I missed this twisted and darkly humorous piece of French horror from Alain Robak the first time around, and I admittedly regret it, as it fits quite nicely into the indie genre mindset (Frank Henenlotter, Peter Jackson, Jorg Buttgereit, etc) that I was immersed in and constantly seeking out, at the time. Far out shit like tonight's review remains high on my list of favorite things, and when a film is packed to the gills with splattery grue, lots of nudity involving massive breasts, murderous Teuthida-esque parasites, and an unusual, often very funny story tying it all together, who could step up to the podium and point the judgmental finger of blame at ol' Wop over here? That was a hypothetical question, don't break my cazzies.
Voici deux raisons d'enormes pourquois J'aime les francais.
A miserable French circus takes on a new leopard that's hosting an evolutionary parasite that ultimately results in the big cat exploding in a shower of gutty-wuts and thick slime in its cage one night. While the circus performers are searching for the responsible varmint, it slithers into Lohman's (Christian Sinniger) trailer where his top heavy, gap toothed, pregnant squeeze lies sleeping. Naturally, it shimmies into her body via the panty purse, and instantly begins influencing her life decisions, which had previously been less than optimal, as evidenced by her abrasive, abusive asshole boyfriend who thinks nothing of throwing her into the cage while animal trainers are working with tigers and lions. She jacks a pile of scratch from the till box and takes a taxi ride to a remote crack house, until Lohman tracks her down and earns himself a midsection shiv for his troubles. The parasite then tells her to slit the corpse's throat and drink the blood, which will provide nourishment for the creature now growing inside her. You see where this one is going?
Parkour isn't for everyone.
Pretty soon, Yanka (Emmanuelle Escourrou) is having public debates with her own swollen stomach, which has developed a fondness for her, despite being spawned from the sea, and destined to replace humans on the evolutionary ladder in a few million years. There are also several spirited arguments between them over which skeevy male perverts it wants her to murder, and there's no shortage of those here. See ugly, lecherous, misogynist bastards get scissored to death, get their heads crushed by oxygen tanks, get mowed down by cars, et cetera, at every juncture. Heavy splatter, dad. When she isn't traipsing about in front of the camera in her birthday suit, she's packing her meager belongings and rapidly vacating the premises, with her alien advisor calling the shots. Further complicating the duo's love-hate relationship are the horrific childbirth nightmares she's been experiencing. It all comes to a head as she nears her monstrous delivery, which I won't further spoil for you here, just in case this sounds like it might run directly up your genre alley (I'm guessing it does, in most cases).
"Pass the ball to my fetus, he's wide open for the slam dunk!"
Eighteen years later, a sequel entitled Lady Blood was produced. Needless to say, you should probably keep your eyes out for an upcoming review of that one, right here at the Wop. I'm forced to advise you to hunt down the Anchor Bay dvd release, as I'm blissfully ignorant concerning most Blu-ray releases, and this grainy arthouse gore movie is one whose impact would probably only be lessened by the concept of a high definition transfer. That's about it. On the scale, it's three Wops all the way, and comes with a strong recommendation from your genre guide and nutty pal over here. I love it, and you might, too. See, with all speed!
"Singing in the sunshine, laughing in the rain, hitting on the moonshine, rocking in the grain..."
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