Death to Videodrome! Long live the new flesh.
An abstract alcoholic haze of existential dread, self-loathing and melancholic self-reflection from Sam Peckinpah.
The dust, sweat, flies, decrepit urban decay of rampant poverty and filthy white linen combined with the almost Altman-esque meandering aimlessness of the journey suspends Bring me the Head of Alfredo Garcia feverishly in the midpoint between dream and nightmare.
Warren Oates on a conversational Road trip with a putrifying head in the passenger seat. The key to a million dollars. Getting to the head was…
Peckinpah's obsession with violence boiled down to a specific bloody resin; the futility of war. A point made all the more poignantly via the eyes of the enemy.
Suffering is the winner, and the men are on the side of survival and their own instincts. Human nature is the nature of the beast, even in times of war. Bullets, mud and explosions will never be able to stop it if the innate savagery and horrors can't.
The desire to fuck,…
Major Dundee feels like exactly how it is in the chronology of Peckinpah's filmography; the bridge between Ride the High Country and The Wild Bunch.
It shares the classic Western shell with the former, though instead of just being another layer to the revisionist subversion in the form of a deft disguise as it is in High Country, here it's used as an acerbic mockery to the glossiness of John Ford and his ilk, even taking aim at Ford directly…
The absolute pinnacle of exploitation cinema, and so much more besides that.
Dismemberment, real execution footage, real animal killings, rape, murder, genocide, drugs and a disgusting lack of morality are all on show, without even thinking about the actions of the tribe of cannibal savages the film shows.
Cannibal Holocaust trancends exploitation, Italian cannibal films, video nasties and found footage films and becomes something luridly beautiful.
This is because, whilst being complete exploitation in its purest form, it goes beyond…
Dario Argento shows, relatively uncharacteristically, an unbridled nihilistic savagery in this ultra-visceral giallo.
Opera gives off an unshakeable feeling of anger from Argento. The heavy metal cutting through the grandiose score of opera and classical music with pure malice as the black leather gloves stab incessantly and indiscriminately. Argento's camerawork emulates the ravens, swooping and circling and tying you into place, forcing you to take in the brutality. Absolutely vicious from Argento, who usually adorns his murder in stylish appeal.…