, but that’s the point here. This isn’t supposed to be taken seriously. It’s just wholesale slaughter just for the sake of the bloodshed. It’s a celebration of annihilation. I believe that they may have actually used more “blood” than Dead Alive. It’s brutal at times, and it gets pretty slapstick during other scenes. Joe and I nicknamed the fight scenes “Three Stooges Deathmatch.” That’s not to say that this is a horror comedy per se. It’s played straight, and the laughs come from the sheer over-the-topness factor of the splatter. Gorehounds, this one will most definitely be up your alley as much as it was up mine. If the thought of someone getting their brains blown out, their friend tearing off another friend’s head, splitting his brain in two, hot gluing half into each of their heads, and then they both get up and keep going makes you crack up, then this is the flick for you. If not, well, I’m not sure we can be friends any more.

Crotch stapling! Chainsaws! Zombies! Crucifixion! Das Komabrutale Duell is advertised as a “party splatter movie,” and I think that’s a perfect description. This is the kind of flick that is designed for you and your buddies to sit around with your mind-altering substance of choice and alternate between laughing hysterically and saying “Holy shit, did you see that?” It’s banned in Germany. I don’t know about you, but when a film gets banned, I know it’s something I wanna see. I believe Unearthed Films’s release is the only region 1 DVD release ever, so head to their site HERE and get yourself a copy. They don’t come any crazier, they don’t come any bloodier, and they don’t come any more fun. Two severed thumbs up. Nathan says check it out.

Review: Where the Dead Go to Die

I’ve said for many years that there was a lot of potential in the world of animated horror, but that no one had done it right yet. Anything is possible with animation, and you can go places and do things you couldn’t in a live action movie. What? What the hell did you just say to me? Oh for the love of…shut up about your beloved anime! Why can I never talk about animated horror without someone bringing anime up? Jeez. Ok, Vampire Hunter D had its moments. That’s about all you anime freaks are gonna get out of me. Maybe a little Wicked City. Anyway, what I’ve always held up as the best animated horror ever created was the B-17 segment of Heavy Metal. It had the atmosphere, but it didn’t go far enough and it was too short. I’ve seen some good stuff over the years like City of Rott or El Superbeasto, but that was horror comedy. Peurs Du Noir was cool, but lacked punch. I wanted a real, visceral, dark animated flick with that authentic horror atmosphere. I wanted something more extreme. Animation would seem to lend itself naturally to extreme horror as there are no limitations. Well folks, I can finally say that I have seen a film that serves up exactly what I’ve always wanted from an animated horror flick. Where the Dead Go to Die is trippy, demented, gory, and downright brilliant.

The movie was made by musician/filmmaker Jimmy Sceamerclauz. I say he made it because the voice acting is about the only thing he didn’t do himself here. This is his sick baby. To get academic for a moment, Where the Dead Go to Die is probably the best argument for “auteur film theory” I’ve seen in a long time. It is one man’s vision, and it is completely unlike anything else I’ve ever seen. The name of Screamerclauz is not unknown to me. As those of you who know me in real life already know all too well, every year I make twisted and inappropriate XXX-mas CD’s as gifts for my friends. A couple of years back, Screamerclauz’s AMAZING rendition of the 12 Days of Axe-mess was on it and has become a perennial holiday favorite of mine. I’m not familiar with most of his other work, as speed/noise-core isn’t my thing, but when I saw that this was his flick I was very intrigued.

I don’t want to give away any more of what happens than necessary, so I’ll just go with the “back of the box” synopsis: “Where the Dead Go To Die revolves around a troubled group of children living on the same block. They are haunted by a talking dog named Labby who brings them on surreal hell-rides between different dimensions and time periods. On the night of a lunar eclipse he informs Tommy about the devil fetus living inside his mother. The same night he attempts to help Ralph court the girl across the street, who is an unwilling participant in her father's child porn tape trading ring. Add in a memory stealing junkie living inside an abandoned church and you have 90 minutes of pure mind melting insanity.”

Let me tell you Cellmates, that synopsis doesn’t do the flick justice at all. While the movie is split into three parts, as it was originally three short films, they flow together well and the transitions don’t feel disjointed at all. The first one, Tainted Milk, involves Labby telling Tommy about the demon child in his mother’s womb. Some of the stuff that goes on in this opening segment puts stuff like Serbian Film and Salo to shame. The fact that a lot of the sex and violence involves children adds a whole new dimension of depravity. The second segment, Liquid Memories, delivers quite possibly the most hallucinogenic visuals I’ve ever seen. The story of the serial killing memory junkie wraps and weaves around these visual manifestations of insanity until your mind gives up on trying to make sense of it and agrees to just go along for the ride. The Masks That the Monsters Wear, the final segment, continues with the surreal hellishness and graphic atrocities of the first two, but adds in a completely unexpected element, an engrossing story with empathetic characters and genuinely emotionally effecting scenes. The story of sexual abuse, physical deformity, and the hopeful helplessness of youth manages to be heartbreaking, fascinating, and absolutely riveting. The overall tone of the movie is hard to nail down. The over the top sickness, pervasive sadness of some scenes, threads of pitch black comedy, and the “whoa, that was cool” aspect blend to keep the tone of the film constantly in flux and keep the viewer from ever really knowing what to make of it. In other words, you don’t so much watch this flick as you experience it.

A lot of “mind f**k” style movies tend to rely on either bizarre visuals or a sick story for their power. This movie perfectly melds both. Neither is in service of the other, they work in tandem. The word “nightmarish” is thrown around a lot in the horror world, but this might be the best cinematic representation of a nightmare ever made. You have the feeling of being in an otherworldly place that you have no control over. It’s that feeling that anything can happen in that place, and you don’t know what rules apply. Everything seems not quite real, but real enough to hurt. It’s all intriguing, vivid, and strangely beautiful, but the loss of control and macabre nature of these visions threaten to make them turn on you any minute. After the film, you have the feeling of waking up from a nightmare that you remember in every detail; a combination of “what the hell was that,” “what does it mean,” and “holy mother of shit, that was intense.” It’s either a nightmare or a really strong trip that’s constantly on the edge of turning bad.

A couple of other reviewers have taken aim at the animation style, pointing out clipping and synching issues and calling it “amateur” and “glitchy.” You know what? They’re right. What they’re dead wrong about is thinking that the animation is a detriment to the movie. In fact, it works to the flick’s advantage. It’s a very unique style. Just like the movie itself is an amalgam of the profound and the perverse, visually the movie is primitive and picturesque at the same time. The computer animation itself sometimes reminds me of lesser examples of early PC or Playstation 1 era video games. Nevertheless, the lushness of the colors, the sheer freakishness of what we’re seeing, and the knack Jimmy has for shot composition all come together to create an enthralling world for the film to take place in. Sometimes there are issues with objects passing through other objects when they shouldn’t. Sometimes hair or clothing or liquids just don’t move the way they’re supposed to. Yes it’s jarring and doesn’t look right, but I think this actually adds to the other-worldliness of the film and ends up being an asset. Had this movie had Pixar level animation quality and Hollywood polish, it would have lost its unique edge and that nightmarish quality would have been ruined. On a technical level, the only thing I didn’t dig was that the characters voices were very low in the audio mix at times. With the exception of Labby, who always whispers, I’m not sure if the low voices were an artistic choice or not, but I found straining to catch what they were saying distracting and aggravating at times.

As usual, Unearthed Films brought the awesome as far as special features go. There’s an audio commentary with Jimmy Screamerclauz where he discusses pot cookies, how he was learning to animate as the movie went on and, most interestingly, how he originally envisioned the film as a comedy. He also says that for a lot of the film he didn’t have anything deep in mind, he just wanted it to be weird. If that’s true, then his mind truly works in wondrously mysterious ways. In addition to the commentary, there’s a featurette showing them doing motion capture with an X-box Kinect, a featurette showing the recording of the voices for Liquid Memories (including a great conversation with Linnea Quigley about selling toenail clippings on ebay), an additional short called “Ice Cream Sunday,” deleted scenes, trailers, and more goodies that I have yet to delve into. I’m always impressed at the amount of TLC that Unearthed gives to these underground and obscure flicks. No barebones release here. It’s currently available HERE in a numbered limited edition DVD, Blu-ray, or VHS. Yes, I said VHS. How cool is that?

Random Thought 1: My mom has a black Labrador that looks just like Labby. Now when he sits, pants, and looks at me, I get a little creeped out.

Random Thought 2: Joe was kinda pissed that I didn’t save this one for EC3.

Random Thought 3: I have a feeling that if this film had come out during my acid days, it REALLY would have messed with my head.

Where the Dead Go to Die is a movie that walks that fine line between the gorgeous and the grotesque. This flick will make you recoil, make you think, make you feel…and might make you vomit. At times it reminded me of a mix of Fantastic Planet, Cannibal Holocaust, Holy Mountain, Peanuts, Gozu, and a 90’s Tool video. It’s also the most original piece of film I’ve seen in a long long time. This is not for everyone. If your tastes run more towards the mainstream, this might be too much. If you need big budget gloss on your flicks, you probably won’t like it. If, however, you are the type that appreciates eccentric artistry and strange, unique, beautifully made, effectively realized, and challenging movie fringe experiences, I can’t recommend this highly enough. I’ve watched it about 5 times in the last week, and it still blows my nearly unblowable mind every time. I'll post a trailer to it below. You'll be able to tell if it's something you'd be into. Warning, the trailer is NSFW. Hell, it's probably not safe for human consumption. The top of the 2012 class so far. Two severed thumbs up. Nathan says check it out.

Where The Dead Go To Die Trailer from screamerclauz on Vimeo.