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Thanks to The Pirate Bay, I finally got to see Dutch director Tom Six’s highly-anticipated horror movie, The Human Centipede. I’m warning you now that this review contains vomit-inducing concepts and images that cannot be unseen, so if you don’t have the stomach for this sort of thing, I highly suggest that you read something else.

The Human Centipede starts out predictably enough. Two ditzy American girls on a European road trip are on their way to go clubbing with a cute German guy they met earlier in the day. They end up with a flat tire in the woods, and there’s nowhere else to go but a modern sprawling bungalow. We’ve encountered all these tropes before. Unfortunately for the girls, the bungalow is occupied by Dr. Heiter (Dieter Laser), a retired German surgeon with a sick fantasy and way too much time on his hands. The following day, the girls wake up next to each other, their hands and ankles bound to a hospital bed.

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I love horror movies as much as anyone with a strong appetite for cinematic blood, guts, and gore, but there are horror movie sub-genres I don’t touch unless I absolutely have to. These are supernatural movies and Asian horror flicks with ghosts and shit. To me, these movies take the fun away from horror because I get genuinely scared. My vivid imagination doesn’t make it any easier; I remember the most frightening movie scenes the moment I start nodding off to sleep. To recover from a supernatural horror movie, I have to go to bed with the lights on for a week.

To celebrate Halloween, I invited the Hohobags over for candy, alcohol, and horror movies last night. I thought we’d never get to the movie part of the night, but we eventually stopped talking and got around to watching Paranormal Activity, which was followed shortly by Clueless so we could fall asleep to pretty thoughts of pink fur and plaid. (Am I the only one here who’s weirded out by Clueless‘ incestuous plot twist? How come I didn’t spot this when I was in fifth grade? Whatever happened to Alicia Silverstone anyway? And why does my boyfriend withhold his affection every time young Jeremy Sisto comes on screen?) Without looking at the synopsis, I knew I’d probably have trouble sleeping for the next couple of days.

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A couple of weeks ago, I complained about the serious lack of censorship-free horror movie viewing in this country, but little did I know that Phil Dy was awesome enough to show Antichrist all week at Mogwai. Thank God for (free) independent film theaters! I have been waiting to see this movie since I read an article about how its disturbing imagery made people at walk out of it at Cannes. But now that I’ve actually seen the film, I’m not entirely sure what to think.

Let me begin by saying that Antichrist the kind of movie that invites pretentious readings. If you really want to take it apart and talk to your friends about it, you’re going to end up sounding like a douchey, know-it-all critic. Antichrist is very heavy on the imagery, and there’s no other way to talk about the movie without the risk of reading too much into it. The film opens with a couple deep in the throes of lovemaking, completely oblivious to their young son who was slowly crawling his way out their apartment window. (The opening sequence actually had a shot of penis-vagina penetration, woot!) After their son dies, the wife experiences severe depression, which her therapist husband tries to help her recover from. He suggests that they retreat into a cabin deep in the woods so she could overcome the fears and anxieties triggered by their son’s death.

From this point onwards, it’s hard to say what happens next without revealing important (and complicated) details, and without inserting your own interpretation of the events. Let’s just say that after a while, the wife goes batshit insane and some very graphic genital mutilation occurs.

THE CUT CONTAINS SPOILERS GALORE!

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