The ABCs of Death

A vast variety of filmmakers decided to deliver their own mini-movies, placed within an anthology format, turned loose to create whatever tale they so choose, and the content derives from a word beginning with a letter from the alphabet. Depending on taste, each tale will either appeal or disappoint the viewer. Anthologies have a tendency to be that way. What makes this unique is how filmmakers from all across the globe could be involved.
**½

I really didn’t know exactly what to expect going into The ABCs of Death, but I have read bits and pieces about the film, a blog review and from horror sites about it. I knew it was basically the Alphabet of Horror where filmmakers had a chance to craft a mini-movie (the very definition of the Minutes-Movie) using only a letter from the alphabet, covering a wide range of topics. I figured, like anthologies in horror, some of them would be to my liking while others would either leave me underwhelmed or outright unimpressed. There are always those nice surprises, with certain picks that appeal to my tastes while not others (and vice versa).

Horror can be a theatre of the absurd. A for Apocalypse doesn’t necessarily focus on the apocalypse itself as much as a wife trying her damndest to kill her husband before the “big event” happens. It is one of those short outbursts of violence that ends with the wife laying on the bed next to her husband…after cutting through his hand and stabbing his throat with a butcher knife, hurling hot grease on his face and using the skillet to bash his head over and over! She admits to him (after all of this violence which doesn’t kill him! He just looks up at her after each repeated blow to the skull with little reaction!) that she had been poisoning him for a while. Again, absurd. She looks out the window and you can hear the noise erupting signaling chaos. She just relaxes her head on the dead husband’s shoulder, a knife sticking out the other side of his neck!

The Boogeyman has been taught to scare the fuck out of children for ages. You can supplement Bigfoot or the Abominable Snowman in a tale to get a child to sleep while you and the girlfriend shag in the other room, but what happens when he does stop by with a cookie cutter blade ready to shred throats? And guess what else? In B for Bigfoot, the “garbage collector” (Boogeyman or Bigfoot, the guy is creepy and kills, that’s all that matters) stops by and he has the Albino eye. Yes, the albino eyed killer returns once again! What would the horror genre be without the Albino-eyed killer?

C for Cycle baffled me, I must say. Bruce sees a puddle of blood in his yard. There’s a noise at night, with the wife wanting Bruce to see what it is. In the morning, the wife calls his name, with Bruce going out to see her, finding a strange hole in the bushes. He moves carefully towards it, passes out (it seems) awakens in the yard, finding “another Bruce” in his bed next to the wife. Freaked out (rightfully so), he flees behind a couch in their home, heads into the back yard and is attacked from behind by “the other Bruce” with a water hose (barb wire hooked on the hose causing all the blood). The killer Bruce (doppelganger?) gets rid of the “victim Bruce” by dragging him into the hole. Very strange. Seeing one Bruce kill another Bruce (strategically, the camera is placed where it needs to be to save money on CGI) is rather odd. The reasoning behind it all is up for debate.

Well, dog lovers may want to beware because D is for Dogfight has a ferocious dog (obviously tortured and trained by an abusive dirtbag who stole him from a family while driving around a suburban block) doing battle with a bruiser (who does seem stuck in this underground fight probably out of desperation) in an underground fight with an assortment of lowlifes who have nothing better to gamble on than this depraved contest of animal against human. But, while the blows to the dog’s face seem real (if they aren’t kudos to the director for staging them extremely well; the fight looks quite authentic) and will likely cause animal lovers in general to cringe in horror, ultimately the dog is the victor. What’s even more cool is the results of the fight when the bruiser finds his way out of the grave merely by calling the canine’s name (Buddy) when his life seemed over (the dog seems to clamp down on the man’s throat; his eyes opening as death appears imminent, with a sudden option available to him becoming his salvation), and then the tables turned on the abusive trainer should certainly satisfy them. Regardless, the dog (he doesn’t look threatening until turned loose) is awesome and the slow motion (minimalistic score) with no background noise, dialogue, cheers/boos, growling/snarling, or blows allowed works exceptionally well. Actually I think the lack of audio actually enhances the whole experience of it. To see the dog successful when it seems the bruiser, just throwing blows haphazardly just to survive, could be on the cusp of winning is probably the most surprising part of the film. It truly comes down to the inner “man’s best friend” that lies within the damaged dog that ultimately civilizes it momentarily, a trigger that stops it from doing the deed to the bruiser. Pretty incredible little mini-movie.

 

Enough to make your skin crawl just a bit (Eek!!!) is Angela Bettis’ E is for Exterminate regarding a young man who attempts (and fails) to kill a spider in his apartment, later finally squashing it but not before it bites him in the back of the neck and later lays a nest inside his ear! This is simply built to give you the shivers in repulsion at the thought of a nest of spiders laid in the ear of a person. It is effective enough, I must say, because it certainly had the hairs standing up for sure. 

And now for something completely different! F is for Fart is weird for the sake of being weird. It is just bizarre. A Japanese girl doesn’t believe in God, she is more devoted to her teacher, Ms. Yumi’s ass farts! When she goes to hold Yumi’s hand (she also desires her), “God’s angry fart” (I couldn’t make this up if I tried) sets off a black cloud of smoke that kills other Japanese female students while the girl and Ms. Yumi flee for the nearest building for protection. But the girl is dying to smell Yumi’s fart and her teacher finally (with a smile) gives her what she so yearns for…a yellow gaseous fart that sprays forth right into the girl’s face as Yumi obliges, only to happy to provide. A mini-movie about the craving for a fart in the face; this is ridiculous and certain to crack those with a penchant for toilet bowl humor. I will say, though, that there is a lesbian undercurrent that many might find arousing; the ending allows the girl and Ms. Yumi to embrace in a kiss while somehow seemingly up Yumi’s ass (?!?!), all happy and content.

Some guy goes out to surf and pays the price. The camera is the eyes of the wannabe surfer; it is all POV. This is just a whole lot of nothing. It is like thirty or so seconds and is over. G is for Gravity must have been an amusing joke to the director. Throw a camera on your head, grab a surf board, head out in the morning to a secluded beach, swim into the ocean a bit, and fall accidentally into the water, perhaps knocking yourself into unconsciousness. Ho-hum. I will forget this one about as quickly as it lasted.

By the time I arrived to H is for Hydro-Electric Power, The ABCs of Death was starting to wear out its welcome. The mini-movies in the film were sorely missing the horror and a little less comedy goes a long way. I hadn’t really watched that one mini-movie that really had left its mark with me. This mini-movie plays on WWII, using a dog as in the place of a dogfighter pilot and a stripper dog as a sneaky member of the Third Reich. Both were in well designed costumes, and there’s a clever electric bolt machine that sends off plenty of bolts and volts. The sight gags include the stripper dog unveiling her boobs, the fighter pilot dog’s eyes bulging, the sound of Winston Churchill’s voice echoing in the mind of the fighter pilot dog as inspiration to not give up (not surrender), and ultimately fighter pilot dog using the stripper dog’s own machine against her. It closes with stripper dog in a face melt, and fighter pilot dog taking a drag from his cigar, sending off a wink that he has won the good fight. Amusing, I found H is for Hydro-Electric Power, but I still had this feeling that keeps coming, “Where’s the horror?” Nothing had really went for the jugular yet; no visceral experiences up to this point.

When watching this anthology, I was still looking for a real grabber. A mini-movie that took me either intellectually or emotionally by the shoulders and shrugged me from complacency.

I do agree with others who consider The ABCs of Death a mixed bag. Some of these so far have been odd, comedic, or inconsequential. I is for Ingrown is kind of middle-of-the-pack as it deals with (I thought) a husband murdering his wife. Emphasis on wedding rings, the way the man with the blue cleaning glove, a liquid (some sort of substance that causes a victim to itch horrendously resulting in rabid scratching and, in a gagging fit, puke up food or something until death) in a red container, and hypodermic loaded with death, pulls away rather horrified by his actions (he seems motivated to do so for whatever reason not explained). Two pairs of slippers are near the bathtub. And when she reaches out to him, he seems caught in a horror that seems to indicate he is stunned by his actions. Minimal pieces of thought are narrated to us by the woman who is bound with rope and scarves in a bathtub, the man’s tie tightened around her mouth, contemplating her situation as life comes to an end. This one is rather unpleasant and nasty; we watch her die as the man leaves the room knowing what his injection will do to her. Whatever the intention, this mini-movie leaves a bad taste. No kidding around here. 

I have noticed while watching some of these mini-movies that it seems we as viewers are brought right at a pivotal time in the lives of certain characters; I think there's a lot of back story we just aren't privy to, so the conclusions we get are a bit ambiguous or cryptic. Details like the wedding rings and the slippers in I is for Ingrown are perhaps tells that give us a little something to nibble on.

J for Jedai-Geki (Samurai Movie) is just plain silly. While a Samurai is disemboweling himself through the suicidal ritual of hara-kiri, the swordsman who is to lop off his head has trouble completing his end of the deal. The Samurai seems to be going through a series of facial expressions and transformations that leave the swordsman awestruck, mortified, sweaty (to such an extreme, it would fit in an Airplane comedy), and nervous. Finally able to fulfill his duty, the swordsman even giggles just a bit because of the fixed expression (outrageous cartoonish anger), his half-grinning face shown in the victim’s blood puddle! There’s use of claymation for the malformed face and eyes literally springing from the sockets to define the absurdity of what the Samurai conveys as the Seppuku ceremony nears its conclusion.

K is for Klutz has some nice animation, but because the whole emphasis is on a party girl and her turd that seems to have an intelligence while in the bathroom of a party of some sort, it left me rather disinterested. Sorry, I’m not into shit, animated or emphasized in movies. People start vomiting, their heads hung over commodes, turd gags (although the “chocolate bar” gag in Caddyshack still is a riot, I must admit…) that are used to tickle the funny bone, characters eating and spitting out food; all of this happens and I check out. It does nothing for me, personally. The whole point is that this party girl in a teeny weenie party dress can’t seem to flush that elusive bionic turd, always avoiding the toilet. Unleashing the turd ultimately is her undoing as it returns to where it was first ejected, killing her in the process. The slingshot turn through the use of a bra; well, I had never seen it before, so that was a new one. If you are amused by such humor, then this will go down well.

L is for Libido is just sick and depraved. It concerns sickos (most of the onlookers wearing plastic Kabuki masks) who like to lock men in chairs with leather straps, forcing them to masturbate to various sexual acts paraded before them (an amputee using her prosthetic foot for pleasuring; an older man molesting a little boy (Thank God this is just hinted at instead of shown); naked girls stripping). The one who isn’t able to masturbate first dies when a mechanical drill underneath their uncomfortable wooden chair anally spears them! The “hero” of this exercise in depravity endures stage after stage, but how long can anyone last in this contest when you are never allowed to leave? When the child molestation ensues, this poor guy vomits instead of ejaculates; the other guy, however, is an obvious disturbed individual immediately excited when the little boy in his underwear appears. The hero is later used as one of the sexual “exhibits” put on display for two other victims strapped to chairs and forced to jack off to women riding him. His fate is sealed when one of the girls riding him wields a chainsaw and begins a hacking. I was glad this was over when it came to its conclusion. This was beyond bad taste. Added to the mix is the hero’s starting to hallucinate the longer he goes without water or nourishment seeing an eye in a woman’s snatch and a deer head winking at him! Funniest scene has the spear machine malfunctioning with one of the female “hosts” of the masturbation contests getting stabbed when a kick jumpstarts it! Although I hated the content of L is for Libido, I did think it was beautifully photographed (many of these mini-movies are), but this alone didn't do enough to keep me from wanting this over as soon as possible.

I can only think that when people see Ti West's name attached to this mini-movie (emphasis on mini) once M is for Miscarriage is over the thought will be "That was it?!?!" One word came to my mind, "Pointless." It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what this woman is trying to flush in her toilet. Yawn. It is too bad someone with West's talent can't muster something more substantial than this waste of time and energy.

A young man trains a parrot to help in asking his girlfriend to marry him. But the bird is too well trained, giving up sexual transgressions that condemn him once a butcher knife she had been using to cut up a cucumber is next to her during a moment of pure wrath. Another comedy with a rage killing at the end. The bird does some cool tricks, like picking up the engagement ring with its beak and carrying it to the girl and turning in circles at command by its owner. Other than that, it is basically a man's fooling around returning to haunt him. The blood all over the camera lens as she stabs him goes on a bit too long, but the use of a parrot is rather amusing.

An aging prostitute with three children is screwed over by an on-again/off-again boyfriend (and probably deadbeat father of one of a couple of the kids), stealing her “birthday fund”, hidden away for safe keeping (he does so while she’s out hooking) so she can buy her oldest girl a bike (the little girl is held gripped by the bike as the mother must look on with disappointment that it may be beyond what she can afford). This woman is stuck in a godforsaken limbo of despair. They rent an apartment that many hobos would be embarrassed to sleep, walk the overpopulated streets with a future most uncertain, and among the squalor that exists around them (and what they live within) try to find happiness where they can find it. While life is bleak for them, the family seems solid (mother and children), even if a father is absent and the mother must make a living by selling her snatch. These kinds of stories are slaps in our face and punches in our belly; they say “it could always be worse so stop your bitching”. With no money thanks to the scumbag who ran off with it (he probably just shows up to grab away her surplus for booze or crack), she must pay the rent through the use of her profession and crush a cute kitten under her heel for a sick fuck with a camera. Alas, it ends with us knowing that this is the pressures of life when mouths are to be fed and rent is due. At least her daughter can ride that bike she always wanted even although a kitten was sacrificed in the process. P is for Pressure is designed to shrug us through a moment or two with a family up against it. There’s hooking to pay the bills or slitting your wrists. This could be your life so shut the fuck up and be appreciative of what you have. What happens when the mother is fifty? Do the girls wind up just like her? Who will protect them from the pressures their mother faces? It did end with a mother’s smile and children happy (at a playground, a bike ride and jubilate swing on the swingset…if you are to know that a cat was crushed and stomped repeatedly, what better aftermath than children happy and a mama proud?).

I couldn’t help but think of the Aflac duck while watching Q is for Quack, a rather amusing document on the filmmakers burdened by having the worst letter for a mini-film in The ABCs of Death. It breaks the fourth wall in that regard—real filmmakers frustrated and disappointed with their lot in the echelon (pecking order) of The ABCs of Death, stuck with an extremely difficult task of coming up with something ingenious when the letter of the alphabet of death would keep most of the directors, given the opportunity to feature their talents in a horror anthology, up at night—and, to me, was rather clever. Particularly the ending—which was a play on “Quack” not just with the idea of killing a duck, in turn creating a snuff film for their feature, but the embarrassment of being filmmakers toiling with a concept that could work, and ultimately becoming the very content that was supposed to happen in front of their own camera directed by them—plays on the idea of real people (writer and director and crew member) with a really low budget ($5000 is mentioned), struggling to figure out a way to make an impact amongst your peers and stand out from the pack to impress the audience, winding up falling victim to a moment of sheer stupidity, arriving to this without proper precautions or thinking things through. Seeing them flustered while testing a big-breasted actress, addressing how their current shooting isn’t working, it sets up an act of desperation that, no surprise, doesn’t end well. I imagine this is an authentic experience for many filmmakers trying to make something out of little and feeling undermined by a lack of resources available to them. The double shooting might be a bit silly, but it isn’t out of the realm of possibility since Brandon Lee, son of Bruce, died because of a mishap involving a gun.

 

How does one even attempt to describe R is for Removal. I admire its viscera, that’s for sure. Nasty bit of business. I was clueless at (if it even attempts, that is) as to the point of it all, but I can’t deny it has levels of gross and grue that left me mouth agape. Skin grafted from a body (it looks like a burn victim or someone out of a Cronenbergian nightmare) is peeled in a red room by the surgeon and his nurse to reveal film strips. What is on them is never explained. The poor soul is carted out to adoring fans who want to lick his bloody barely stitched wounds as flashing light bulbs constantly go off (the kind of flashing that would cause seizures). Finally snapping, the patient kills hospital personnel and the two men (who seem to be like his agents/managers), shooting one of them with a “meat bullet” (from his body!). He decides to go to a train yard to push a locomotive before falling to the ground, seemingly dying in the process. This is quite unsettling in its surgical removal of flesh, and the director takes great pleasure in showing the scalpel peeling. Yuck.  

 

Jake West’s S is for Speed shows that the man needs to make an action film with tough badass babes blazing the dirt and asphalt in muscle cars. This was one I would have liked to have seen as a feature film; instead of the heroine outrunning death itself, she could be in Drive Angry 2, avoiding hell, leaving behind smoke and rubber as she seeks to avenge [insert reason to blow shit up and send cars turning in mid air multiple times here]. Ruby red lipstick, leather gloves, tight pair of jeans, and a pissed off attitude; this is ideal good times. Anyway, essentially, a shrouded, hooded figure with a pig snout (I kid you not) is after the heroine of S is for Speed. What is she outrunning and why is he after her? She has another girl forced from wherever into the trunk of her car (the kind of car that roars when hitting on all cylinders) as the two hit the road, with that red button a lot of those cars out of Too Fast Too Furious seem to have that works as go-juice typically speeding the car up to damn near warp drive enough to make Scotty from the Enterprise envious. You can’t outrun the inevitable. Before finally having to take the hand of death, when no exits were left, and the occupant in her trunk is not ready to go with him yet, she packs a gnarly blow torch and streams furious flames at her pursuer. Though we are brought back down to earth when ultimately that wherever I previously mentioned the ladies came from was a dope house, trashed and in disarray, with both of them junkies dancing that dance with death, S is for Speed feels like the trailer of an adrenaline-fueled, tightly-paced, no-time-to-take-a-breath, sun-scorching,  desert chase. The fact this is all a drug-induced façade that paints the women as retro-sexy, potty-mouthed rejects from Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! does kind of deaden the impact for me personally, but it is a route taken in the past. Sometimes a fictitious demise is far more flattering than the real thing. S is for Speed certainly says so. I have to admit that I have a hard time with gaping drug wounds so punctured that blood pools when a new heroin needle is introduced, swimming as it goes in by the girl offered to death in exchange for the heroine’s delay of death. This is where I’m a bit of a wimp. I get squeamish by very few things (can’t stand nipple violence and rings pulled from body parts), but needles poking in massive holes developed from over a period of extensive drug use has me wincing. I prefer seeing those addicts as snarling, venomous, hardened, resilient, take-no-shit rebels, firing Colt .45s, putting the pedal to the metal, and kicking up gravel and popping off the pistons, heading down the road to nowhere, looking for a retreat from a checkered, destructive past.

Egad. Another tale with a fucking toilet. This time claymation toilet monster eating a family. Well, it is a nightmare a child has but does it end there or does reality itself have a surprise for the kid needing to learn to use the big potty? Lots of awesome claymation gore, but enough already with the toilet. Sheesh. 

 

U is for Unearthed is a rather intriguing way of showing a vampire hunted and killed by a mob. All POV, we see through the eyes of the damned, experiencing how it feels to be a member of the undead, pursued, fangs pried away from the mouth, a stake buried all the way in the chest, ax chops leading to a beheading. The camera lens is used creatively to show all of this. The head removal, in particular, is rather cool. 

In the future, our government dictates that it is illegal to propagate unless given permission through the proper channels, and there are “mentals” (para-psychic humans with mind control capabilities) considered so dangerous “law officers” and their “Nezbits” (mechanized robots that have “auto-recognition”, defense mechanism that reads humans with mental powers and kills as programmed) hunt them down and eliminate them like vermin. When a female officer realizes that the government she worked loyally for is corrupt and seeking the location of a powerful prophet considered a major threat, she is willing to betray them (particularly motivated after a child and his protectors are massacred; although the child is “special” and doesn’t die so easily) in order to see that those she once supported aren’t given directions to the prophet and access to his power. V is for Vagitus was like a grand-scale sci-fi film condensed into four-to-five minutes. Actually I would like to see this as a feature length film! It seems nuts enough. The head of a child after it was severed from its body by a monster robot causing a government agent’s head to explode Scanners style..that in just about thirty seconds of this mini-movie! And, again, I’m easily won over with the hot woman carrying a Blade Runner gun, portraying a futuristic, highly skilled law officer who, accompanied by a massive robot that blasts people apart with relative ease and speed, can move through shooters using combative techniques that equip her with the ability to evade bullets and fists. It is only when she loses focus for a second or two that her superior takes advantage and shoots her. There’s a destiny in play for the heroine, regarding the prophet, and I guess the shot would have been a flesh wound that would have healed over time. Within this mini-movie, she is at an interview hoping to gain the right to reproduce (propagate), but she’s infertile. It proves that she is dedicated to the cause regarding illegal baby-producing but desires the chance at motherhood. This whole mini-movie gets out of the gate quick (as it has to) and mows through a 140 minute plot in minutes. Color me impressed. The Nezbit would make a fine addition to the syfy channel’s robot combat league.

W is for WTF felt somewhat similar to Q is for Quack in that is plays on the difficulties coming up with a thrilling concept based on a letter of the alphabet that gives the filmmakers stuck with it few options that seem to be a bonafide hit. Interrupted while trying to finish an animated skit for The ABCs of Death, the director and his crew become aware of an “apocalypse of the synapses” where random shit from the mind start to unfold like clown zombies, a Sesame Street muppet, an animated creature with an oval mouth full of teeth flying through the air with an appetite to devour, a giant walrus, a babe from a barbarian movie, and a slutty nurse (who uses the director’s head to fire a laser at the walrus!) all pop up as the world goes to hell. A head is pulled from the neck, a face is eaten off, the animated skit has a witch butchering a big-bosomed damsel in distress, and her knight in shining armor is obliterated. Clown zombies…do I need say anymore. Then animation and reality emerge when the director’s own witch stabs his decapitated head multiple times to close this mini-movie. It is all just bonkers.

Xavier Ganz’ X is for XXL damn near made me throw up. It chronicles the mistreatment of a heavy set woman as she boards a subway, eventually arriving to the get-off spot leading to her home. Numerous assholes crack jokes about her excess weight, and a slim beauty is advertised throughout billboards and commercials as the ideal shape. The ridiculed heavy decides to “shed some pounds” through the use of cutting tools. She achieves her goal but it comes with an obvious price. I held my composure the best I could but this was grueling. Phew, I felt like I endured a marathon even though this was about three/four minutes. Hard to stomach (pardon the pun). Seeing her stuff her face before taking to carving herself up like a Thanksgiving turkey is not my idea of an entertaining time. Just saying.

A pedophile school janitor who is transfixed with the sweat pooling from the asses of kid basketball players had an encounter with a child while teaching him to kill a deer with a crossbow in the woods. Well, that child hasn’t forgotten what that rat bastard did to him and uses the deer head trophy to get revenge. Seeing the janitor literally caught in a state of hypnotic bliss while licking up the sweat from the gym bench made my skin crawl. Watching the kid unleash fury using deer antlers, pulling his head away after gouging out his eyes was a pleasure. Using his decapitated head as a basketball, hurling it thru the hoop (nothing but net), placing the deer head upon his, blood dried and sticky on his mad face, the child is primal and full of rage. Y is for Youngbuck is like a primal scream for the sexually molested. If only more scumbags got it like this.

Maybe I was just a bit worn out because Z is for Zetsumetsu just did nothing for me. It is built to shock with everything from a giant dildo with a sword sticking out (and used for vaginal violence so severe geysers of blood spray all over the victim while the killer basks in the red rain as it explodes) to a parody on Dr. Strangelove speaking about whites. Penis and Pecker aplenty. Talking about the nuclear bomb. Rice and vegetables. Oh, the chick with the giant dildo also wears a Nazi hat. Carrots shot out of vagina. Rice smeared over tits. Two chicks tonguing. Naked Japanese guys with shrunken wankers eating chopped up fake dick. This is one of those crazy Japanese concoctions that seems designed especially to leave mouths open wide at all the audacity on display. This kind of content just isn’t my bag. I dig Asian chicks, mind you, just not used as are here. This will undoubtedly leave many viewers happy, especially those looking for something insane and lewd.

 My favorite of the tales from the Alphabet of Death was...

Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani took the horror genre by storm with Amer (2009) a few years ago. I recall quite a bit of fanfare; its reputation was impressive. I watched it and liked it. I think it has legs and could get even better with subsequent viewings. Their style is very flashy, experimental, unconventional. I imagine pretentious and artsy fartsy might be thrown around by their critics who find them annoying in how they seek to make something a bit different and aesthetically catchy. O is for Orgasm has a beautiful woman getting orally satisfied and the filmmakers explore the fine DeSadian line between pleasure and death (leather works its way up to her throat by her male partner), with lots of leather and flesh. Fetishes of mine, cinematically, include the lips of a woman and a lovely face entrapped in a state of sexual euphoria and erotic bliss. Leather gloved hands sliding delicately up her legs, the leather belt groping her breasts before making its way to her throat. Her head gradually arcing back, fingers through the hair of her pleasurer in appreciation, the woman’s face assuring us that he’s doing it right. When she lets off bubbles that almost seem animated and alive with a cigarette actually bumping against a bubble before it bursts into fragments of water drops spreading across her face, with blues and reds adding candy color hues towards the end when it seems that her life has become suddenly threatened, I was taken aback and pleasantly surprised at the Dario Argento-Mario Bava influence that seems to exist. Most of this is all them; their giallo influences seem to always show up which doesn’t bother me one bit. Out of all the tales of The ABCs of Death, O is for Orgasm is definitely the one I can say I’ll watch over and over. Few others really share such a distinction, except maybe V and D. The use of a lit cigarette up close was a unique visual, and the bubbles certainly wasn't expected.

So I made it through The ABCs of Death. I thought it was okay. I didn't really find too many of them all that extraordinary. Few really just left me considerably satisfied. I don't think the horror anthology fan in me was fed the scraps to satiate my appetite, and there was a bit too much comedy. I realize you can't please everybody, and there are tales within the alphabet of death that weren't too shabby. If you embrace bad taste, revel in depravity, and are attracted to toilets, this anthology might just be for you. There was a wide range of topics from pedophiles to potty training, as well as, flushing the remains of a baby to masturbate or die. I can say that there's probably a tale for every horror fan (or fan of black comedy), and at least one tale that could make you sit back in your chair just from the content and subject matter. I think it is noticeable that there was a degree of freedom given to the filmmakers involved, and creative license to go into whatever direction they so desired. A sequel seems to be in the works, and this will perhaps provide incentive for those attached to it to go even further into the dark corners, to lunge forth into the abyss with smiles wide, and to heartily delve into the blackest pitch that a comedy of horrors might provide.