Enter the Patron Saint of EVIL Cannibalism! “The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” reviewed! (Wild Eye Releasing / DVD)

“The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” now on DVD!  

A degenerate heavy metal rock band and their pressurized manager are cast off on their very first ever music tour by their financing dictatorial mogul eager to recoup his investment as quickly as possible.  While en route, their van breaks down at the edge of a small town who welcome them with open armed hospitality, warm accommodations, and a hot meal with the promise of a day turnaround on fixing their van for free.  The next day proves to be a joyous occasion for the villagers celebrating their patron saint and little does the band know they’re an unwittingly big part of the ceremony as every villager is a ruthless cannibal ready to devour to the bone their haplessly stranded guests. 

About as vile and gross as they come, “The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” is a Spanish-bred, slop-house, comedy-horror that plucked from the horror history timeline an unfaithful and a stretch comparison to a portion of the iconic title from the 1974 “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.”  Writer-director Manolito Motosierra helms nothing remotely familiar to the Tobe Hooper classic, there’s barely the sweet exhaust coughing sound of a chainsaw ripping and shredding through Motosierra’s actual film, but “The Corpse Grinders 3” director has brought one well-known component to his film, lots of crazy long pig action!  Originally titled more appropriately as “Carnivoros” – Carnivores –  in Spain, the 2013 release only saw a U.S. release date merely 5 years ago in 2017 with supplementary prologue footage from Scorpio Film Releasing’s Richard Griffin and his entourage that bares big breasts as well as the only big chainsaw under its unaffiliated storyline of a woman double-double crossing two men to get away with $30K only to find herself inside a seedy hotel room and the unsuspecting starlet of her very own snuff film.  Though I usually adore Griffin and Michael Thurber, who usually has a role in a Griffin release in some random capacity, the opening fits like a square peg being jammed into triangle hole, accumulating confusion more than making sense.  “The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” is a Fantastika Team and Olga Underground production presented by Tyrannosaurus Entertainment. 

If you can get past all the fart and poop jokes, the band known as “The Metal Cocks” are the epitome of well-received degeneracy in their unromantic, polyamorous pansexual quickies, blatant addictive vices, and an overall uncouth behavior and appearances in a mockery of hair metal bands from the 80s.  Dani Mesado as Rasputin, Óscar Gilbert Escarabajal as Petete, Torete playing himself as Torete, El Capitan Almendra as Bull, and Nereida López Vilaplana as Penny Pussy are Las Pollas del Metal – The Metal Cocks – taking on a rocking tour de force against insatiable backwoods cannibals of Spain.  If you think the band is depraved, wait until you see the villagers’ madness for meat foul up the screen with a mangled dick scene (someone call the expert Felissa Rose!), an intestine eating contest straight from the gut, and the recipe with baking instructions for a popular diarrhea shake.  With viciously varicolored characters like the Spanish whore (“Vampire:  Hounds of Horror’s” Yolanda Berneguer), the unsanitary naked food prepping cook known as The Chef (“Fucking Bastard’s Tam Sempere Miro), and the murderous simpleton Guti (Michael Rodriguez) among others, a motley macabre bunch of crazed cannibals have systematic knowledge of separating and conquering their dinner, each involved in a role important to the façade that plays to the prey’s vulnerability before digging into their food with both hands clawing.  Everything and everyone are over-the-top and that really defines the line between the cold simmering terror family of Texas massacre and the wild family of maniacs of the Spanish massacre; though the idiom says everything is bigger in Texas, Spain certainly has the most peculiar of películas between the two territories.  “The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” rounds out with Hilario Blas, Miriam Larragay, Ezequiel Campos-Zeta, Raul Dario Gandoy, Richardo Pastor, José Luís Tolosa, Mayama Lia, and Yolanda Diaz Dengra.

Gore aplenty!  “The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” bathes in troughs of blood as well as other human body fluids that make your eyes sink deeper into the back of your head while your eyes lids slowly act like shutters trying to protect the vision and mind pure of only the blood and not anything else.  That task is a lost cause of impossibility as Motosierra lathers a thick, slick of sick onto every frame, leaving no grotesque rock unturned before and after the victims’ final curtain call.  Yet, in the end, what Motorsierra constructs is the Looney-Toons of descendental cannibalism that’s full of maniacal laughter and delusional actions with no rhyme or reason to determine causality.  The celebrated patron saint seems to require the villagers, or strongly encourages them, to act a fool, to put on a show, and to treat human meat as a delicacy to plunder.  Neither The Metal Cocks nor the villagers receive a proper introduction, backstory, or arc in what is basically a show up and be present for gratuitous slaughter in a variety of random pockets that not all necessarily have to do with the band.  In some scenes, an old military man is tied to a tree, sitting down, and being tossed firecrackers at this crotch while a clown eggs on the kids with frenzied laughter and, in another scene, two adolescent boys are tied to a tree standing and sliced across the belly so they’re intestines can be used for a food race.  Where these characters came from is never touched upon or explained but understood that they’re a part of the festivities toward the patron saint.  Like what AC/DC once said – if you want blood, you’ve got it! – with “The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” having gallons of it. 

“The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” is a DVD re-release for the indie distributor, Wild Eye Releasing, as spine number 54 on the company’s Raw & Extreme sublabel.  The DVD, distributed by MVD Visual, presents the 70 minute, 56 minutes of actual feature with 14 minutes of Richard Griffin’s snuff film preface, unrated film in a widescreen 1.78:1 aspect ratio.  I really like this transfer from Wild Eye because of the sole fact of virtually no compressions issues obviously present and that’s not just because of the lack of bonus feature, which is common amongst most of Wild Eye’s library, on the DVD’s limited capacity.  Previous studies on other single feature releases proved Wild Eye to be a mixed bag regarding quality.  With “The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre,” the image quality is highly detailed and lush in black areas and in texture that makes Motosierra’s stomach-churning content that much more stomach-churning. The warm color palette of yellows and reds provides an exaggerated tint of a rural Spanish village.  In contrary to the DVD back cover, the feature’s native language is not English but rather a Spanish 2.0 stereo track.  Much of the dialogue track is all yelling synched well with the English subtitles that are not entirely accurate.  The subtitles are extremely abridged and loosely translated.  A robust metal soundtrack plays into the whole metal brand, but the other tracks lack depth as all outputs, much like the characters on screen, are upfront and loud; yet the compression handling sustains an agreeable fidelity with little no popping or screeching within or on the tail end.  Bonus features include promo videos and the official trailer with a stretch into a credits gag reel of sorts with candid and shooting mistakes in crediting the cast and there’s also an end credit scene that setups the cannibal family’s return with a Christmas themed sequel.  However, 9 years has passed and don’t think Motorsierra is working on any drafts at the moment.  The snap case comes with reversible DVD cover art with a touched up-front cover not pulled from the film itself while the inside has a blown-up bloody aftermath still of the narrative’s first victim with a dislodged lower jaw and a hunk missing from her face.  Ultra-indulgent with biofluid glop, “The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” is a ruthless, toothless puta de madre of a film if you can get past the stink of butt humor.

“The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre” now on DVD!  

Nab’em, Chop’em, and Feed’em to the EVIL Ox! “Butchers” reviewed! (Breaking Glass Pictures / Digital Screener)

After the death of their firm handed, elderly mother, brothers Owen and Oswald Watson remain isolated in the boondocks, off the beaten path to nowhere, to live in their rundown family home, like the generations before them, to do the one thing they desire and born to do – abduct stranded motorists, kill the men, and imprison away the women for their sadistic and misogynistic pleasures.  After breaking down passing through on a rural bypass, four young friends find themselves fighting for their very lives against a pair of siblings with a deep rooted heritage of experienced violence to show for it, but when one of the brothers starts to become even more unhinged than normal, the remaining survivors seek to take advantage of the situation to escape, but their captors know the woods inside and out.

Everyone believes Canadians are overly nice and well-mannered.  Our considerate neighbors of the North withstand the plethora of static noise from the turbulent South, willing to forget and forgive in a moments notice with nothing more than a smile and slap across the back, but has anyone ever bare witness to Adrian Langley’s dog-gonna-hunt, exploitation film, “Butchers,” hailing from Ottawa, Ontario?  The 2020 survival horror thriller displays the unseen dark side of Canadian’s grinning and friendly façade and, boy, does it familiarize and rival some of the similar backwoods doggedness we’ve seen in the last quarter century.  The film is written and directed by Langley and co-written with Daniel Weissenberger (“Come True”) in the intent of being a gritty, hillbilly-gone-wild hoedown with butcher blade sharpness.  Langley’s cinematic shiplap usually provides hard to swallow and violent themed content set to put one on tenterhooks established from his string of unflinching crime dramas (“A Violent State,” “Crook”) when the director is not moonlighting as a made-for-television PG-rated filmmaker for the holidays (“Candy Cane Christmas,” “Homemade Christmas”).  Christmas is long gone and a long way off and no amount of jovial spirit can guarantee a happy ending in “Butchers,” a production of Langley’s Unit XIX Films and Nicolás Onetti, producer and filmmaker behind retro-manufactured giallo horror “Abrakadabra” and “Francesca,” attached under his production banner, Black Mandala.” 

Principal characters are essentially the entire cast, small in size but pack a punch with their performances.  Starting off with the brothers, Owen and Oswald Watson, whose story begins during the snow and icy-filled heart of the winter months with them standing graveside, freshly filled with the remains of their mother, well before the hapless four protagonists breakdown in the summer’s heat.  The Watson boys story arc from second fiddle to top brass in a brief moment of background with the death of their mother as they quickly set to work pouncing on a young couple and exploiting the chained up and captive wife/girlfriend for carnal pleasure while abiding by a certain set of harshly punishable rules.  Television’s “Age of the Living Dead’s” Simon Phillips and Michael Swatton reteam in their respective roles of Owen and Oswald who are very much human characters with carefully planned and executed uncontrollable urges, callous whims, and fallible actions, sullied by a mixture of mental disease and rotten nurturing.  Philips is terrifying as in the intellectual brother, with his sophisticated word hole, very willing to get his hands dirty as the more perverse of the two brothers, but his relationship is on the rocks with his unstable brother, Oswald, as Swatton channels the internal family quibbling mindset of Leatherface from the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” franchise with the exception of the crossdressing obsession and the iconic, rip-roaring chainsaw.  Oswald instead wields a custom butcher’s knife with jagged shark life teeth as he manically runs through the forest hunting down the four youngsters played by Julie Mainville (“Ghastlies”), James Gerald Hicks (“Killer Mom”), and “The Nights Before Christmas’s Anne-Carolyne Binette and Frederik Storm.  With these lambs for the slaughter characters, this is where Adrian Langley succumbs to tropes that instill a misplaced sense of courage, uncontrollable and shallow horniness, and a turmoil amongst friends to be the divisive factor leading of their fate.  “Butchers” rounds out the cast with Jonathan Largy, Samantha De Benedet, Blake Canning, and Nick Allan as uncle Willard. 

“Butchers” does have blatant derivative bones underneath a body that echoes the frameworks of pioneered films from the aforementioned “Texas Chains Massacre” to more recently “Wrong Turn,” the original film series formed in 2003 about inbred, cannibalistic mountain people.  These powerhouse of unpretentious and bloodthirsty franchises inspired much of what you’ll experience in Langley’s homage of a cyclical subgenre; yet, the filmmaker’s tale of two brothers with a bloodletting scheme of their own doesn’t lend itself as being a hack work nor does the story render like an atrocious carbon copy but, rather, “Butchers” lives in a moment of simple, matter of fact craziness living in the dark corners of the seemingly innocuous world.  Owen paints a near perfect picture of the one in a million chance that people, like his hapless captives, fall into the position they’re in, sophisticatedly monologuing with intent to his bound prey in a pair of scenes that slice a thinly opened gap of possibility and that, right there, is scary.  “Butchers” builds no momentum, but, instead, goes right for the throat straight from the get-go as Langley reinforces the attitude that this can happen to anyone by not getting too familiar with characters in their backstories.  In order to establish a pattern of action and to lay foundations in who we should and shouldn’t root for when things go to hell, virtue-less unfaithfulness becomes a promising wedge that doesn’t necessarily cause descension in the ranks of survival, but paves a trope-laden path of who will ultimately perish.

Backcountry exploitation might have seem to have run it’s course. I mean, really, how many times can crazy deformed cannibals wreak gut-spilling havoc on the naïve outlanders to their idyllic provinces? For me, as many time as it damn well pleases, especially when fundamentally satisfying as Adrian Langley’s “Butchers,” distributed by Breaking Glass Pictures and now available streaming on Prime Video. “Butchers” will be available on DVD at a to be announced date. Langley, wearing multiple of hats in the spirit of indie productions, dons the director of photography bowler hat…well, I don’t really know what hat the DOP would wear, but we’ll represent the position with a bowler for now due to the deluxe sophistication the bowler implies while still sustaining a classic touch and that’s how I see Langley’s clean and competent cinematography style whose able to frame scenes that force audiences to be a part of the action . As soon as a character turns to speak to another character or when a car hood slams, an effective rush of adrenaline courses through the veins when out of nowhere one of the brothers pop onto the widescreen 2.35:1 aspect ratio presented screen. “Butchers” come with no bonus material after a 92 minute runtime, but a single scene lingers during the credits that, again, harps back to a certain dancing killing machine from the original “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” May not be an original concept, but “Butchers” can still castrate the soul with an exploitatively merciless family tree sowed with perversion and bloodlust.

Rent or Own “Butchers” on Amazon Prime Video! Click the Poster to Watch!

Chronicling the Cannibalistic, Necrophilism EVILs of a Serial Killer is for Adult Eyes Only! “LoveDump” reviewed! (A Baroque House / Digital Screener)

July, 2003 – a hollow-hearted serial killer, Denise Holmes, moves into a motel room of a populated metropolis of the West Coast.  Journaling every perverse and murder-lust desire in a diary, the unspeakable acts of sex and death blend together as one as the urge to kill grows bolder, leaving a trail of gore in the wake.  Paranoia begins to sink in after the last execution of an innocent victim and desecrating their bloodied, decapitated head in an inerasable moment from the mind. What you’re about to hear are the audio recordings of Denise Holmes’ diary inserts, read by Detective Jamie Reams whose giving a tactile voice to a wraith-like monster.

Over the years, the term Horror has been exploitatively glamourized for capital, trendsetting and bedazzled with glitzy gems of tamed teenager torment that sold the strung up, struck down, and sliced-and-diced adolescent carnage-fodder into each and every way the human brain can conceive with only a tweak of difference adorned with each ornate kill. Horror has also become garish with gorgeous women for the gratuitous donation of bare skin for the camera and the audiences to entice and gawk at the beauty in death. I’m not going to lie, I eat every millisecond of film of the good, the bad, and the ugly when it comes to horror, and, truthfully, horror has been making a strong stance in the last couple of years and I’ve been embracing the subtle tingling of mind game thrillers to the overtly ostentatious gore-soaked slaughterhouses of a genre with the broadest spectrum known to the cinematic universe. The filmmaker under the alias of SamHel pushes our tolerance for extreme content to the breaking point with the written-and-directed 2020 adult-fetish exploitation, “LoveDump,” an independent film from the USA under the production company, A Baroque House, that set out to pay homage to the graphic adult and fetish horror films of 1990s Japan.

The 33-minute short film only stars two performers in non-speaking, purely physical roles. First up, Wolvie Ironbear, an intersex non-binary adult content pansexual specializing in gothic and kink fetishisms, depicts the notorious necrophiliac serial killer, Denise Holmes, and Apricot Pitts, an unshaven fetishist whose also in the adult content creator realm, as a hapless prostitute who becomes a slayed statistic of sadism lured in by Holmes to greedily satisfy the nagging ghastly degeneracies. Most of the runtime runs with Ironbear licking at the chops, contemplating the next libidinous victim. Thick in the air is the sordidness moisture of solo self-gratification with unorthodox sex toys: a pig’s head, human blood, and other interesting, socially ignoble objects not fit to describe without dismantling in spoiler territory. Ironbear has to be a killer and a pretender, playing into a pretense that is a wolf in a sheep’s kinky-gimp clothing when Pitt’s prostitute steps into the motel room. Together, Pitts and Ironbear are electric, sexy, and give a damn good X-rated show of lust and macabre that turns the fever of carnality into a gruesome display of monomania participation.

“LoveDump” is not an attractive title, but suitable for unattractive content of desecrating the dead to the likes of Jörg Buttgereit’s “Nekromantik” and Marian Dora’s “Cannibal” while striving to be akin to Japan’s extreme horror like “Splatter: Naked Blood” or the notoriously sought after Guinea Pig films. “LoveDump” has an outrush of a snuff film that emanates a deep, dark secret club with elite memberships under pseudonym-ship in the producer and production departments. The makeup and special effects prompt disconcert of an upholding quality for an indie picture and, so much so, the affect of the human soul skin-crawlingly good that we can’t find ourselves looking away when the urge to be squeamish is strong. SamHel’s film digs niche graves that not everyone will have the courage enough to step into by choice. For myself, “LoveDump” is purely curious voyeurism, ingesting and digesting the film as an informational vessel of visceral paraphilias and without a solid plot to chew on, “LoveDump” is a straightforward stitch in time gorging more on graphic imagery than story and that is where the A Baroque House flick loses me to an extent.

Don’t expect palsied love-stricken hearts to be oozing with jubilee affections; instead, expect a romantic bloodbath of narcissism in a solo courtship like none other in SamHel’s ultra-gory “LoveDump” on a limited edition DVD and Blu-ray from A Baroque House. The camera work by the monikered Excessive Menace renders a SOV resemblance from the 90’s with a lot of unsteady handheld shooting as well as adjusting the clarity of focus, but the frames do flicker noticeably which can be a minor nuisance. Almost all the sex and gore scenes are in an extreme closeup the gives you an extreme eye feel for the commingling faux blood and real semen. One of my only gripes is with the angles in the intercourse with Apricot Pitts that didn’t translate over well without the proper focus and lighting to be as a graphic as possible. Since provided with a digital screener and the screener provided is a rough cut of the short film, there were no bonus material included, if there were any. The limited edition physical packaged Blu-ray will include the full HD uncut version of the film, a still gallery, a behind the scene making of, and trailer. I assume the LE DVD contains the same features, but are not specified. Be warned! “LoveDump” is not teeny-bopping horror filmed for any Joe Schmo to casually sit down to Netflix and chill with their partner, unless they’re into switch BDSM with an ichor fetish and, in that case, “LoveDump’s” an avant-garde aphrodisiac bred out of extreme and unwavering compulsions.

Evil Shall Not Steal! “Purgatory Road” review!

The Kirby brothers, Vincent and Michael, witness the attempted suicide of his father who placed a snub-nosed barrel shotgun underneath his chin and pulls the trigger. As adult, the brothers process the trauma in their own ways with Michael unable to jumpstart his life that has been exploited by his brother who has joined the priesthood. Now as exonerated Catholic priest, Father Vincent continues his crusade in absolving confessional patrons of their sins, but with a twist. Hell bent on exacting death through absolving upon those who steal in any capacity, Father Vincent travels the rural areas of Mississippi in a beat up congregational and confessional mobile camper to soapbox his wrath sermons and to rid the world of those who surface his childhood trauma. When another psychotic killer ascertains Father Vincent’s radical cause and wants to join devious purposes, the aversely complicate Michael can no longer abide by his brother’s carnage of guilt path and isn’t keen on spending his life with another heartless killer, urging himself to exit the threesome and starting a life of his own with Ruby, a diner waitress who has taken a shine to him, but Father Vincent and his newfound accomplice won’t let him go that easily.

Just what the Catholic Church needs… one more film depicting a priest using God to benefit his own greed! Mark Savage co-writes and directs the damnation of thieves film, “Purgatory Road,” with a post-viewing requiring a penance of one Our Father and ten Hail Mary’s! Co-written with “Stressed to Kill’” Tom Parnell, “Purgatory Road” is a horrific hallmark of adverse Americanisms such as religious fanaticisms, self-indulgence, mental instability, corruption, and narcissism. All these qualities can potentially lead to one common bond that Savage makes centerpiece and that would be murder. Savage’s extreme vision isn’t all that far from today’s reality where cases of the mentally and the spiritually unstable and religious acolytes plan, stage, and carry out killing sprees almost weekly, corrupt politicians and the uppermost devout pocket secrets and bribes, and egotistical maniacs pick and choose basic civilities to divide groups against each other. I don’t see “Purgatory Road” as shocking and taboo, but rather as 98 minute revelation, not in a Almighty sense, but as a break in the opaque lens that is today.

Father Vincent firmly believe in his actions, without doubt and without shame, and uses any tool, or person, to fatally smite thieves, but has no absolute joy in the way he responds to pilferage acts. The guilt over his father’s attempted suicide drives him, sucking the vibrancy, the energy, and the happiness from him, and the fact that his father still lives, as a basement dwelling, cannibalistic creature, makes the matter even more dire to Vincent. The fraught priest ended up being an ideal performance for Gary Cairns (“Malignant”) who noted in the behind-the-scenes interview that his personal issues at the time brought out the all-around worst in Father Vincent and despite the character written as a fire-breathing, wrath of God man of the cloth, Cairns is able to weather his role as a seemingly idyllic Catholic priest with something to hide from credits-to-credits. Michael Kirby might be complicit, but isn’t wholeheartedly on-board with his brother’s blood shedding that drives another relevant nail into a Cain and Abel type tale. Michael’s longing to part from his brother is difficult for him, whether he also feels guilt for his father’s misfortune or an attempt to try and steer Vincent from complete and utter chaos, and even with a chance to escape the madness, Michael unintentionally flounders the attempt that ultimately becomes his climax to kill. Luke Albright (“Devil’s Pass”) engrosses himself as the black sheep amongst wolves in sheep clothing. Though his character is scribed as conflicted, Michael has downplayed emotional trauma that extremely binds him to his brother and makes him just as equally disturbed when disposing of his brother’s victims. Savage and Parnell’s narrative angle might not focus on the emotional level of Michael, but Albright flourishes the angst that internally rips him apart within the confines of every contentious scene that involves Cairns’ character. The brothers are driven further apart when Mary Francis, a sadistic and cannibalistic serial killer, discovers their undertaking, forces herself to join them in the cause, and catches the eye of Father Vincent, who displays some physical touch withdrawals and loneliness with the vulnerability of his corpses. Mary Francis is easy on the eyes, casual in her affairs, and empowering with a high sex drive that would make any man weak at the knees in a normal world, but Mary Francis is far from normal and Trista Robinson (“Jurassic City”) offers her short build, cutesy voice, and piercing eyes that favorably compliment Mary Francis’s dark features and equally dark soul. The character is an unsuspecting brut heart whose well-written as she describes to a radio talk show host her boy or girl fascinations as a drab hunting sport where spilling their blood and robbing them is the last great and excitable moment of the relationship, signified and sealed with a single kiss. The rest of the cast rounds out with Sylvia Grace Crim (“Happy Death Day 2U”), Geoff Falk (“The Livingston Gardener”), Chace Beck (“Meltdown”), and Douglas Cunningham.

Shot on location in Mississippi, “Purgatory Road” offers a really cool story that’s not produced on a studio lot and is kept out of the rural areas of California and any other locations that bear no resemblance to the deeply Southern pious roots of the 20th state of the U.S. Savage was able to obtain raw locations that best fit the delusional and fanatic tendencies of Father Vincent and with the gruesomely beautiful special effects and makeup by “American Guinea Pig: Bloodshock’s” Marcus Koch and Cat Bernier, the murderous role of not only Father Vincent but also Mary Francis are furnished to frightful fruition of two fiends you just don’t mess with in the devout South. Koch and Bernier texturize severed body parts and provide a wide diameter for blood splatter as an intensifying tool, but don’t overly exaggerate the gory garnishes that might re-direct attention from the story.

Unearthed Films and MVDVisual’s Blu-ray of Delirium’s “Purgatory Road” has Unchristian values worth indulging that includes a widescreen 1.85:! aspect ratio. The digital shot film uses a Canon EOS C300 Mark ll in a full HD setting and the image quality has phenomenal sharpness with natural skin coloring and excellent details that come to focus on the outside faded, dirty paneling of the rustic RV and in the fleshy, blood wet limbs of the Koch and Bernier gory special. Cinematographer Andrew Giannetta has a working eye for the horror element of “Purgatory Road’s” red-light district familiar frame work with appropriate fog and tint to augment the gothic murkiness and dread. The Dolby Digital 2.0 audio track is favorably well-balanced with no kickback or unintelligible miscues. “Purgatory Road” might have an RV kill room, but the RV isn’t involved in high speed chases or fiery explosions, so the dual channel works well for this type of low-key thriller. There are bonus features aplenty with a commentary with writer-director Mark Savage, a gallery slideshow entitled “The Grisly Art of Marcus Koch and Cat Bernier,” writer Tom Parnell speaking about his experience as a screenwriter behind his main profession as a lawyer, a lengthy featurette of the three lead actors speaking about their involvement, how they came to the project, and what the film and/or story means to them personally, and a Purgatory Road Q&A featuring Mark Savage. Impenitent swindlers beware! “Purgatory Road” is all fire and brimstone braced with a strong cast of compelling talent and a horrifically transfixing tale of blood is stronger than holy water.

All Evil Wants is to Make Art! “Bag Boy Lover Boy” review!


Albert’s just another lowly speck among the multifaceted masses of New York City. The lonely street hotdog vendor barely scrapes by in what could be considered a life, earning next to nothing to keep him on life support in the city that never sleeps. To impress a beautiful girl, a girl of his dreams, Albert accepts a position offered to him by an eccentric photographer and hopes to learn about creating art with a single click of a photographic camera, but Albert becomes the obsessive fixation of the photographer’s next breakthrough exhibit. Albert’s simpleton nature and the photographer’s edgy intensity pushes the aspiring artist to lure women into offbeat modeling sessions in the away photographer’s NYC flat. When he can’t retrieve the inspirational art out of his models, a frustrated Albert goes to extreme lengths to ensure his art is performed to his particular, elementary taste.

“Bag Boy Lover Boy” is the 2014 inaugural feature film debut of director Andres Torres who is one of the few directors out of countless others able to resuscitate the compellingly frightful grit of New York City long ago. I’m talking about the era of pre-Rudy Guiliani New York City in the 1980’s where graffiti splayed walls and the blue fluorescent of dilapidated charm was present on every grid blocked street. Torres, along with co-writer Toni Comas, supplements one of a kind character personalities very appropriate to inhabit the sinister ladened Big Apple. Characters who aren’t dolled up or even genuinely beautiful. Those characters who are easy on the eyes don’t have the inner soul to match, residing in them an defect of some sorts that makes “Bag Boy Lover Boy” feel all too real.

Jon Wächter, a director-actor with behaviors not too alien to that of his character, centers himself as that very bag boy, lover boy of Albert, the awkward citizen with a one track mind and living to fulfill no dreams, hopes, or goals. Wachter owns his role by giving no hints of aspiration to fortune or achievement until Albert meets the cynical Ivan, appropriately casted with New York City-based actor Theodore Bouloukos, is able to hone in on the streets’ muckiest ground level and incorporate a Ron Jeremy charm that’s shrouded sleazy, but devilishly smart. Ivan draws out of Albert a simple interest, a hope to create art through photography, but Ivan has other, more prosperous, plans for the gullible nitwit as model in his own artwork. Albert’s mind focuses solely on photography and not modeling, placing Ivan in a rather haste position to con his centerpiece with poor words of self-worth advice and filling Albert’s head with misogynistic directions when Ivan goes through his rather rough motivational spiel during shooting gigs. Albert then can’t separate reality with his newfound dream that puts “models,” played by Teena Byrd (“Ninja Versus Vampires”), Sarah O’Sullivan, and Adrienne Gori, in harms path. Kathy Biehl, Karah Serine, Tina Tanzer, Marseille Morillo, and Saoko Okano make up the rest of the cast.

What I found most interesting in Torres film is Albert’s perception of himself. After a couple of, what he thinks are successful, shoots with the women he lures and drags up to the Ivan’s flat, Albert perceives himself as this eminent rockstar, exhibited very boisterously in a fantasy scene within Albert’s dingy one room apartment. What’s really ironic about the whole story is that Ivan honestly could deliver every bit of the wealth, women, and respect he promises to Albert and with these promises, he could obtain Lexy, the girl he hopes to win over, but with such a narrow mind, unable to go beyond to foresee a positive future, Albert self-destructs into infamy with only some non-permissive nudity polaroids to show for it. Torres and Comas Shakespearean-like comedic tragedy concept is a consistent conundrum for each and every one of us, not just the slow and low like Albert, but for us who think in the short term, despite whether what we accomplish now might not be a desire or may not be our sole purpose in life. Even peering into Albert’s erratic, overly-exaggerated, if not visually stimulating, mind stories are not to different from what perhaps the rest of us experience.

Severin Films presents the EXU Media production of “Bag Boy Lover Boy” for the first time on DVD and Blu-ray home video. The region free, not rated, gorgeously illustrated Blu-ray is presented in full HD 1080p. The image quality boasts vibrant colors and really exemplifies the naturally gross visual aspects of New York City streets. Various skin tones come out nicely unfiltered and untouched, especially the pasty Wächter and the olive skin of Tina Tanzer, with only brief moments of filters to accentuate subversive content. The dual channel English stereo isn’t half bad. Even though English is not Jon Wächter’s first language, the Sweden-born actor’s dialogue is clear and coherent. The rather mixed bag soundtrack and the Barbara de Biasi score have boastful fidelity and remarkable clarity. Extras include a meaty audio commentary from director Andres Torres, Theodore Bouloukos, and editor Charlie Williams, The Student Films of Actor Jon Wächter: “Got Light” and “The Never-Starting Story,” and the film’s trailer. “Bag Boy Lover Boy” is surrealistically realistic while being slightly exploitive and courageously risky. A satirical film with the proper fortitude to challenge our judgements about life and the paths chosen while leaving an uncomfortable aftertaste of profligate opportunities. Torres also leaves with us a film that we’ll never forget.

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