THANATOMORPHOSE

Laura has recently moved into a new apartment. She leads a dull, uninspiring life, and has a grumpy, undevoted boyfriend. One morning, she wakes up with unexplained bruises on her body. From that day on, all the symptoms of premature putrefaction will begin to manifest: nails that come off, skin that rots, bones that break. Faced with the awareness of the imminent end, the young woman will abandon herself to her fate. Directorial debut for Canadian Eric Falardeau, who delivers a unique underground work of its kind. The film, distributed by prolific Black Lava Entertainment, saw the light after a troubled journey of studies and research in the field of physical decomposition: the director indeed graduated in "film studies" presenting a thesis on bodily fluids in gore and porn cinema (!!!) All of Falardeau's "theoretical knowledge" is poured into this film, visually strong but alien to the concept of horror pornography for its own sake: the biological process is indeed shown as a metaphor and reflected mirror of an empty existence resigned to its destiny. The work is divided into three chapters ("despair", "another" and "oneself"), a structure that refers to "Sygdommen til Døden" ("The Sickness Unto Death") by philosopher Søren Kierkegaard, an essay that, through the psychological approach, deals with the theme of disease and despair as two sides of the same coin. And it is precisely death the core of the film, or rather the disintegration of the body as the concluding act of a mental and spiritual annihilation. "Thanatomorphose" is deliberately devoid of a narrative plot and tells just enough about the life of the protagonist and her not-so-idyllic relationship with her boyfriend, portrayed as an insensitive and gruff figure. Excellent the performance of Kayden Rose, who had to undergo hours and hours of makeup: excellent the prosthetic and makeup work, made even more realistic by a always balanced photography. The Canadian director exploits a non-conventional cinematic language, which is at times difficult but manages to drag the viewer into a whirlwind of anguish and alienation, making them almost perceive through the screen the nauseating smell of decomposition. Every single detail reflects Laura's inner and outer drama: stretched sequences and slow rhythms accentuate the oppressive atmosphere, further exacerbated by a bare and dull setting (the house, the film's only location), which inevitably brings to mind Jorg Buttgereit, from whom Falardeau has also taken the directorial style, always attentive and refined. The girl's mutation – which leaves no room for imagination – is accompanied by the musical background Guild of Funerary Violins: a solemn, mournful, and romantic march that enhances the film's aesthetics, dissecting the spectrum of emotions related to mourning and death. Obsessive is the sexual element, probably conceived as the only bridge of connection with life: in front of a crack in the wall that reminds of female intimate parts, Laura will not give up abandoning herself to carnal pleasure in solitude, and even when her body will literally fall apart, she will grant a desperate fellatio to one of her (ex) admirers, who will find himself facing a surreal scene, where sperm, worms, and bodily fluids mix in a putrescent dance. In this inexorable descent into hell, between organic matter in decomposition and the cracking of breaking bones, there is no room for hope, no room for struggle, there is only the awareness of the end. A real, tangible awareness, with which any of us might find ourselves dealing. And that is, perhaps, the true horror. Review originally published on the blog M'illumino di Horror