I may have gotten into horror late in the game, but I’ve been a hardened fan for almost two decades now and have made it my life’s mission to watch as many films within the genre as I can cram into a life span. By now, I must have seen thousands of horror films from all over the globe and am always sniffing around for exciting new films to watch as well as any and every “must-see” or “classic.”
Now, this doesn’t mean I’ll watch anything. There are some films I have zero interest in whatsoever (shitty remakes fit that bill plus any permutation of an Insidious, The Conjuring, or a Paranormal Activity). Life’s too short, and there are too many promising films and glaring holes in my “seen it” list to waste time watching something I know I’m going to hate. (Although, as horror fans, I do believe we all have a bit of a masochistic streak which compels us to occasionally plunk down our hard-earned dollars on a ticket or press “play” on something we know down deep in our heart of hearts will be a steaming pile of shit; yet, we do so in hopes of being proven otherwise. Horror fans are a much more adventurous and open-minded lot than mainstream film watchers in that regard.)
Then there is the so-called “extreme cinema.” We all have our own limits as to how much is too much – how much gore, transgression, torture, sickness, sadism, and psychological torment we can take before we scream “uncle.” I have found over the years that I have developed a cast-iron stomach and nerves of steel (at least when it comes to cinema; I’m still deathly afraid of climbing ladders) and can pretty much watch almost anything. I’ve seen and greatly enjoyed such “depraved” films (of course, what’s considered depraved to one is completely normal family viewing to another; who am I to judge?) as diverse as A Serbian Film, Martyrs, Inside, Irreversible, The Girl Next Door, Ichi the Killer, The Poughkeepsie Tapes, Ebola Syndrome, The Human Centipede II, Cutting Moments, Salò, and so on.
But still there remain a select few films I maintain I won’t ever go near. Films whose unsavory reputations precede them, ones I have heard contain such levels of filth and depravity that even I wouldn’t be able to stomach them. One such nasty is Cannibal Holocaust, but that’s mainly because of the animal cruelty. I also have no use for pseudo-snuff films, which rules out anything in the August Underground or Guinea Pig series. I’ve also heard enough terrible things about Men Behind the Sun to put me off that one for the time being. Nonetheless, a sort of morbid fascination remains …so never say never, I guess.
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Until this very morning, Jörg Buttgereit’s Nekromantik was another on my “will probably never watch” list. Not so much because of the subject matter (okay… the subject matter might have had a little to do with it), but rather because I still had the memory of my prepubescent self at the local video store, waiting until my mother’s back was turned so I could sneak off and make my clandestine and furtive foray into the store’s ominous yet enticing horror room. However, I was not even one second into my foolhardy incursion, when… BAM!… the horrific box art for Nekromantik hit my orbital socket, and that was it! I quickly realized I was way in over my head and beat a hasty retreat back to the safe confines of the kid’s section.
The box art, which as an aside I now think is the epitome of cool, depicted a nubile lady seemingly in the throes of passion, one breast revealed with the other cupped in the hand of a rotting carcass, the corpse’s eyeball hanging tenuously from its socket. As far as movie posters went, it was about as lurid and confrontational as they come. Even as a young child, I knew instantly that this was a movie about corpse fucking.
Cut to October 2014. Cult Epics had just released Nekromantik as well as its sequel on Blu-ray. Upon learning that both films were released in extremely limited quantities, and still repulsed/fascinated by the idea of finally seeing the film whose promotional art scarred me so, I bought both movies sight unseen. But instead of going straight into my player, the two films went right to the bottom of my “to watch” pile, a place where they remained uncomfortably for over a year. And there they stayed until a dismal rainy day and a dearth of anything else enticing to watch meant it was time to finally give the 1987 German-made original a spin.
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Nekromantik begins with a hilarious disclaimer: Warning: Some of this film may be seen as “grossly” offensive and should not be shown to minors. As if some parent would mistake a film whose title is a portmanteau of “death” and “romance” for an all-ages Disney film. The first frame shows a woman dropping trou and taking a nice long piss, effectively setting the sordid tone for the rest of the film. Soon, she and her husband are involved in a horrific road accident. He’s stuck within the wreckage of the vehicle, a shard of something sticking out of his eye, while she’s thrown from the vehicle and is now just a torso, her innards flooding outward.
A vehicle arrives on scene, and a crew dressed in white lab coats exits. They’re not paramedics though: Rather, they’re under the employ of Joe’s Streetcleaning Agency. They stuff the unfortunates into green garbage bags, and back to headquarters they go.
One of the cleaners is a gent by the name of Robert Schmadtke. He’s the newest hire, and his foreman, Bruno, does not want him on the team. Odd, since Rob appears to be an affable enough fellow–that is, until Rob returns home to his flat and we learn that he’s actually 50 shades of fucked up.
Seems Robbie is obsessed with death, and the apartment that he shares with his attractive girlfriend, Betty (Monika M., who, in the same year, also appeared in the heartbreakingly beautiful Wim Wenders flick Wings of Desire – talk about going from the ridiculous to the sublime), is filled with jars of pickling body parts. An eyeball here, a heart there, a hand, some innards, and even a fetus. It that ain’t macabre enough for you, human bones are strewn about the flat like something right out of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.
When the well-rotted corpse of an unfortunate fruit-picker is fished out of a bog, instead of disposing with the cadaver as he’s instructed to, Rob takes it home to spice up his sex life. What follows is either, depending upon your sensibilities, the most disgusting or the funniest sex scene ever filmed – the promised coitus with a corpse. Betty and Rob take the stiff into bed (who will henceforth be referred to as Corpsey) and engage in an unforgettable threesome. While Betty is riding Corpsey, Rob is sucking out the stiff’s eyeball. How penetration was achieved will not be revealed, but let’s give credit where it’s due; at least the couple practiced safe sex. As they say – no glove, no love.
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Surprisingly, for such a well-adjusted couple, a fairytale romance this does not turn out to be. First, Betty seems more interested in Corpsey than her still-respiring beau. Second, when Rob is let go due to Bruno’s distaste with him, Betty writes a “Dear Rob” letter and absconds with the cadaverous Casanova. With both his girl and his corpse gone, heartbroken Rob is despondent; and the rest of the film portrays his attempts to palliate his emotional wounds and satisfy his non-normative physical desires, all culminating in a climax (literal in this case) that is equal parts shocking, transgressive, and oddly redemptive.
The film is an odd one. Despite the taboo-demolishing subject matter and scenes that you would decidedly never show Grandma, Nekromantik is much more an art film than an out-and-out exploitative gorefest. The pace is glacial and the film meanders, even with a brief 75-minute run time. The cumulative effect is more queasy and greasy than balls-out disgusting (although, to be fair, we do see Rob’s balls out while he’s… never mind!) There was only one scene that sickened me, and it didn’t involve Corpsey at all. Rather, it was the depiction of the killing and subsequent skinning and disemboweling of a rabbit that put me off my lunch. (Do what you will with humans, but leave the poor animals alone!) Buttgereit is a provocateur, not a schlock-meister. His film uses transgression and perversion to spit in the face of societal norms and force the audience to confront and challenge traditional notions of decorum and decency.
In the end, I’m glad I finally saw Nekromantic. The sequel beckons, but Nekromantik 2 may remain at the bottom of the pile just a wee bit longer since honestly, there’s only so much sex with a stiff one can take at a time, especially during the holiday season. Still, any time a film moves from “Will never, ever see it in a million years” to “Seen it,” a little part of me feels that much braver. Heck, maybe it’s time to finally give Cannibal Holocaust a spin? Then again, maybe not.
The post NSFW – Isn’t it Nekromantik: Watching those Movies We Never Thought We Would appeared first on Dread Central.
