stand-out viewing for the stopped up hottie sauce enema that was October.
99.9 (1997, dir. Agusti Villaronga)
drags just a hair in the middle, but Villaronga (In a Glass Gage) has such an intriguing mastery of how to create a curious synergy of mournful aesthetic and tense atmosphere.
a cranium juicing mash of supermarket paperback histrionics and mondo production lecherousness.
mublegore aint dead
ffo Greasy Stranger, Bag Boy Lover Boy, the Taint.
and that's one to grow on! (ugh)
felt like appropriate viewing after the whole Gabbie Petito Brain Laundry thing.
a more than solid entry into the terror-in-the-aisles pantheon (Demons, Anguish), but i fear that the garish neon color schemes are becoming just a bit worn out. i mean... Drive was ten years ago aighty, y'know? i love to look at it, but maybe we can try something else, eh? it's becoming the Old School Death Metal of cinematography.
a direct-to-video punksploitation giallo soap opera that overcomes its monetary limitations with a relentlessly creative aim to purge the violent seeds of its social isolation.
approaches its subject matter with a charming matter-of-factness that sharply course corrects before devolving into brimstone judgement porn.
a Donald Kauffman Summit.
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