VG4

If the trilogy wasn't enough for you, here comes the fourth chapter of the Vomit Gore saga: "Black Mass of the Nazi Sex Wizard". The DVD edition, distributed by the Austrian Black Lava Enterteinment, comes in a very well-crafted package that will surely delight collectors. Although it is conceived and presented as a prequel, in reality this new episode can be seen as a spin-off or continuation of the trilogy, which lacks narrative progression and a plot, in its traditional sense. As admitted by the director himself, his films deviate from the classic meaning of a movie to embrace a process of cinematic disintegration dominated by a space-time discontinuity aimed at depicting the destructive human condition (concepts that recall LaVeyan Satanism and that Valentine loves to blend with the principles of quantum mechanics). An obstacle not to be underestimated for the viewer but nevertheless essential for the symbolic identity of the work. The great absentee of this new project is Ameara LaVey, the muse and life companion of the King of Vomit during the times of the first "Slaughtered Vomit Dolls", a sort of documentary entirely shot with a handheld camera that testifies to a particularly dark period - made of bulimia, alcohol and drugs - of the porn actress. The character of Ameara is named Angela Aberdeen, a girl who suffered sexual abuse as a child and who, once grown up, takes refuge in a world of excesses and prostitution. In this descent into the abyss, the woman meets Lucifer Valentine, an imaginary friend. The physical manifestations of this relationship, constantly hovering between nightmare and reality, are captured by the camera, giving life to an infernal journey. A journey that, visually, changes in form but not in substance over the course of the three chapters. After a definitely amateur and dirty debut (and if you want more disturbing), Valentine dives headfirst into the territories of the most extreme and refined art house. The subsequent "ReGoregitated Sacrifice", "Slow Torture Puke Chamber" and "Black Mass of the Nazi Sex Wizard" indeed give ample space to a formal elegance - from the use of lights, to the scenery, to the saturation of colors - aimed at exacerbating the brutality (increasing) of the contents. Those who know the works of the eccentric director know exactly what to expect: naked women who vomit, then vomit and finally vomit. The fatal question is lurking around the corner: what is the point of showing regurgitations - strictly real - for over an hour? Since the director's intentions are hardly discernible, for many the answer is the simplest and most logical: shock for shock's sake. Seen from the perspective of Lucifer Valentine - a declared emetophile - the act of gastric rejection represents a sort of catharsis through which the subject desperately tries to exorcise the traumatic dimension in which he lives. A certain self-referential connotation, probably unconscious, greatly influences the creative process of the director, who expresses through psychologically and physically violent images his personality, not caring much about the public's response. The viewing of "Black Mass of the Nazi Sex Wizard", unlike the previous chapters, is made more bearable thanks to a less frenetic editing "ReGoregitated Sacrifice" is an assault on epileptics) and a doom-like and hypnotic soundtrack, accompanied by the distorted voice of the protagonists, which sharpens the feeling of discomfort and estrangement. Between one retching and another, insistent fragments of beauty pageants appear: a condemnation of that education which imposes the achievement of perfect aesthetic standards, direct cause of eating disorders (especially bulimia, leitmotif to which Valentine is so fond). While on the one hand we see Angela, completely submissive to her master and devoted to the forces of evil, on the other hand we witness the diabolical manifestation of her alter egos: women who mutilate each other and eat entrails to then vomit them into the carcass of the corpse and other amenities of the kind. The special effects are excessively plastic and homemade, but they still do their dirty job. Not surprisingly, the strongest scenes are the real ones. And the legendary Hank Skinny "Iron Stomach" could not be missing, known for his ability to drink his own vomit and then vomit it back and so on ad infinitum (a scene you can appreciate in "Slaughtered Vomit Dolls"). The shocking effect, however, wears off quickly: the repetitiveness of the situations anesthetizes the viewer (at least the less impressionable one) and the long runtime ends up having the opposite effect to the desired one. I find that the intellectual and pseudo-philosophical veneer that Valentine gives to the project (assuming that in reality it is not a great joke) does not represent an added value but rather an unnecessary ornament that masks a non-normal sexual condition (in the statistical sense of the term) and inevitably subject to the moral judgment of those who watch. Reason why a vicious mechanism is triggered that does not allow to understand its meaning nor to appreciate the work for what it really is: an alienating and shocking visual experience in the company of gastric juices, blood and paraphilias. Nevertheless, it is a visual experience that every lover of excess cinema should at least once in their life indulge in, preferably after a hearty dinner.