Books, cats, and necrophiliacs
Junji Ito has a problem.
Imagine a locomotive with just enough coal to shovel into the engine to see it to its destination. A practiced shoveller (whatever the term is man, idk crud about old trains) would add bit by bit, remaining consistent across the journey, ensuring it reaches its destination. Ito on the other hand usually says @#*& it, and shoves all the coal in at the start.
What does this amount to? Some of the most interesting horror…
Enter the prison of grief: a man's daughter drowns; his reverberating screams bleed his throat as sanguine as her drenched coat.
Enter prison of grief: transition to Venice, the man is surrounded by a water he can neither escape nor admit to affecting him. You bury your grief, you turn away, sometimes even run; but it's always there, and so are you.
Enter the prison of grief: restoring churches is the man's chosen occupation. An attempt to repair shattered memories.…
Rating no budget experimental movies is always a tricky endeavour. Do you appraise what could have been? Or do you remain confined to an analysis of what had to be?
The theatre scene alone justifies this entire feature; a surreal and astute window into how desensitised to misogynistic violence in movies the viewer has become, owed to a progressively gratuitous oversaturation of shock value in horror cinema. Desensitised to the point of being able to derive sexual pleasure from the…