When I was a child, I really, really liked escargot. It was delicious. We were at a restaurant for my 8th or 9th birthday and my mom offered me one of her escargots. I took it, popped it in my mouth, and chewed it. My dad said "You know you're eating snails?"
I spat it out across the booth, cried, and never ate escargot again.
We Are the Flesh had a bunch of key words that made it sound like a winner. Infrared camera. Piss play. Post-apocalyptic. Con-non-con. Mind trip.
But, the end result was so revolting I could not enjoy myself at all.
That infrared camera work? Filmed in such a way that you could see every blemish, every pimple, on the actors' skin.
The piss-play? Done in such a filthy, primal way, and so punctuated that it wasn't entertaining.
The con-non-con? Less said about that, the better.
Post-apocalyptic? Mind trip? It ends with a crappy, shitty twist that left me feeling furious.
The scene that broke me was when a lady was masturbating and contorting so violently I was convinced she was simply going to reach up inside herself and start pulling out internal organs.
Art in metaphor is often an excuse for gross out film making - Jodorowsky this ain't. This is shock-cinema at some of its worse. It thinks it's being clever and it probably takes a lot of skill to make things this unsexy.
I resent it when things I enjoy are ruined for me.
Fuck this movie.
LILITH'S SCORE: 1/5
NEXT TIME: We continue Halloween Trick & Treat with something good, hopefully...