Tuesday Too Scared to Watch It Twice: Week Four

Here we are at last, after more than a month of cowardly musings... The final installment of Tuesday Too Scared. And to commemorate the occasion, Missy Yearian of Chickapin Parish and myself have something special for you.

You see, this time, we've both chosen the same exact film to discuss. That's right, one movie that neither one of us ever has any desire to see again--albeit for different, and equally fascinating reasons. One film that has galvanized us both, for this, the last Tuesday Too Scared. So sit back and enjoy as we cringe in pain at the work of Eli Roth...

Hostel (2005)

Watching Hostel was one of those watershed moments for me. One of those, "OK, am I getting too old for this shit?" kind of moments. I had long considered myself something of a gorehound. It was never my favorite kind of horror, but I took pride as a young horrorphile in seeking out the most depraved and nasty flicks I could get my grimy hands on. I didn't realize how much I had changed, until the day I got those hands on Eli Roth's Hostel.

It had been lent to me by a guy at work. You know the situation: "Hey, man. You like horror, right? OK, well, you should check this out!" So I did. As I look back on it now, that was a mistake. Because seeing Hostel was an experience that taught me that my tastes had changed, and even led me to slightly rethink what being a horror fan even meant for me.

Simply put, Hostel is an ugly film. A cynical, brutish movie that is depressing at its core. There is no entertainment value to be had, and it leaves the viewer with the urge to take a shower of Joan Crawford proportions. The plot is non-existent, and once we get past the boring and utterly odious "frat boys on vacation in Eastern Europe" portion, we get to something far more odious.

This film is the very definition of torture porn, containing scene after scene of unrelenting graphic violence put on display for no other reason than to shock and titillate. To some, that may be the clarion call to horror nirvana, but I have to say, it isn't for me. It certainly isn't now, and I'm not sure it ever was to this degree. This is a film that wallows in the very worst of human nature, and does so for no other reason than to get a few kicks.

I can remember sitting there thinking, "Why the hell am I even watching this?" And this is coming from someone who would jump at an opportunity to see Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Zombi 2 or Dead Alive back in the day. Reveled in them. But this? No thanks. Am I too old? I don't care. Too real, too cynical, and not fun, entertaining or even thought-provoking in the slightest.

Call me a horror prude. Call me a stick in the mud. Call me out of touch. But I plan to never go near Hostel again, as it represents for me the very worst and lowest common denominator of what this great genre has to offer.

And now, Missy chimes in as well...

I’m still not sure why I ever saw Hostel. It’s the very definition of torture porn, and I am ten thousand percent sure that there was never any chance I would like it, but I rented it and watched it in a dormer room in Southern Illinois. Mayhaps it’s that very Pokemon approach I take to horror movies: “Gotta see ‘em all.”

By now, it’s likely we’ve all seen this or at least know the story. A couple of incredibly irritating and offensive young Americans end up at a hostel in Eastern Europe where they think they will be able to bed many adventurous young women. (Though, I am relatively sure that any woman who sleeps with either of these jerkos should be kicked out of the women’s club forever and always.) Instead they become the victims of torture and abuse in macabre house of horrors.

When B-Sol and I were debating films to write about for this series, we both touched on the same theme in Hostel that makes it so hard to stomach. This is, without a doubt, the most hateful film I have ever seen. Even before the boys end up in the torture chamber, the movie is filled with hate. Primarily, our American tourists hate women. A more sexist mindset would suggest they love women, but they have no interest in women as individual people with identities all their own. They see women as tools designed only for their own pleasure, and within twenty minutes, I was sure I was going to hate this movie.

In addition to the hatred displayed by our protagonists, hatred is heaped upon them as well. As they become the victims of extremely brutal violence, each boy is made the object of Ameriphobic hatred. (I think I just made that word up.) It’s even stated that Americans fetch more money because everyone wants to torture an American. And really, who can blame them? If we are how this film represents us, I can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t choose us for the torture and maiming.

Ultimately what makes it such a horrible movie is the level of unbelievability. I mean, okay, so the woman’s face is all mangled, and her eyeball is hanging out. What do you do? You certainly don’t cut her eyeball off! This is just another moment wherein you are supposed to ingest male mutilation of the female body. And while I can watch a Friday the 13th movie with the best of them, I cannot intake this much hatred. There is wanton glee and disregard for the destruction of the female person and the female form.

As I am sure some of you will argue, there is also a great deal of abuse heaped on the male form. Yes, this is true. But none of it is with such disregard for the human being. The males at least have character and identity. The women exist purely as tools, and as a result of this, I cannot stomach ever seeing it again. The film has ruined me in a number of ways, but the one I am most grateful for? I now hate Eli Roth. I consider that a blessing.

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Tuesday to Scared to Watch It Twice: Week Three

I think that instead of "Tuesday Too Scared to Watch It Twice", we should've called this feature "Tuesday Too Disgusted to Watch It Twice." But, be that as it may, Missy Yearian of Chickapin Parish and myself are back after a couple weeks with two more horror flicks that have creeped us out to the point that we avoid them (though we may admire them, nonetheless.) So jump right in, and let us know what you think of our squeamishness...

House on the Edge of the Park (1980)

Make no mistake, this is not a movie for everyone. It took a full five years for it to be released in the U.S. Banned in Singapore, Finland, the U.K., Canada and Norway; denied ratings classification in Australia and also released unrated in America. One of Britain's notorious "video nasties". Chock full of rape, torture and sadism.

I cannot deny that this movie enthralled me. I found it distasteful at times, but nevertheless I was fascinated by it, and also cannot deny that it is a fine little piece of filmmaking, for what it is. But there can be no question that it was designed to titillate, and to do so using some very questionable means. More than most of the movies today that get labeled "torture porn", this is a movie I would certainly classify as such.

The main problem I have with it is in the depiction of rape. This is the kind of story in which the rape victims actually start to "enjoy" themselves and give in willingly to their rapists. In other words, at times it feels like some guy's warped sexual fantasy, and I found it pretty damn uncomfortable in parts. There's a certain hypocrisy here--on the surface the film is condemning the callousness of these characters, but truth be told, you're intended to get off on watching what they do.

It walks a dangerous moral line, that's for sure. And yet, I'd rather have a horror flick like this which challenges me and makes me uncomfortable than most of the cookie-cutter, soul-numbing drek we get spoonfed these days.

While I'm not sure what it says about me, I admittedly eat stuff like this up. Maybe it's because it disturbs me--maybe I find it somehow cathartic to deal with material like this in a relatively safe way. It's the kind of movie that definitely provokes strong emotion.

Stepping back from it, I can certainly see how people would have problems with it. Much of the movie is simply one tense, gut-wrenching rape or near-rape after another. And when you watch a rape scene in which the supposed victim begins to "get into it", there's no denying it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. And yet, I somehow relish the power the movie has to provoke strong emotion, even if that emotion is disgust.



...Now on to Missy, with a look at an HGL "classic"...

The Gore Gore Girls (1972)

I love Herschell Gordon Lewis. Never in my life have I encountered a director so uninterested in making a quality film. What can I say? I love the arrogance required to make his kind of films. The man has got cajones.

I sat down to take in The Gore Gore Girls as my first HGL film. That’s right. I hadn’t seen Blood Feast or The Wizard of Gore or anything else before sitting down to what has rightly been called an “unwatchably offensive” film.

Reading the description of the film (strippers are being hunted and murdered one by one in a grisly fashion) confirmed for me a deep-down belief that this would either be the best film of all time or the worst. I was getting excited to see this Gore Gore Girls movie. Unfortunately, it is neither of those things. Oh, it’s bad. It’s terrible, in fact. But it’s not the worst, and as such, it sort of falls into that netherworld of “Meh” that bums me out so much.

Why then, you must ask, am I writing about this for the Tuesday Too Scared to Watch It Twice? It’s quite simple, really. This movie is filled with a gleeful hatred and a series of images one can never be prepared to see. From the first murder, we realize that the French have nothing on bodily mutilation. Our first stripper’s face is all but obliterated with the most aggressive facial stabbing I have ever seen. I’m pretty sure Lewis was just chopping up chicken parts. Another stripper is… how shall I say this? Tenderized? And, you know, that’s all well and good, and if the murders from then on were of the average stab-bleed-dead variety, then I likely wouldn’t think anything of it.

But then comes the boob-abuse. During a particularly brutal scene, our killer decides to cut off the nipples of a woman. Out of one nipple spills white milk. Out of the other spills chocolate milk.

I’ll just let that sink in for a moment.

The murders in this film are done with such wanton glee that it’s hard to notice the underlying tone of hatred. But this film does hate women. There is no way around it. To make a joke of not just the sex industry but also the ways in which the female body can be mutilated and destroyed is a dangerous choice and one that Lewis failed in making.

Still, try as I might, I can’t quite dismiss it. It’s quite a picture. And as much as I am sure it’s never going to be put in my DVD player again (even though I own it), I am also sure I will always be talking about it. And that’s worth something, right? Right?

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Tuesday Too Scared to Watch It Twice: Week Two

After a week's hiatus, the stars have once again aligned, and Missy Yearian of Chickapin Parish and myself are in your face at last with more examples of horror flicks we're too chickenshit to ever sit down and watch again. Gape in amazement at our weak-heartedness this week, as we bemoan how deeply traumatized we were by two of the true standouts of exploitation cinema, past and present...

Inside (2007)

I actually reviewed this bit of French depravity right here in the Vault, not long after it first came out. And if memory served, I described it as a film which "challenges the definition of entertainment." And now, a couple of years later, I stand by that assertion. Yes, Inside is an excellent movie, and yes it deserve recognition as one of the must-see horror flicks of the past decade. Nevertheless, after that first must-see experience, I can honestly say I have no plans of ever putting it in my DVD player again.

Maybe it hits a little too close to home. Maybe being a parent is what makes it difficult to get through. Perhaps it's the brutal realism of all the gore, and how far removed it is from the cartoonishness that usually makes extreme violence in film more palatable. Simply put, Inside packs one hell of a punch and doesn't let up. It's far from what anyone would describe as a fun bit of recreation.

Alexandre Bustillo and Julien Maury are no doubt to be commending for crafting a superior thriller. In fact, they've done their job so well that I still get chills thinking about the things I saw as their movie washed over me in the dark that night. It took me to places I didn't want to go, and held me there far longer than I was comfortable staying. Yes, this is in some ways the mark of great art, and I'd be hard pressed to say that Inside isn't great art. It probably is. I just can't stomach that much unpleasantness. Call me what you want. I've heard worse.

Ironically, despite my trepidations, I will say that it's a film that should be seen, even if it's only that one time. It's raw, powerful, and never anything less than completely gripping. Just prepare to be disturbed. The subject matter is certainly beyond the pale for anyone who is merely a casual genre viewer. And I'm sure there are plenty of hardcore fanatics more than equipped to sit through repeated viewings of a film about a stalker trying to rip an unborn fetus from a woman's belly. I'm just not one of them.



...And now, I pass the mic to Missy, who shares her aversion to Meir Zarchi's nasty ode to rape revenge...

I Spit on Your Grave (a.k.a. Day of the Woman) (1978)

It took me about twenty-eight years to have the courage to watch this movie. No, really, I thought about it for years before I finally queued it up and had the courage to sit down and watch it. For the first ten or fifteen minutes, I was really okay. I thought, “Gee. This isn’t so bad. I’m sure it can’t get much worse.”

And then there’s that rape scene. Twenty-six minutes of sexual violence and four moments of penetration is more than I can handle and keep my sanity intact. It should be more than anyone can handle. While viewing Jenny Hill’s abuse, I had the though that I must be implicated in the proceedings because I sat there complacently and watched. It’s a very Kitty Genovese situation, no? Of course, this idea of implicating the viewer is nothing new, and in fact, it’s been used to much greater effect by directors from Wes Craven (The Last House on the Left) to Michael Haneke (Funny Games). But the complicity in I Spit on Your Grave is different than the other films that employ this technique. I Spit on Your Grave covers your very skin in its filth. Never before have I felt so compelled to shower after seeing a film.

Ultimately, what makes the difference in Meir Zarchi’s film is that it is filled with hate and misogyny. No matter how hard people try to defend it, you just can’t get away from the fact that it murders its own believability in the service of its own misogynistic impulses. This becomes clear in the two scenes in which Jenny seduces her abusers. There is no excuse for such blatant woman-hating, and I myself find myself sickened just thinking about the scene in which Jenny climbs into a bathtub with Johnny and gives him a handjob—even though that handjob is followed by a castration.

Many people hold this film up as a perfect example of Grindhouse exploitation cinema, and they wouldn’t be wrong to do so. However, that descriptor (I think we can all agree here) certainly doesn’t mean the film is good or that’s it’s worth a moment of your time. And while I fully admit to seeing rape revenge films due to a sadistic revenge fantasy I myself harbor, the justice in this film is not worth the abuses you’ll endure to witness it.

When Jenny stumbles through the woods thinking she’s escaped her rapists, she finds herself once again in their clutches. This happens again and again, and as an audience member, you’ll feel what Jenny feels. You’ll beg for the scene to end. You’ll beg to be set free. And when you are, it’ll be much too late. This film will have gained power over you, and it’s something from which you might never recover.

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Tuesday Too Scared to Watch It Twice: Week One

As if there isn't enough goodness already going on in the month of October, I'm excited to kick off a new series tonight that I'll be undertaking along with the stupendous Missy Yearian of Chickapin Parish. I've been invited by Missy to select, for each Tuesday of the month, a film that I've seen only once, and can't seem to bring myself to ever go near again (on Thursdays this month, we'll be selecting our "Guilty Pleasure" horror movies, so stay tuned for that, as well)...

Cannibal Holocaust (1985)

For me, the choice for the very first week was beyond easy. If you read the Vault regularly, you may be aware that a while back, I finally decided to check out Ruggero Deodato's Cannibal Holocaust for the very first time. Not only did I see it for the first time, but I actually live-tweeted the hellacious experience, and then even posted the transcript of that live-tweet right here. Talk about being a trooper--the things I do for you people!

Watching CH was, for me, an intensely odious experience which I would have no desire to ever revisit, if I should live 100 years. I enjoy a good old-fashioned disturbing horror flick as much as the next maniac, but this thing was just a different breed altogether. I felt like I needed to take a shower after seeing it, and in a lot of ways, it really has never left my psyche since. There are times I wish I could "unwatch" it, to tell you the truth. It was that disturbing.

I don't mean disturbing in a "Wow, isn't this so cool! We're being so rebellious and subversive by watching this!" kind of way. This was disturbing in the true sense of the word. I was upset at the very fact that the movie had been made. Particularly this was due to the graphic and very real animal torture and murder that occurs in the film, which had me on the verge of becoming sick, as a result of both physical and moral revulsion. The rape and torture that peppers the film is gratuitous in the worst way, and makes the viewer feel like something has been taken from him for having watched it. And then there's the sad, cynical attempt to sell me on some kind of important message being conveyed here about man's inhumanity to man. Spare me.

As I watched, I took turns getting angry, disgusted and depressed. Not exactly what I'd call an ideal viewing experience. Hell, if I wanted to go through that emotional range, I'd jump on the subway. I suppose in a way, one could argue that this makes it an effective film, by virtue of the fact that it provoked such a strong reaction. Normally, I'd agree, but in this case I make an exception. Because it's not really all that well-made or constructed; it just deals in gravely upsetting subject matter, making it easy to conjure those reactions. I might get strong emotional reactions watching 1940s concentration camp footage; this does not make the documentary I'm watching an effective film per se--it simply means I'm being shown some pretty messed up stuff.

I'm honestly not sure if I'm glad I at least put myself through the experience of watching it once, or if I regret ever doing that to my brain. In any event, one thing I am totally sure of is that I will never be watching Cannibal Holocaust again.



And now, Ms. Yearian's pick for Week 1 of Tuesday Too Scared to Watch It Twice...

Irreversible (2002)

First a confession: I have not seen all of Irreversible. I will never see all of this film. It was—to be reductive—upsetting. I have never seen a film that had as visceral an effect on me as Irreversible. It’s a film I would never recommend, and in fact, I often actively discourage people from seeing it. What is it, you ask? Why it’s only a bunch of sensationalism wrapped in a pseudo-art package.

Irreversible is a rape revenge film played in reverse. The beautiful Alex is brutally raped and beaten in a Paris underpass, and her boyfriend and ex-lover enlist the help of criminals to help them find the perpetrator to exact revenge.

Yes, it seems rather par for the course for a rape revenge film, but what this film lacks in originality, it makes up for in brutality. Watching this film is like doing a tour of ‘Nam. From the fire extinguisher face-bashing to the anal rape scene, this film is the very definition of “too much.” While it pretends to be an art film with the content of a Grindhouse film, it’s really a series of visual assaults pretending to contain a message.

One walks away from Irreversible feeling… well, feeling traumatized. In fact, after walking out during a particularly awful scene, I got into my Chevy Corsica (her name was Ellie) and drove in the wrong direction on the interstate for a solid hour before realizing what I’d done and finally turning around and heading back from Boone’s Lick, Missouri.

While I think the film is an overrated mess, there’s at least one thing I can say for it. It had a stronger effect on me that any other film I’d seen. And yes, I know it supposedly got better as the film went on, but I’d seen enough. I don’t need to see the rest of the film to understand the horror of the film’s events. Hell, I didn’t need the first third of the movie either. But one thing’s for sure, the film managed to shake me, and I’ve never seen another like it.

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