United Trash

Unquestionably, I am prepared to appreciate any film that manages to cause the ceasing of diplomatic relations between a western nation and a sub-Saharan African country, even if it is not necessarily a good one. Luckily, United Trash - Die Spalte (1996) aka The Slit—a work that was so disconcerting to some proud African negroes that it caused a brief suspension of diplomatic relations between Germany and Zimbabwe—is also a masterpiece of the insanely and iconoclastically cinematically grotesque and ruthlessly socio-politically repugnant. Directed by the late great aberrant-garde Teutonic Renaissance man Christoph Schlingensief (Menu total, Das deutsche Kettensägen Massaker aka The German Chainsaw Massacre), the film is a sort of anti-American/anti-globalist/anti-UN anti-exploitation film that uses the conspicuously crappy cinematic conventions of carny celluloid hucksters like Russ Meyer, Herschell Gordon Lewis, and ZAZ (Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker) against itself to mount a mirthfully venomous celluloid blitzkrieg against the double-headed dragon of Americanization and globalization and their propaganda wing in Hollywood. Apparently partly a response to the United Nations’ failure to stop genocide in Rwanda and the Balkans during the early 1990s, the fittingly titled United Trash tells the timeless tale of the black bastard spawn of a gay German UN officer and American hooker—a negro midget with a oozing pseudo-vagina on his forehead (hence the film’s alternate title The Slit)—who is proclaimed the new messiah by a toothless excommunicated Catholic bishop and goes on a holy mission at the behest of a self-proclaimed dictator of the Afrocentric Islamic sort to assassinate the president of the United States and destroy the White House after being strapped to a Nazi era German V2 missile.  A sort of modern day Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol of the Teutonized culturally mongrelized African negro sort, Schlingensief’s film is a metapolitically-incorrect post-colonial minstrel show where all of the Occident is the butt of the joke, but all the naive nig-nogs pay most of the price. A film where the mother Mary is a bishop-banging ex-con/ex-hooker as portrayed by over-the-hill Mexican Russ Meyer star Kitten Natividad, Joseph is a gay German UN officer and scat fiend as portrayed by real-life gay German character actor Udo Kier, and the Messiah is a seemingly retarded negro dwarf with a cunt on his cranium that he ejaculates greenish spunk out of as portrayed by some random unknown Zimbabwean negro dwarf named Thomas Chibwe, United Trash is a work that sardonically molests beaten-to-death biblical allusions to obscenely and obnoxiously articulate to the thoroughly debased viewer that the world is now one giant overflowing homogenized human sewer swimming with negro savages and run by degenerate deracinated Europeans under the ostensibly humanistic auspices of world peace, as if such a cliched fantasy is actually really desirable among (sub)humanity, let alone obtainable. Of course, as Schlingensief’s scathingly satirical celluloid scat piece demonstrates, the monstrous multi-headed mongrel bastard known as global unity results in anything but peace on earth and goodwill to mankind. 

 After opening with the following tongue-in-cheek warning, “Attention!!! The following film contains subliminal effects! If you’re pregnant or epileptic leave after 30 minutes at the most. Thank you for your understanding” that made me assume that auteur Schlingensief probably would have been proud if his film had induced a miscarriage in a young woman and/or caused an old geezer to crook as a result of a massive myocardial infarction as a true ‘meta-artist’ who saw no bounds and limits to art and its influence, United Trash then provides a complete general summary of the entire film because otherwise the viewer might not know what the hell is going on due to the movie's schizophrenic tone and general essence, as well as seemingly malefically spastic storyline and ultra-gross-out imagery. Indeed, the summary reads as follows: “This following film tells the true story of little Peter Panne, son of a German UN general and an American hooker. People simply called him JESU. While his father fails at the UN, a horde of Africans tries to destroy the president of the USA with a German V2 missile. JESU PETER’s mother rams a needle into the boy’s head so JESU ends up in the hospital. Despite his disability and a 33-lb crack on his head MOHAMMED PETER manages to save the world and destroy the American president forever and ever.” Of course, the introduction summary leaves out all the gallons upon gallons of cum, blood, excrement, bile, and vomit that pollute the film, as United Trash, not unlike many of Schlingensief's works, is arguably a film where the sum of its parts is greater than the whole. Cipher-like protagonist Peter Panne aka Jesu-Peter aka Jesus-Peter aka Mohammed-Peter must have been concevied via immaculate conception (or a traditional negro gang rape) because while his father, United Nations general General Werner Brenner (the great kraut cocksucking character actor Udo Kier), is a kraut, and his mother Martha Brenner (Kitten Natividad of Russ Meyer’s Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens (1979)) is a majority white American mestizo with mammoth mammary glands yet seemingly devoid of a derriere (unquestionably, a common and unfortunate body type for Mexican women), he is as dark as coal and has the most primitive of negro facial features, thus suggesting that he, unlike the average so-called 'African-American,' does not have a single drop of Europid blood. One also must not forget that Peter’s dookie-diving daddy Werner is a rampant homosexual of the eccentrically effete yet militaristic Prussian-like sort who has never had sex with his wife and whose best beau is a “dyed-in-the-wool pervert” bodybuilder and creepy kiddy-fucker named Lund (Jonny Pfeifer, who later played alpha-queen fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld in Schlingensief’s 1997 film The 120 Days of Bottrop). Shortly after being born, little Peter-Jesus is declared the new messiah by a tyrannical toothless Austrian bishop named Pierre (veteran actor Joachim Tomaschewsky of Swiss auteur Daniel Schmid’s 1999 celluloid swansong Beresina) who was excommunicated from the Catholic Church for a good reason, but as the film's intentionally nauseating narrator describes, “...here in Africa people were still plain and simple. And he was welcomed with gratitude.” 

 Peter’s UN general father Werner has brought many great things to Africa including a water well so desert negroes don't die of dehydration and a crematorium so that disease-ridden colored corpses can be properly dealt with so as to stop the spread of the various diseases that the afflict the Dark Continent, but it is a V2 missile leftover from Uncle Adolf's 12-year-old millennial Reich that he provides them with that will truly launch negroland out of the Stone Age and into the modern age. Indeed, on the eve of little Peter’s blessed birth, Werner gives the rocket to the negroes and a “self-appointed dictator” named Hassan El Hatschi (Jones Muguse of Michael Raeburn’s Jit (1992))—a bloated and boorish black slob who seems like a poor man’s Idi Amin and who, like most third world extremist leaders, was educated in the West (Munich, to be exact)—decides he wants to crash it into the White House, as his ultimate goal is to kill the president of the United States, but the liftoff falls and the Islamofascist pan-Africanist only achieves burn marks and a ruined wardrobe (as can be expected from such a flamboyant fellow, he sports a giant ostentatious Kwanza-colored man-muumuu). With the help of decidedly demented Bishop Pierre, who wants to destroy the world but especially the Catholic Church that he so delusionally believes betrayed him, Hassan will groom the new messiah Peter to be a prophetic angel of death who will kill the U.S. president. Indeed, baby Peter replaces a straw puppet voodoo doll as the religious icon of Pierre’s cult and he is placed in the V2 rocket, which, in terms of religious icons, is the group’s equivalent to the cross. On the day of Peter’s circumcision, merchants from Serengeti bring him myrrh and ivory and Bishop Pierre performs an (anti)erotic exorcism on his mother Martha, who is an ex-hooker with a long rap sheet who once spent twenty years in jail for exhibitionism, to ostensibly cure her of her deep-seated carnal vices. A perennial whore who was forced to become a sexually repressed housewife after marrying Prussian-esque poof Werner, Martha is practically reborn when Pierre gives her an exorcism involving chicken blood that is, “like a gigantic orgasm, the wave of African folklore penetrated her in a growing helix of hatred and violence.” Indeed, Martha, like all the young negresses in the area that have been brainwashed by the sexually barbaric Bishop, becomes the blabbering unhinged charlatan Pierre’s own personal whore, who he fucks with the hatred of thousands of Red Army Mongol rapists on the eve of the Fall of Berlin. When her husband Werner finds out that she has been fucking the unholy holy man and confronts her about it, Martha wisely brings up the fact that she found a pillow covered in feces that her hubby had soiled after being buggered by his shit-stabbing boy toy Lund. Martha also whips out no less than ninety used condoms which she has collected over a 3 month period from her husband’s sodomite sexcapades with Lund. When Werner asks her how she knows for sure that it is his semen inside of the well worn rubbers, Martha reminds him of the fact that the only sexual activity that she has ever engaged in with him is fellatio and she is quite accustomed to the “color and taste” as well as “quantity and consistency” of his Germanic gentlemen’s relish.  Of course, pathetic Werner cannot deny that it is his spilled sod seed that has contaminated the condoms.

 Quite magically, after Peter’s birth and his mother's exorcism, the local famine ends and the blacks in the area begin becoming literate and even start using sexual contraceptives. Meanwhile, Bishop Pierre comes up with a pernicious prophecy involving Peter and, as the film's narrator remarks, Martha “internalized the prophecy the hard way” by regularly allowing herself to be vaginally pillaged by the whore of a holy man. Of course, it seems like everything is looking up for Martha and her godly son, at least until she catches her husband’s boyfriend Lund molesting her blessed black baby boy, who is covered in feces when she finds him in the pansy hands of the poof pedophile. Using the “marble test” to confirm whether or not her son was defiled by Lund by seeing if the boy can tolerate a round piece of glass in his rectum, Martha unwittingly puts Peter’s life in jeopardy when the black baby boy places the object up his large negro nostril and begins suffocating as a result. While Werner has a histrionic lover’s spat with Lund, Martha unwittingly terribly disfigures her son’s forehead while attempting to get the marble out of his nose. Unbeknownst to Martha and everyone else, this all part of Bishop Pierre's self-fulfilling, as he caused the tragic marble incident by sticking pins in a voodoo doll. Meanwhile, black Muslim dictator Hassan has his pan-African rebels blitzkrieg the local UN camp where they lynch and otherwise exterminate all the white people except Werner and Lund and predictably rename the place “Un-Camp Allah.” Forced to adapt to the changing political climate of primitive jigaboo-fascist authoritarianism—a distinctly Afrocentric style of government as described by the likes of great Nordic scholars like Lothrop Stoddard and Hesketh Hesketh-Prichard involving a lot of senseless killing, mindless hedonism, and a lot of sitting around and doing nothing—Werner and Lund dance in a minstrel show for the enjoyment of Dictator Hassan and his rowdy rebels, with the former sporting full-body blackface and a banana skirt and the latter wearing an aesthetically revolting Elvis outfit. When asked how she is doing by a kindly young negro who clearly wants to molest her mammoth cow-udder-like mammary glands, Martha responds, “my child has a marble up his nose and my husband has never fucked me.” After suffering the embarrassment of watching her husband dance in blackface for jolly cracker-lynching negro rebel soldiers, Martha forces Werner to drive her to the local hospital to see if Peter has recovered from a serious surgery involving the marble lodged in his nose. While a sadistic Mengele-esque doctor that moonlights as a rocket scientist named Vanderberg (Miklos Königer)—a “pathetic coward” and “moron in a lab coat” that is “a thorn in the flesh of Werner von Braun” who came to Africa after the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster and started experimenting with “human engines” (aka disposable starving negroes)—manages to get the marble out of poor Peter’s nose, he also destroys his entire face in the process and tells Martha that it will be five years before he can be fully repaired. Needless to say, Martha is rather distraught by the news and after Werner makes the mistake of allowing her to drive him home from the hospital even though she has PMS and is pissed about the fact that she will not see her terribly disfigured spade messiah son for at least another five years, she crashes their car, thus permanently paralyzing her husband from the waist down in the process. 

 Flash forward five years later, Martha is a disgruntled alcoholic with a softspot for martinis and Werner is a disgraced cripple who wheels around in a shoddily-made UN cart while being made fun of by naughty negro gals because he no longer has the use of his legs, not to mention the fact that he no longer has any political authority as a white ex-ruler in a now black-run land. Luckily, since five years have passed, Werner is able to pick up his son, who is being held in the torture dungeon of demented Dr. Vanderberg. Upon arriving at the dungeon, Vanderberg brags that Peter has a “21.5-inch cock…in his crack.” When Werner finally sees Peter, he discovers a disgruntled retarded dwarf with a gigantic vagina-like gash (labia and all!) on his forehead that randomly ejaculates a grotesque greenish semen-like substance.  Although no genius, Werner soon realizes that his son is an evil monster that will be used by Bishop Pierre and Dictator Hassan for super heinous purposes. Among other things, Peter enjoys getting drunk by pouring whiskey in the coochie on his cranium and when one of the Bishop’s young female followers/sex slaves says to him, “Oh yes, little boy…can I touch your little pussy” and pulls a globule of creamy greenish semen out of his forehead, he causes an earthquake that completely destroys the house he is inside. After Martha has sex with her son and subsequently celebrates the big event by dancing around naked outside with her progeny-lover, a miscegenation-based German-negro midget couple, and Hassan, Werner comes to the conclusion that he must assassinate both Peter and the would-be-great black dictator, but he fails miserably and ultimately gives up after multiple fruitless attempts. While he proves to be an impotent killer, Werner finally asserts the tiny drop of rampant heterosexuality lurking inside of his being by finally managing to have sex with his wife Martha for the first time, which ultimately enables them to “find peace in orgasms.” Of course, Bishop Pierre and Hassan finally decide to carry out their bombing of the White House and, in turn, assassination of the president. With Hassan at the wheel, Martha packed in a locked chest, and Peter as the engine (whiskey is poured in the slit in his head for fuel), the rocket is crashed into the White House while the American president is shooting a super 8 porn flick where he is the star. Ultimately, only Martha, Peter, and the president’s porn cameraman, who gets his camera lodged in his head, survive the ordeal. In celebration of their survival, Martha and her son Peter get married, travel to Rome for their honeymoon, and before they know it, they’re expecting a baby. Unfortunately, Martha gives birth to a grotesque misbegotten inbred mixed-race creation that resembles a gory ejaculating vagina with eyes, so Peter, who is now the dictator-general of his homeland, does not think twice about tossing it out of a helicopter where it lands on the ground and ejaculates on Bishop Pierre and Werner, who have just married, as they walk out of the church as man and wife, with Udo Kier seeming especially comfortable in a wedding dress. The film closes with the following inter-title: “Dedicated to the victims of slowness and the UN.” 

 For better or worse, I have exposed myself to all forms of exploitation degeneracy, from Troma retardation to the perturbing celluloid pathos of artsploitation auteurs like Marian Dora and Andrey Iskanov to the misogynistic costume melodramas of Andy Milligan to the sadomasochistic sod celluloid of frog fag extremists like Jacques Scandelari, and I have to say that United Trash is easily the most eclectically and eccentrically whacked-out and wayward ‘exploitation’ flick that I have ever seen, which is probably owed to the fact that auteur Christoph Schlingensief was about as much of an exploitation hack as Snoop Dog is a poet or Eli Wiesel is a historian. Indeed, the marvelous movie miscreation of a man that, in his gleefully deranged demolition of societal mores and sadistically sassy slaughtering of culturally cuckolded liberal (sub)humanist sacred cows, made the great Luis Buñuel seem like an icon of the boobeoise and Dadaists seem like a bunch of granny panty wearing old spinsters that talked a lot but had nothing important or insightful to say, Schlingensief’s film simultaneously diagnoses, embodies, flaunts, and ultimately mocks every necrotizing pathology that has plagued the Occident at least since the end of the Second World War and disseminates it in a semi-obfuscated multilayered fashion that can be enjoyed by the most hopelessly spastic of hyperactive SpongeBob SquarePants-loving toddlers and Phencyclidine-injecting ghetto jigaboos. Undoubtedly, one of my first thoughts after watching the film is that the world does not have enough nuclear V2 rockets and ancient genocidal blood feuds to clean up the pre-apocalyptic mess that is the acutely accursed West and its chaos-ridden former colonies. As a fiercely fucked Schlingensief farce overflowing with feces, every single foul sexual fetishism known to mankind, and a sort of singular flamboyant forlornness that leads me to believe that the director’s dream would have probably been to direct and film a nuclear holocaust while tripping on LSD (after all, Schlingensief was a longtime admirer of Conservative Revolutionary hallucinogenic drug advocate Ernst Jünger). More or less a work that sardonically insinuates that Prussian militarism is a crypto-faggot boys club, third world dictators and revolutionaries are bred and schooled in Europa, American presidents are nothing more than borderline impotent glorified beta-male porn stars who can only get aroused by their own strategically contrived image, Africans are the perennial unwanted bastard children of Europe, the United Nations and United States are just two sides of the same cheap fool’s gold coin and the most deleterious threat to world peace since the rise of Bolshevism, and that the world is just one big micromanaged insane asylum that has been taken over by the inmates, United Trash is ultimately the ultimate anti-Hollywood film and the cinematic equivalent of a berserk Frankenstein monster on the rampage, as a work that cinematically deconstructs and reassembles every single celluloid lie that has by crapped out on the world by the likes of Steven Spielberg, Ron Howard, Michael Bay, Robert Redford, and every other Hollywood anti-auteur and reveals them for the obscene absurdities that they are.  Recently, I read about a pint-sized Ghanian tribal King based in Germany who rules his people from the safety and luxury of Aryanland via Skype, e-mail, and a phone and all I could think of was how fucked the modern world is and how Schlingensief's United Trash is a piece of curiously and perversely prophetic misunderstood genius that is nothing short of the V2 of art-trash cinema.

-Ty E