Street Trash

Originally visualized as a 16mm short film directed by J. Michael Muro, Street Trash eventually bloomed into one of the greatest masterpieces of high-class-trash cinema. Showing his commitment to capturing the less-than-flattering examples of the American dream, Street Trash writer/producer Ray Frumkes stated regarding how he developed the film's script, "I wrote it to democratically offend every group on the planet, and as a result the youth market embraced it as a renegade work, and it played midnight shows." Indeed, leaving no group unscathed, Street Trash is a wildly creative indictment of the daft lifestyles (from castrated hobos to humdrum cops) that play imperative roles in the culturally-mongrelized American way. It was no revelation from me to find out that perverted Hollywood blockbuster director Bryan Singer (who had a lawsuit brought against him for taking unnecessary nude photos of adolescent boys during the production of his film Apt Pupil) had one of his first jobs in filmmaking working on Street Trash as a grip, as the film is dripping with unrestrained libertinism and packed with expertly calculated vulgar wit. After watching Street Trash, it will be no wonder to the viewer why Islamic fundamentalists felt it necessary to fly planes into the financial heart of NYC.

Street Trash is surely a film that lives up to its politically incorrect name - featuring a virtual army of delinquent alcoholic hobos who fall prey to a deadly drink - "Tenafly Viper" - a prohibition era vintage wine that melts the flesh of the unsuspecting drinker's body in what seems to be 60 seconds time. Street Trash is a wonderful combination of gritty urban horror and blacker-than-a-firebombed-Somalian comedy, guaranteed to give the viewer a gore-geous cinematic ride of the most subversively sinematic kind. Pretentious New York city intellectuals have always presented their own city as the cultural epicenter of the United States, completely ignoring the fact that the big rotted apple is probably best known for its diverse assortment of metropolitan trash contained within a virtual battlefield of crime. If you think Martin Scorsese has painted a bleak picture of New York City during his fruitful career in filmmaking, you have yet to experience the dire pandemonium world contained in Street Trash - a film featuring an apocalyptic vaudeville act starring totally dehumanized unintentional performers. Street Trash is the kind of film Troma founder Lloyd Kaufman has always dreamed of making, for it offers quality trash without totally degrading the viewer (like a Troma film always seems to accomplish) in the process. Street Trash features a megalomaniac wop mafioso, a charismatic hobo Negro shoplifter, and a junkyard Vietnam vet dictator: all of which make up the outstandingly outlandish ingredients which no other film can proudly flaunt. 

I have no problem admitting most gore bores me nowadays, yet I was highly impressed by the Tenafly Viper wine induced bodily explosions featured in Street Trash. Out of all the things a person sees in America on a everyday basis, few are more repulsive than a morbidly obese slob who feels no shame resembling the blob. In Street Trash, one gets to experience an undeniably therapeutic scene where an obese hobo's stomach boils to the point of a climatic gut-gushing explosion. Street Trash also features some of the most gruesome, yet frolicsome Vietnam flashbacks ever committed to celluloid. If Street Trash accomplishes anything besides the perversely jovial - it manages to capture everything that is intrinsically ugly about America - from the Third-Worldization of American cities to the public neglect of mentally unstable war veterans to the American obsession with committing any abhorrent crime just to make a buck - this is a film about America the unbeautiful - where the dishonorable are the most honored and benefit from the grandest of luck. At the most fundamental level, Street Trash is a raunchy celebration of America - the land of the morally-free and the home of the collectively mentally depraved.  For more info on Street Trash, check out Synapse Films.

-Ty E

At the Suicide of the Last Jew in the World in the Last Cinema in the World

During the Nazi occupation of Europe, many prominent Jewish intellectuals - who refused to be enslaved by a movement that openly declared its goal of making the white world 100% Jew-free - simply committed suicide. German-Jewish intellectual Walter Benjamin, a quasi-Marxist of the Frankfurt school variety, intentionally overdosed on morphine pills at the Spanish-French border after realizing his plan to escape to the United States had fallen to pieces. Austrian philosopher Egon Friedell, who unlike Walter Benjamin, had a deep admiration for European culture (as exemplified in his three volume series Cultural History of the Modern Age), jumped out of his window after two SA brownshirts attempted to arrest him. In the short film (approximately 4 minutes in length) At the Suicide of the Last Jew in the World in the Last Cinema in the World - for the first time - Canadian auteur David Cronenberg cinematically acknowledges his Jewish identity; unsurprisingly, in an apocalyptic scenario where the last Jew (David Cronenberg) dies in the last cinema in the world. Cronenberg created the short for To Each His Own Cinema, a film anthology commissioned for the 60th annual Cannes Film Festival. For To Each His Own Cinema, 36 acclaimed film directors from around the world were invited to express "their state of mind of the moment as inspired by the motion picture theatre." Upon directing the short, Cronenberg's mind was not exactly in the most pleasant of places, as he had just heard Hezbollah's mission statement entailing the annihilation of every living and breathing Jew. For his segment in To Each His Own Cinema - David Cronenberg plays himself - as the last living Jew in the world who is about to commit suicide in a lonely bathroom located in the last cinema in the world.  Being arguably the greatest living Jewish filmmaker, it is no surprise that the exterminators would leave Cronenberg to die last.  Naturally, Steven Spielberg and Michael Bay were probably the first to go.

As blacklisted Jewish-American scholar Norman Finkelstein mentioned in the documentary Defamation, there is no reason to expect another Holocaust anytime in the near future. Of course, in At the Suicide of the Last Jew in the World in the Last Cinema in the World, the viewer experiences a fictional dystopian portrait of the future - where Zion has fallen from grace and Uncle Adolf's New Order plan for the Twentieth Century has been revamped and finally realized. David Cronenberg, a reform Jew who grew up in an assimilated middle-class Jewish Canadian family, acknowledges in his segment for To Each His Own Cinema, that whether he likes it or not, he is a Jew. As Cronenberg stated upon directing At the Suicide of the Last Jew in the World in the Last Cinema in the World, "I've never thought of myself as a Philip Roth whose subject was his Jewishness, but I've never denied it." Surely, Cronenberg has found more influence in the collected works of William S. Burroughs than in the texts of the Talmud, yet the Canadian auteur has accepted that his self-professed enemies (Hezbollah) will always regard him as a Jew.  Cronenberg also stated regarding Hezbollah, "It's pretty interesting to hear someone say our goal is to kill every Jew in the world wherever they are. That means me and my children. It does evoke a reaction.", hence his reasoning as to why he decided to direct such a stark and dreary short. In At the Suicide of the Last Jew in the World in the Last Cinema in the World, Cronenberg's last miserable minutes of life are captured by the fictional future MBT channel AutoBioCam. The commentators in the short treat Cronenberg's suicide as if they are commenting on a college baseball game, throwing out ignorant and ultimately erroneous speculation (describing him as a Hungarian filmmaker) on the director's filmmaking career. No doubt, with this short, Cronenberg is poking fun at the mechanical and automaton-like manner in which contemporary news broadcasters present death and catastrophe in World News. After all, David Cronenberg is the man that brought us the psychosexual Sci-Fi masterpiece Videodrome, a film that artistically illuminates the danger in regards to television blurring the lines between virtual reality and live flesh. Unsurprisingly, Cronenberg directed At The Suicide of the Last Jew in the World in the Last Cinema in the World in a manner that, just like a rundown of the day's sports stats, emotionally disassociates the viewer from the fact the last Jew in the world - who is blatantly in a state of great psychological pain - is about to die. It was certainly Cronenberg's intention that the short - despite showing a man on the verge of offing himself - provokes about the same emotional response in the viewer that a Hot Pockets commercial would.

Despite dealing with mostly horror, science fiction, and supernatural works throughout his filmmaking career, David Cronenberg has unwaveringly revealed his peculiar personality under the translucent veil of his blatantly psychosexual films. One film professor (William Beard) even went as far as to write an unflattering book (The Artist as Monster: The Cinema of David Cronenberg) that proclaims Cronenberg is the true monster of his films. Monster or not, in At the Suicide of the last Jewish in the World in the Last Cinema in the World, Cronenberg becomes both the victim and perpetrator of his own premature demise. In a way, the short is Cronenberg's most revealing work (uncovering his greatest fears), showing the director shoving a phallic-like gun in and out of his mouth in a most humiliating manner - as if he is being forced to perform fellatio on it against his will just seconds before the bullet blows through the barrel - ending his life in a most unwanted deadly climax - indubitably drenching the room in excessive amounts of bodily fluids. Anyways, if somehow an anti-Semitic movement consolidated total power in the world, one would hope that they would at least have the decency to spare master auteur David Cronenberg's irreplaceable life.

-Ty E

Embodiment of Evil

 

Following the beeline of gossip trailing behind the glorious Blu-Ray release of Coffin Joe's latest from the hands at Synapse Films, I reflected upon my past review of Embodiment of Evil, a snarled and spitting love letter to the death of Brazil's bogeyman. My early speculation of Embodiment of Evil had been a swift hammer to the face for I had heard no news of this reprisal to an unanswered rumination of a trilogy and when it finally hit, you couldn't have believed my excitement. Coffin Joe, Zé do Caixão to the natives, accumulated a mass proportion of my favorite film lists, each experiment in narcissistic iconoclasm being a far varying departure than the last. So it is safe to say that Coffin Joe has always offered genre way-points, if not for his Portuguese portmanteau films then surely for his dabbling in mockudrama drugsploitation and appearances in various oddities bordering pornographic material. This is partly to blame for why I was so hesitant to embrace Coffin Joe's latest film, Embodiment of Evil. I feel as if I wasn't entirely receiving the images in a proper mindset and after watching it twice more, I have softened up to the prospect of a meaner, postmodern Zé do Caixão but in no way do I accept Embodiment of Evil as being anywhere near the same degree of artistry as many of his past endeavors have turned out.

Beginning with the only remnants of past memory, the film opens up with a note of such etched fear as to promote the lasting effect of Coffin Joe's trademark to send a pack frightened prison guards to release Coffin Joe out into the wilds of São Paulo, home of José Mojica Marins. When Coffin Joe is granted freedom from the prison that held him for 40 years, he is greeted by humpbacked henchman Bruno who returns from his debut in This Night I'll Possess Your Corpse. One thing to be understood is that Embodiment of Evil is a return to finalize a trilogy some 40 odd years after it had been midway. It seems obligatory to return to the core of the franchise but to equip it with new parts, especially after such silence. However, Marins didn't properly lubricate said clockwork and Embodiment of Evil spends its time relaying a story automaton in nature. His quest for the continuity of blood begins as he walks down the streets of São Paulo at night, witnessing children on the street inhaling substances. His re-assimilation into his natural habitat comes off as a strange place, one that he does not recognize. This same idea can be firmly applied to Marins' resurgence into the filmmaking world, quite an allusion for quite a tale. This only fuels the deliberation that images don't die but legacies sure do. As Ty E noted in the midst of discussion, Embodiment of Evil is much like Wes Craven's New Nightmare - a rediscovery after hiatus and an attempt to rekindle and redefine the formalities of an auteur signature with reflective filmmaking. If Embodiment of Evil stood as a monument, it would definitely be a reminder to the death of Gothic horror. An atmosphere is occasionally emulated by Marins within Embodiment of Evil but is soon cast out in favor and breasts, bleating, and blood.

Embodiment of Evil is more of a testament to a form of literal horror, philosophy intact. You'll observe the musings of everyone's favorite dark philosopher contently only to then switch scenes to graphic displays of torture, all the while, Coffin Joe is being haunted by his victims of the past in crude A Christmas Carol fashion. One of this films, and many currents in the world of horror's, greatest detractors is the inclusion and fixation on modern alternative "culture", especially in a film whose metaphysical brooding is interrupted with every nod to edginess. To point fingers directly at the source, a tattoo artist, Zumba, who was selected to portray one of Coffin Joe's servants, makes up a good amount of screen time as a bidding worshiper of Coffin Joe's practices - the four slaves putting their life in his hands. It might seem like such an innocent and superfluous aspect to ridicule and point out but when any scene of Coffin Joe's lengthy and brilliant monologues is cut short with a silly focus on an even sillier expression, irritation can only describe so much suffering, now can't it? Not to mention the fact that this blank and chubby face will leave even the most jaded cynic in any audience struck down with a fit of giggling. This brings me to my other displeasure of Embodiment of Evil - the editing. I found more often than not, the scene transitions were utilizing a dynamic sliding effect. Something you'd see being exercised and much more fitting in a Microsoft PowerPoint presentation. Not only did this subtract from the films overall presentation and polarized, if farther, from the originals, it also added a whirring "whoosh" sound clip every time that effect took place.

Don't mistake my poisonous remarks as labeling Embodiment of Evil a complete and utter failure. In some ways, many unknown to me, Embodiment of Evil partially succeeds in its torridness and might be the only direction that film could have possibly explored. It is safe to state that Embodiment of Evil is an entirely different breed of beast, one that has been crafted to cater to the dulled sensibilities and the new standards of modern materialistic horror cinema. As a character, Coffin Joe has certainly winded down in his old age. He displays neither the charm nor the confidence as he had during his youthful years. This Coffin Joe is a grumpy, pudgy sort of fellow whose vigor has all but dried up. The same philosophy is intact, however, as Embodiment of Evil only furthers on his classic belief in the superiority of blood over religion, denouncing all gods and seducing and maiming many women to get the perfect son he so desires. Only in this outing, Coffin Joe operates with much more sinister means to achieve his goals. Hallucinatory in chapters and bumbling in others, is Embodiment of Evil a proper vessel for our self-realized "Denizen of dreams" to flourish? Not so much, but is it a strong picture regardless of its many flaws. Though defeated and withered, Marins still channels a fraction of what I'd kill to see again. There is no denying his amiable presence on screen, as archaic as he is. Sadly, what might be considered old fashioned, that vice in which he escaped, outperforms these lamentable exploits. As it stands, I am warmer to the existence of Embodiment of Evil and to the physiological aspects interpolated. If anything, this film sure did invoke a lust for his previous efforts and, oh, how sweet they were upon attention.

-mAQ

Killer: A Journal of Murder

Although I have known about serial killer Carl Panzram for many years now, I did not learn about his story until I read Moors killer Ian Brady's excellent work of serial killer psychoanalysis The Gates of Janus about a year ago. In the book, Brady discusses how after running away from at age 14, Panzram was gang raped by a group of hobos. Obviously marked by the event, Panzram would eventually go on to admit that he sodomized over 1,000 men and killed over 20. After being arrested for burglary in Washington D.C., and voluntarily admitting he had killed two boys, Panzram was finally incarcerated for the last time. In prison, German-American Panzram developed a close friendship with pacifistic Jewish-American prison guard Henry Lesser, who eventually convinced the unremorseful killer to write his memoirs. In the film Killer: A Journal of Murder, the relationship between Panzram and Lesser is dramatically portrayed in a most tasteful manner. James Wood, who always seems to give his greatest performances while playing deranged criminals, is excellent as Panzram. With Killer: A Journal of Murder, director Tim Metcalfe was able to assemble a cultivated serial killer bio-pic, which is certainly no small accomplishment. Metcalfe is probably best known for writing the story for Revenge of the Nerds. In Killer: A Journal of Murder, Metcalfe shows that out of all the people that tried to knock some sense into Carl Panzram, the most unlikely a person - a Jewish socialist nerd - was able to somewhat reach him.

As dramatized in Killer: A Journal of Murder, Carl Panzram openly admitted he would kill any man that bothered him in prison. After brutally beating to death prison foreman Robert Warnke in the prison laundry room, Panzram finally fulfilled his wish of being sentenced to death via hanging. Showing he would not allow his much desired opportunity of dying stoically go to waste, Panzram threatened to kill human rights advocates that attempted to spare his life. Despite his savage behavior, Panzram was a fairly intelligent and well-read man who could be described as the "Nietzsche of serial killers." In fact, as shown in Killer: A Journal of Murder, German-American sage journalist H.L. Mencken, himself a student of Nietzsche, felt Carl Panzram's autobiography was a work of brilliance, despite concluding that no publishing company would have the gall to publish such a sadistically subversive work. If one is to learn anything from Killer: A Journal of Murder, it is that once an individual is "marked" by a certain event in their life, no amount of "rehabilitation" is going correct such a life changing taint. Once Panzram was victimized in a traumatic psyche-destroying fashion, his future fate as one of America's most brutal criminals was sealed. 

Despite being far from a masterpiece, Killer: A Journal of Murder is one of few top notch serial killer films worthy of recognition. After all, even when a film director attempts to portray a serial killer in a serious manner, most of these films end up being unintentionally hilarious exercises in celluloid bungling. Killer: A Journal of Murder is not a work of comedy, but one of those very rare serial killer films that manages to keep the viewer on the edge of their seat from beginning to the neck-snapping end. Despite being two men from different species, Panzram (Woods) and Henry Lesser (Robert Sean Leonard) have an undeniable chemistry in the film that will engage even the most uninterested of viewers. Through tragedy, Panzram was able to tap into his atavistic instincts and develop the lust for blood that brought infamy to his beserker ancestors. Through the pacifistic and nonthreatening personality of Henry Lesser, Panzram was able to reveal what was left of his pre-sadist humanity. If you hate Hollywood farces like Twins (1988), yet desire seeing a serious film containing the most unconventional of odd couples, Killer: A Journal of Murder with provide you with a delectable, yet ultimately deranged experience. 

-Ty E

The Beasts

When I began watching Dennis Yu's The Beasts, notorious and accomplished CATIII rape/revenge film, I was intrigued by the dual personality of the film. Switching shots between the teen-centric exploits of a brother-sister pair with friends to criminals on the lam known as the Disco Boys, The Beasts carved lo-fi fashion out of film and degraded a cry out of audiences worldwide. Not only featuring horrifying and surreal imagery, The Beasts' graphic rape scene depicts the height of authenticity in rape. Such depravity cannot depend on choreography to insinuate total violation, rather, The Beasts is rough and tough, martyring fondness of the "fairer" sex. Once The Beasts erupts into a full-blast revenge spectacle, the film becomes predominately masculine and turns into a wild game of stalk and kill without a hint of its coy and bashful groovy build-up. Plot in a nutshell; 5 friends decides to take a camping trip just outside a rural village when they catch the attention of a group of malicious delinquents who proceed to torment the group with frightening psychological warfare. The games don't stick to the mental aspect but trip well into full-fledged violence and disregard for mortal coil. These so-called Disco Boys are surely among the most evil and psychopathic characters in cinema, hidden away in a rusted trove of truths.

One of the various highlights of The Beasts is the inclusion of the radically mutated character, Snake. True to his name, Snake is a vile creature whose natural appearance rivals Michael Berryman's visage in grotesque fascination. Apart from the character, snakes are heavily employed throughout The Beasts which aim to jitter and revolt the senses. I couldn't sell this aspect to either parties due to its usage of snakes and also the violent maiming of them. I'm not quite sure of Dennis Yu's intent on this one other than to shock and offend but my hat goes off to him because it works. During one of the final showdowns between Wah and Ling's father and Snake, we find Snake, enraged, surrounded with the slithering serpents and shrieking, grabbing handfuls and whipping and beating them against walls and furnishings. To argue good taste would prove to be an entirely fallible argument but this is what I want when I pick up an 80s CATIII film. There are even several scenes involving the decapitation of wriggling snakes that prove to be too nasty to be staged. One prospect that deserves to be mention is an earlier performance of Kent Chang, resident "Fatso" and Flash Point's Inspector Wong. As The Beasts cites its influences with American exploitation, Kent Chang's character is directly comparable to the introverted and retarded character of Andy in I Spit on Your Grave. Both foster childlike mentalities and in some shred of favor, are innocent. I Spit on Your Grave isn't the only inspiration that can be cited, instead, you can also reference Deliverance and Last House on the Left. During some segments, Last Hut on the Left would be a preferable caption but when the dizzying violence and brief misogyny winds down, The Beasts will remain to stay. After all, The Beasts wrangled together some of the most disgusting and gnarled creatures of instinct I have seen in a CATIII film yet.

There is much fun to be had in The Beasts, either as an excursion in film or a slideshow of general ugliness. The end of The Beasts changes its uniform into a hunt sequence with close-quarters combat from the delirious father and the Disco Boys. Also up for grabs are exaggerated and creative death traps including a scene with a box-like formation that is lined with spikes that falls atop a poor saps head. When I had finished The Beasts for the first time, I was indeed humored and sickened in a way but I didn't feel as if it had struck significance within me. I decided to chat with a friend about the many high points of the film and upon his gushing, I decided to take the reigns once more which lead to an intoxicating experience in molestation and degradation. There is much magic to be found in The Beasts whether you look at the depiction of rape which leaves poor Ling star-fished out atop a rock beneath a waterfall - breathtaking scenery - or you glance at the grim carnage and respect the anger that must have animated Dennis Yu's incendiary vision. For what it is worth, I've been so spoiled off of films generally conceived as "high class" that now that I have tasted the dark side once more, I'm not so sure I want to turn back. The Beasts is prime nihilistic entertainment and a hell of a way to exorcise hormonal frustration -- a work of "soiled sinema" by proxy.

-mAQ

The Reflecting Skin

If the devil himself created a coming-of-age film in an attempt to lure children on a metaphysical road to hell, I believe that film would resemble Philip Ridley's 1990 film The Reflecting Skin. Despite being Ridley's directorial debut, The Reflecting Skin features the kind of attention to details and distinct artistry that you would expect from a mature auteur. The Reflecting Skin, like many great films, is ripe full of ungodly perversion and unquenchable obsession. The child protagonist of the film, Seth Dove, is naive to true darkness that has engulfed his decaying rural community in rural Idaho. Set in the 1950s, The Reflecting Skin is most likely the darkest portrayal in film history of a past era in American that is generally regarded as "The Good Old Days." Personally, I see the 1950s as the beginning of the end for traditional America. With the allies win in the second World War, came a time of prosperity in the USA that American citizens had never seen before. Of course, luxury usually breeds uncontrollable hedonism and eventually unstable decadence. In The Reflecting Skin, it is apparent that the stranglehold of the original puritan ethic is crumbling away in America. Instead of fulfilling the American dream, prosperity only ignited the surly flames of an American Nightmare. In The Reflecting Skin, God is dead, as the citizens of rural Idaho have (in their hearts) killed him - they just don't know it yet. 

From the beginning of The Reflecting Skin, it is apparent that 9 year old Seth Dove is a little confused as to what is truly "Good" and "Evil" in the world. After his father commits suicide via self-immolation, Seth is left with his fanatically religious, yet morbidly neurotic religious Mother and progressive war veteran brother Cameron (played excellently by Viggo Mortensen). Before committing suicide, Seth's father introduces his son to vampire folklore. After learning about vampires, Seth is convinced that his English neighbor Dolphin, a grieving widow still in love with her departed beloved, is a bloodsucking succubus who is out to drink the blood and steal the youthful vitality of his brother Cameron. After all, Dolphin tells Seth that she is over 200 years old and disgusted by the fact that human flesh rapidly decays. Whereas Seth's cold puritanical mother physically and mentally abuses him for the smallest of infractions, the highly sensual Dolphin, who is contrary in character to every member of the puritan rural community, shows empathy for the boy's delinquency. Believing that puritanical stringency is golden, Seth can only assume that the dionysian nature of Dolphin is evil, thus vampiric. Obviously much more laidback than his kinfolk, Seth's older Cameron brother soon finds himself falling in love with the enigmatic Dolphin. Brother Cameron sees his own mother as a vampire (of the psychic non-blood-sucking sort), whose self-obsessed religious psychosis drained her own husband of his vitality. Whilst laying flowers on his father's grave, Cameron acknowledges that his Mother's vilely abusive character caused the early death of his father/her husband. 

Seth's father commits suicide after being (falsely) accused of child molestation. A one-eyed Sheriff, who gives off the vibe of a secretive pederast, asks Seth (while being extra "touchy" with the frightened lad) if his father ever molested him. From the beginning of The Reflecting Skin, it is obvious that a car of leatherjacket sporting teenagers holds sole responsibility for the evil acts occuring in the community. The sheriff describes the child molesters as a "new kind of animal." Of course, with the self-worship and dedication to personal self-indulgence promoted by Hollywood after the second World War, it is no surprise that dormant pedophiles would awaken and eventually start committing their unspeakable crimes. With collective American prosperity at the end of World War II, came the opportunity for many teenagers to have a wider range of freedom via their own personal automobiles. Taking cues from 1950s Hollywood rebels James Dean and Marlon Brando, the pedo-mobile of teens in The Reflecting Skin look like they could have been extras in the teenage rebellion flick The Wild One. Obviously, most teens from the 1950s that took influence from the likes of Dean and Brando never went on to engage in child molestation, yet the philosophy of Hollywood endorsed juvenile rebel would pave the way to such perverted extremes. After all, The Reflecting Skin is a film about American puritan decay in a vacuum - portraying one communities moral degeneration in a bizarrely surrealistic, yet classically tasteful manner. 

Seth's naive nature becomes most glaring when he mistakes a rotting white fetus for an angel and sleeps with it, as if it was his most cherished personal teddy bear. By the end of The Reflecting Skin, one can only speculate what will become of the tragedy-stricken little boy. I almost wish that director Philip Ridley would make a sequel to The Reflecting Skin portraying Seth's inevitable downward spiral into nihilistic oblivion. After The Reflecting Skin, Ridley directed The Passion of Darkly Moon (1995), a film about a mentally defective puritan man who develops an unwanted sexual obsession for a beautiful woman that nurses him back to health - eventually falling into the depths of madness. In 2009, Philip Ridley released his third feature Heartless, a film about a young man who makes a Faustian pact that he will soon come to regret. Despite the dark nature of his film, Ridley's cinematic intentions are quite noble, as if he is a post-Christian philosopher attempting to establish some morality in a seemingly hopeless apocalyptic world. Indeed, The Reflecting Skin is a film that accepts the death of Christianity in the Occident, yet begs the viewer to go beyond nihilism and accept elements of traditional Western morality that are still pertinent to maintaining stability in the rapidly deteriorating modern world. In one evening, I viewed Philip Ridley's small filmography in a personal movie marathon. After watching the films, I can express without hesitation that Philip Ridley is one of the most neglected auteur filmmaker of our times, as his films offer a admirable combination of philosophical insight and audacious imagery that can only be lumped in their own distinct category: The Films of Philip Ridley. At the very least give The Reflecting Skin a chance, as the film's stark imagery will even cause the skin of a cold immoralist emotional-cadaver to dance. 

-Ty E

Hammer

 

Shortly after Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song and Shaft fly-away eminence, Hammer was released starring Fred "The Hammer" Williamson. His first starring vehicle and true to his nickname earned in major league football, Hammer remains one of the strangest and archaic forms of blaxploitation cinema around. Ideally, the term is attached to loose-lipped action packed films in which soul seeps from every possible orifice. Someone must have missed the memo with Hammer and what we are given is a tight-knit drama with brief shimmers of jive and an excellent William Smith as the villainesque character. B.J. Hammer is this cats name and brawling is his game, which is why local crime boss Big Sid recruits him to be a prizefighter for the mob. Things get sticky once they tell Hammer to throw a fight and once he refuses and they kidnap his woman, Hammer ponders on how to defuse the situation at any cost. Unlike most blaxploitation titles, you won't find any African aesthetic as per the standard of the later fare. Hammer is certainly no Slaughter or Truck Turner and this just goes to show how premature the idea of his half-cooked film really was. It must have been conceived by a mind that couldn't discern the value of these black action pictures and instead created a thematically white film with a very thin layer of Negro attitude - because that is the form that Hammer takes on.

That's not to say Hammer isn't worth watching, especially for blaxploitation completists. On the contrary, Hammer is filmed exceptionally well and is a very classy picture but without grand excitement or crude attitude which is what the genre is known for. Once the film picks up, mainly to say after the dock fight in which Hammer ditches a meat hook in order to plant his fist in the gut of a disgruntled worker, the film conjures up some of what makes these films so great. A scene I'm referring to is when the white mistress of Big Sid slips into Hammer's room as he rests and proceeds to try to seduce the bull. Once Hammer gets a phone call giving him a second chance with an Afro'd mama, he kicks Rhoda to the curb and leaves her to get beaten by the jealous and enraged Brenner, portrayed excellently by William Smith. Throughout the film, Brenner expresses his displeasure with the many Africans he works alongside. During scenes of torture, he wears a mask of intense satisfaction that makes his character "pop" off screen while the others simply settle into the dust. Hammer is sugar, spice, and all things nice. It doesn't contain any of Fred Williamson's later charm but does unite "The Hammer" with co-star D'Urville Martin - the two later went on to star in Boss Nigger, which, by definition, is black sensationalism incarnate. The inclusion of D'Urville Martin's character, Sonny, in Hammer is a steaming deus ex machina for further commenting on brothers selling out. The character only exists for B.J. to attempt to assimilate back into his low-income community after hitting the limelight, leaving them to slap his hand, disappear, then reappear by films end to give you the promised "Black Explosion".

"Looks like somebody gave you a good nigger whipping."

Hammer isn't the ideal introductory film for those uneducated in Fred Williamson, who later proves his worth with the sordid Black Cobra series and many other black oddities worth noting. Hammer definitely abides by Williamson's own credo of always getting the woman and never losing a fight - such Afro-narcissism goes a long way for spoiled entertainment. But in the end, Hammer delivers not a thing that we require of its company - not an explosion, nor a memorable soul soundtrack exempt from borrowing from Hayes. Hammer candidly gets by with its time-capsule aspect of a very young Fred Williamson doing very stale cinema. If you had any previous appetite for this film, your best bet would be to skip on further down his filmography in favor of fine dining. Hammer is a fossil in every way. Scenes of note are Fred Williamson playing father figure to his little fans in the street. It always tickles me to see hardened action heroes, known for murdering over such fickle things, kneel down and play role model to the "future business leaders" of America. Fred Williamson might be one groovy turkey but Hammer fails to hit the nail on the head, oh, please pardon that pun.

-mAQ

Colony Mutation

 

I thought something was afoot when I received a copy of Colony of the Dark (1995) in the post from Apprehensive Films. I had stared at the cover art for what might have been minutes - a drawing obviously from a sketchbook neophyte containing a big-breasted woman getting groped by severed limbs with an eerily Teutonic head licking the side of her face with an expression of utter pain. I perused the back of the box to divulge the plot when I realized I'd heard this before. Earlier on, I had gotten a hold of a copy of a film known as Colony Mutation. When I attempted to back up the films original title with research I discovered another title! This time they dropped the subtitles and stuck to a simple Colony. Either way, none of this titles can make up for what might be the most irredeemable piece of shit I have ever attempted to sit through in my cinephilic life. I was teased and tickled with the idea of a Super8mm grainy horror film which involved phallic self-dismemberment and copious episodes of seduce & destroy but what I was so ungratefully given is a film so unwatchable that I am sure Flesh Eating Mothers is a tour de force in comparison.

Given that I only ingested a short 40 minutes of this films running time before I pried the DVD tray open with a fork only to subsequently hurl the disc down the hallway, I can only comment so much on the film without treading into presumptive territory. Jim Matthews is a dolt as a husband and a scientific researcher. For the past several months he has been bedding down with his strong-willed secretary behind his wife's back. This leads to problems when his wife discovers the infidelity from an exaggerative paper-trail. In an outrage, she grabs the nearest unprotected beaker of experimental serum and splashes it in his face. This leads to terrifying bodily mutations as Jim discovers an unquenchable hunger within him, one that can only be suppressed with raw meat and the soft, tender flesh of whores. I'm not really a nit-picker in regards to horror films anchored in scientific illiteracy. I can handle all the hotel affairs or implausibility that the next guy can. Why, though, would someone waste premium, superior Super 8mm film stock on a tale that doesn't even tell itself? Since I never finished the film I can't rightly say. I don't even blame the lack of oozing creature effects, either. No, my infernal hatred stems from elsewhere, in the script, maybe. The characters find themselves in situations so problematic that it takes a hardened patience and a lack of anything better to do than watch this. For example, a scene that really chafes me is when Jim uses his credit card to get a hotel room with his secretary and then his wife receives the credit card bill later the same night. I could really go on and on but I will not put any more effort into writing about this disaster as I did watch it.

Add the fact that Jim's wife has a mustache that can be faintly outlined with the grainy footage and you have yourself another reason as to avoid this film. I find that is already too easy to ignore. You might not have heard of it for a reason. The only scene of merit I can find myself to comment on without forced persuasion [gun to my head] is the iconic scene of scorned fellatio - everyones favorite. In a rage over his wife's serum transmogrifying his body into a living, breathing Mr. Potato Head, Jim gives her a good beating and then while she's crying on the floor, unzips his pants and while she sits there weeping, grabs her head and performs irrumatio. Before his member devours the inside of her face, that is. This scene was a glimmer of hope for me. Perhaps Colony [Mutation] [of the Dark] could have been something of note, even in idle conversation but alas, I found myself forgetting about the film as soon as it begun. I then sat in silence bordering awe at the complete disregard for vision and the general anti-aesthetic. I wouldn't recommend Colony Mutation to any soul living. Hands down, the worst film I've seen since in the past 3 years.

-mAQ

Do the Right Thing

Due to the corrosive nature of Spike Lee's most controversial film, to discuss the film would be to humor the happenings with analytical discussion. In other words, if you haven't seen or plan to see Do the Right Thing I don't recommend reading any further as I will reveal many plot points. Do the Right Thing is Spike Lee's most critically acclaimed film to date and for good reason. Concocting a heatwave aesthetic, the burning asphalt leaps off camera and scalds your senses. This was Spike Lee's aim with the bright orange backdrops and sweat-covered hood rats marching up and down the block - it's quite obvious that he succeeded. The heat mirrors two purposes: to allow the boiling point of racial tension a visual metaphor and to accentuate the "hottest day" of the summer in which the film is set in. Rewind back to 1989 and you'll see the release of Do the Right Thing, a racially conscious masterpiece of urban life that terrified critics as fears and rumors of the films release inciting real riots spread. To fully understand Do the Right Thing requires two key elements: being black and acquainting yourself with the many characters that Lee immortalized. As I am not African-American (but can speak jive), I must rely heavily on the second aspect in order to absorb any intended effect that Spike Lee had set out to burn into the brains of naive white liberals.

Allow me to introduce a selection of the colorful cast of characters now. Mookie, played by Spike Lee, is a passive manipulator. Mookie also moonlights as a deadbeat father to his Latino girlfriend who has two volumes, squabble and mute - no in between. He is employed at Sal's Famous Pizzeria located in the projects of Brooklyn. Mookie is what can be considered a terrible human being, which is especially apparent at the film's end. He not only takes extended breaks while on the job but whines incessantly about having to deliver the pizza up and down the block - a task of which he is graciously paid but fails to understand the idea of trade. It comes as a surprise that he maintained his employment for as long as he did. Sal is a compassionate yet fiery Italian-American who maintains his business regardless of the racial climate that the area has turned towards. Considered not a dangerous neighborhood but a belligerent one, Sal feeds off the thoughts of his pizza feeding generations of children, surely a sweet man with the thickheaded and proud visage of an Italian. His pizzeria is what fuels the fire that rages throughout the second half of the film. Sal's two sons, Pino and Vito, are the typical Italian brothers, feuding amongst each other and getting into a homo-erotic fights now and again. Buggin' Out is the catalyst for the perilous episode that befalls the block and seems to reflect the ignorance of director Spike Lee, but we'll get to that topic in point later. Rounding out the cast is Da Mayor, a humble old drunkard whose wisdom makes up for his lack of decision-making skills and intelligence shared by the rest of the cast, and finally, Radio Raheem, a philosophizing street preacher who sermons on the relationship of Love & Hate - Spike Lee's homage to Night of the Hunter.

As I mentioned before, Buggin' Out is the main offender in the film and the cause of substantial structural damage and the death of a brother. After purchasing a slice from Sal's Famous Pizzeria, Buggin' Out becomes highly offended when he notices no "brothas" on the Wall of Fame within Sal's Italian establishment. Sal responds "You want brothers on the wall? Get your own place". This is a perfectly logical retort from someone who manages and performs upkeep on his own shop. Seeing how Buggin' Out is so concerned with "staying black" and avoiding responsibility, you'd think an infraction could be laughed off as juvenile and redundant. But no, that isn't enough for Buggin' Out, who enlists the help of Radio Raheem to boycott Sal's Famous Pizzeria. The irony involved is that Spike Lee demonstrated the same indomitable Negro spirit as Buggin' Out did by ousting Clint Eastwood. "He [Eastwood] did two films about Iwo Jima back to back and there was not one black soldier in both of those films," said Spike Lee during an interview. Clint Eastwood responded how any self-respecting legend would and told the idiot to "Shut his face". What does one expect when someone in a league of his own such as Eastwood falls victim to a state of radical racial malaise. In one fell swoop, Spike Lee dropped his facade of intelligence and proved without a shadow of a doubt that he is as hypocritical and aggressive as the characters he creates. Furthermore, Do the Right Thing failed in regards to sympathize with the blacks. For most, if not all, white viewers, by the end of Do the Right Thing, one cannot help but to weep for Sal and his former famous pizzeria - victim to the destructive force of the black community. If what Spike Lee expects of his brethren to be true, by films end, blacks would be cheering on the destruction in quasi-brainwashed fashion while weeping for Radio Raheem, a man of no distinguishable humanity.

Radio Raheem is the whistle-blower to the climax. Herded into the climactic boycott of Sal's Pizzeria like cattle, Radio Raheem's stubbornness and general inconsiderate behavior lent to the greatest tragedy in Do the Right Thing - the death of the ghetto-blaster - the consequential relic of the film. Had Radio Raheem known that this confrontation led to his future death, would he have changed anything? Probably not. His character seemed to give priority to "keeping it real" over his own life. I find myself hardly empathizing over Radio Raheem's death, a scene that which later greatly inspired Mathieu Kassovitz's La Haine - as he never applied himself to anything other than "hood". The scene in which Radio Raheem enlightens Mookie on left hand, right hand is one of the more fascinating scenes to be found and proves that had Radio Raheem straightened out and garnered even a sliver of responsibility, he could have done something, anything other than loitering and listening to Public Enemy's "Fight the Power" on repeat. In the end, Mookie reveals himself to actually be the Antichrist of urbanites when he incites a riot by throwing a garbage can through the pizzeria window. As I mentioned before, Sal blesses Mookie with a job. Something that seems so irrelevant and passé to Mookie is actually a necessary element of escaping the cycle that all black youth are born into. As Spike Lee records via stream-of-consciousness in his companion volume to the film, "I gots to get paid. Mookie repeats this often. When he delivers pizzas, he refuses to leave until he gets a tip. You can believe that." Lee then calls him an "instigator, a rabble-rouser" and then expects us to back up the motivations that drive Mookie to destroy a positive influence to a rotting community. Spike Lee also scowls in the directors commentary that he "has only ever been asked by white viewers whether Mookie did the right thing; black viewers do not ask the question". He is also accredited to saying that those who question Mookie's irrational actions "are implicitly valuing white property over the life of a black man." This brings me to the conclusion that Spike Lee's ignorance is a cause for concern. Had black youth caught wind of the sweltering hysteria of Do the Right Thing, why, we'd have hordes of blind militants storming the streets "doing the right thing" and amassing millions in property damage stemming from persuasive hatred.

Tied together with Samuel L. Jackson playing narrator via the radio waves, Do the Right Thing is an exceptional package, often confused as well, which makes the film and its legacy truly hilarious. Spike Lee attempted to rationalize the bellicose blacks. What is left behind the rubble is a question asked and an answer nowhere to be found. Traditional white values are not to blame for interpretation, rather, the brilliant set-up as you watch the local Negroes, built to support, inevitably cause the structure to crumble. No more Sal's, no more pizza. The prospect of any self-respecting eatery was launched out the window when they formed a misguided uprising and destroyed what very little they had. The problem of Do the Right Thing is also its greatest aspect - it's a definitive racially polarizing masterpiece of cinema. It is the heat that gets to you. All the water in the world, nor the Popsicles can cool the racial tension that boils under the city streets in Do the Right Thing. When you take a step back and glance over the picture in retrospect, Ossie Davis as Da Mayor captures the only "good" force within Do the Right Thing. Da Mayor was passionate, wise, levelheaded, and intelligent - a saint amongst sinners. Is Do the Right Thing culturally important and a modern masterpiece of American cinema? Yes, but for reasons unintended by Spike Lee. I wouldn't go as far as to say Radio Raheem was murdered by hate, but instead: irrational stupidity.

-mAQaveli X

Heinrich Himmler: Anatomy of a Mass Murderer

I have always been disappointed by the unimpressive appearance and equally banal character of Heinrich Himmler. For a man that ran the SS, a virtual private empire within the Third Reich, one would expect a stunning genius with a matching body of Teutonic steel. Instead, Himmler was a physically weak bureaucrat and former chicken farmer who resembled a half-caste Mongolian tax auditor. In the documentary Heinrich Himmler: Anatomy of a Mass Murderer, the viewer is briefly introduced to Himmler's unimpressive character and career as Hitler's #1 paper-shuffling killer. In Hannah Arendt's classic work of philosophy Eichmann in Jerusalem, the female German-Jewish philosopher devised the phrase "the banality of evil" regarding the desk-murderer career of Herr Eichmann. That being said, I think the phrase "the banality of a homicidal inferiority complex" would best sum up Himmler's life story. As revealed in the documentary Heinrich Himmler: Anatomy of a Mass Murderer, despite being a sickly child with the martial prowess of a pussycat, Himmler was always a strict German nationalist who romanticized war. Himmler grew up in a Roman Catholic household with a strict authoritarian father who demanded unwavering discipline from his sons. As described in the documentary, in his childhood, Himmler developed the ruthless cold psyche that would help him to efficiently run the SS in a most unsentimental manner.

Unsurprisingly, it is revealed in Heinrich Himmler: Anatomy of a Mass Murderer that Himmler truly believed in the National Socialist ideology and was completely obedient to Adolf Hitler. As the documentary briefly explains, Himmler attempted to create an anti-Christian neo-pagan order out of the SS, but ultimately failed. Although not revealed in the documentary, Himmler hired former mental institution patient Karl Maria Wiligut to be his virtual "Occult priest" at his castle Wewelsburg (which Himmler hoped would one day be the allegorical "center of the world"). Despite the fact that only a small fraction of Germans during the Nazi era were of pure Nordic Aryan stock (most were Alpine types), Himmler hoped to racially purify Germany and restore it to the racial character described in Tacitus' Germania. Interestingly enough, various Himmler biographers have stated that the SS Reichsführer might have had Mongolian and Jewish ancestry. Either way, I think most people will agree that Himmler certainly lacked the ideal Nordic profile he so stringently demanded in his SS men. Although Heinrich Himmler: Anatomy of a Mass Murderer does not go into much depth regarding Himmler's dubious ancestry, the documentary features the SS leader's great-niece Katrin Himmler, who is ironically married to an Israeli and only has contempt for her great-uncle. According to Katrin, in an attempt to hide their shame, the Himmler family went on to describe Heinrich as a "black sheep" after the second World War. As briefly mentioned in Heinrich Himmler: Anatomy of a Mass Murderer, Himmler's daughter Gudrun Burwitz would go on to be a Neo-Nazi sympathizer of sorts and still holds much love for her deceased father. 

Despite having total control over the SS, Heinrich Himmler was unable to efficiently run it on his own. Reinhard Heydrich, who was described by the Nazis as the "ideal National Socialist," is known to have run the more crucial departments of the SS, especially those sectors responsible for the liquidation of Jews. I would have liked for Heinrich Himmler: Anatomy of a Mass Murderer to have gone in better depth regarding Himmler's relationship with Heydrich, but instead, the documentary only succinctly mentions it. At best, the documentary is an "okay" introduction to the life and killing times of Heinrich Himmler. Heinrich Himmler: Anatomy of a Mass Murderer is comparable to the kind of documentary you would find on the History Channel, as the film barely delves into the more interesting elements regarding Himmler and the SS. In the end, Himmler ended up killing millions of people for nothing, eventually betraying Adolf Hitler by attempting to make a deal with the allies in early 1945. Himmler met a very bitter and lonely end, having all his ranks stripped from him and eventually committing suicide the same way Hitler did. For those already familiar with Himmler, Heinrich Himmler: Anatomy of a Mass Murderer will offer you no new insights. For more info on the documentary, visit First Run Features. 

-Ty E

Confessions

Selected as the Japanese entry for Best Foreign Film in the 83rd annual Academy Awards, Tetsuya Nakashima's most recent work in "pop filmmaking" is Confessions, a twisty diorama of revenge and manipulation. I would be lying if I didn't admit that the first 30 minutes of Confessions leveled my expectations, comprising of a teachers confession to her classmates. I plan to open my review in the same vein that the teacher Ms. Moriguchi scolds her students and dive right into the meat and matter of the story. Near the end of the term, Ms. Moriguchi speaks under the bustling homeroom of shrieking girls and boasting boys to mention that she is retiring from teaching. After rebutting the claim that she is avoiding responsibility, she then mentions her status as single mother, going on to reiterate her daughters death that occurred not too long ago. The film gets tricky when Ms. Moriguchi reveals that the death was no accident and that the killers are seated among the very demographic before her. What is so strange about Confessions is the manner in which it is produced and compiled. The central components aiding the accessibility is the inclusion of the Radiohead song Last Flowers till the Hospital, instrumentals from Boris, and the frequent usage of slow-motion and melancholy as to capture fleeting moments with ardor.

There are a few points in Confessions that did make me question the need for such grandeur. While Nakashima is predominately known for his pop art with film, as Kamikaze Girls' popularity bleeds through, the repetition of slow-motion acts and ambient streams of instrumentals makes it feel like you are watching the same instance over and over again, which you are. The narrative of Confessions is what grabs hold and justly so. After Moriguchi's confession to her class, the story progresses past into the next year to show the aftermath but halts mid-step and backs up a bit, replaying the events from different perspectives and confessions. So essentially, Confessions is much in tune with a broken record, although being one that doesn't inflame your senses. When conceptualizing Confessions from a novel to a feature length film, Nakashima visualized Takako Matsu as Ms. Moriguchi and vowed only to proceed with filming if her name was attached to star. I find such dedication to a vision flattering the very meaning of cinema. Confessions is many things: tragic, compelling, accessible, empowering, and true to the spirit of teenage years. Nakashima invokes teenage gossip so well that I found myself reminiscing my own high school years while watching Confessions. Culturally and worlds apart, sure, but the cruelty of children remains intact regardless of landmass, this I know. Employing scenes of text messages to scatter the harsh opinions of fellow classmates, Confessions' student body is essentially a pack of piranhas, eager to devour any and all forms of life upon breaking the water.

What it boils down to is a boisterous stage drama. Confessions boasts many wonderful set-pieces, is filmed with a keen eye for wide shots, and gift-wraps its "psychological thriller" package with a fantastic palette of vivid colors. It is what you'd expect of a Hollywood film but living up to its promise of intrigue. Most self-proclaimed psychological thrillers couldn't hold a flame to Confessions and the many darkly-comic passages of teen angst that resides in its sterile walls. Not all things can be hidden with style and polish though. Confessions is malnourished Japanese cinema down to its core - call it culturally deficient. Replace the characters with American actors and you'd hardly recognize the drastic change of casting. I can appreciate the effort put forth into Westernizing it and the budget saves it from piling atop the amateur and dry stack of most Japanese filmmakers but what I want with Japanese films is something that cannot be replicated outside of its walls, hence why I explore international film in the first place. This isn't all bad though as this, in turn, morphs Confessions into an excellent gateway exception for even the most prudish of snobs who refute the idea of "reading while watching". But for what it is worth, Confessions is presented perfectly; it's a film that is a cultural chameleon, can be enjoyed by near anyone, seemingly impossible to dislike (invalid to opinion unless you dissect for dissent), and a precise mixture of woe, humor, and MTV. Look forward to this release from Third Window Films, can you ever go wrong with their catalog?

-mAQ

Interview with Jörg Buttgereit

Illustration: Rainer Engel

Soiled Sinema is very pleased to bring you an interview with German auteur Jörg Buttgereit of Nekromantik fame. It is not an exaggeration for us at SS to say that Jörg Buttgereit is one of our favorite directors and without groundbreaking filmmakers like him, this website would not exist.

After a 16 year hiatus from feature-length filmmaking, Buttgereit released CAPTAIN BERLIN VS. HITLER.  Following in the tradition of German filmmakers like Hans-Jürgen Syberberg, CAPTAIN BERLIN VS. HITLER was shot on a stage-play.

set of Nekromantik (C) Jörg Buttgereit

SS: When I first discovered your work, I was amazed by your keen ability to successfully combine sex and death in an artistic manner whilst still maintaining a sense of humor. Personally, I think you're a modern auteur coming from a rich tradition of German cinema.  Believe it or not, your films (especially Nekromantik) remind of the great silent German expressionist masterpieces, in their ability to hypnotize and transport the viewer to a transcendent world of the macabre. When I watch a German film like Run Lola Run, it seems like the same film could have been made in Hollywood or France. Do you see yourself as a culturally German filmmaker (to any degree), influenced by your native land and culture? Was your own style of filmmaking influenced by German filmmakers of the past, whether it be the German expressionists or German New Wave or any other German film movement/genre?

JB: Its hard to judge your own influence. I think it is quite normal to check out your own limits when you are young. That is why Horror-movies are so appealing to younger people. But NEKROMANTIK was also a protest against the strict censorship movement in Germany. During the 80s all Horror films where cut or banned in Germany and we where fighting for our right to get those movies uncensored in our country. Adults should decide on their own what they want to see and what not. Censorship can´t prevent people from seeing what they want anyway. It´s an old fashioned concept that does not work anymore. I was not so much influenced by other movies. Real live Horror was always more disturbing to me. I think it is important for my films that they are shot on actual film stock. The grainy 16mm and Super 8 film stock definitely works for the atmosphere of the films. We did a lot of screen-tests with the prop of the corpse before choosing the right film stock for NEKROMANTIK. It was very important to me to have a believable atmosphere for my story.

(C) Jörg Buttgereit

SS: In an interview featured in the book Sex, Murder, Art: The Films of Joerg Buttgereit, you mentioned that German audiences are not too fond of German films/filmmakers unless the directors are dead (like Fassbinder) or the films are praised by international critics. Why do you think Germans react this way to films created by their fellow countrymen? Over the years, has your popularity and status as a filmmaker increased in Germany? Do you have a strong and loyal German fan base?

JB: I do have a fan base in Germany that follows my work in Radio Plays, acting and all the books and film reviews I do. That part of my work that is invisible to my fans outside of Germany ´cause its all in German language. Over here I am more known as a maker of Stage-plays and radio-plays.

SS: I know that you traveled to Japan to write an extensive book on Japanese Monster films. Do you have plans for writing more books in the future, whether it be on film or otherwise?

JB: I am more involved in new projects for the stage which is very exciting to me.

(C) Jörg Buttgereit

SS: You originally introduced Captain Berlin in a short of the same name in 1982. In 2009, you released CAPTAIN BERLIN VS. HITLER. How did the creative process come about for CAPTAIN BERLIN VS. HITLER? Were you always planning to do a feature-length film about the adventures of Captain Berlin? Do you have plans for any new Captain Berlin films in the future?

JB: I think the fun of CAPTAIN BERLIN VERSUS HITLER is the fact that it is a stage-play that was filmed for a DVD release. The plot goes like this: Adolf Hitler’s brain has survived. The crazy Nazi-doctor Ilse von Blitzen hires the master of life and death: Dracula himself. He is supposed to resuscitate Teutonic human material with his bite. The reward that has been chosen is the virgin Maria – Captain Berlin’s daughter. Superhero Captain Berlin now has to confront these two monsters. Since the 1940s he wants to eliminate Hitler, but now he first has to save his daughter from the vampire. I documented the play on video and made a film out of it. Its a mix between film and stage-play and it is available on DVD with English subtitles from the German distributor "media target". Extras include my old Super 8 shorts “Captain Berlin” + “Captain Berlin vs Hyxar”, a backstage report, a film about the world premiere, a photo gallery and a comic based on the film. The DVD is region-free. The films looks a little bit like one of those crazy Mexican wrestler movies. I really can`t think of getting money for a real feature film with Captain Berlin. But who knows...

SS: Was there any controversy in Germany when you released CAPTAIN BERLIN VS. HITLER regarding Adolf Hitler (despite obviously being negatively portrayed)? Additionally, did anyone in Germany criticize the Nazi-exploitation parody in Der Todesking, the Hitler Youth outfit worn by Monika in Schramm, or your early short BLOODY EXCESS IN THE LEADERS BUNKER?

JB: There was no real controversy about me dealing with Hitler. If you do something on stage in Germany it is labeled as art and you are free to express yourself. Regarding my films, the depiction of violence was more difficult to deal with.

SS: I have read past interviews where you spoke about the possibility of a third Nekromantik film? Will there be a Nekromantik trilogy? Also, do you have any other film projects planned for the future that we can anticipate?

JB: You have to keep in mind that because of censorship restrictions my films are still only legally available in a handful of countries. I don´t see how to get my money back for an independent film like NEKROMANTIK nowadays. If I would do a part 3 it would be all over the internet the day after a DVD release. Bootlegs and illegal downloads have made it impossible for me to do independent films like I did in the 1980s.

(C) Jörg Buttgereit

For more info on Jörg Buttgereit visit his official website 

Nekromantik II: Return of the Loving Dead (C) Jörg Buttgereit