The Human Centipede (First Sequence), 2009, directed by Tom
Six, 1.5 stars
Don’t ask me why I decided to watch what I would
characterize as probably the most perversely incomprehensible film I’ve ever sat
through. I didn’t like it at all, and at
several points, I actually stopped watching.
But I kept coming back, sometimes only for a few minutes at a time, because I just had to
see how bad things could get. As it
turns out, they get exceedingly bad, and then they go from bad to worse to an absolutely worst
case scenario. I must have an obsessive-compulsive
streak when it comes to watching movies, because once I begin, I feel the need to
sit through to the end, no matter how bitter or agonizing the experience. I can’t explain why I do this, nor, I expect, will I fare any better in my attempt to explain the film. It is
what it is, and for those who seek out and enjoy this sort of thing, I hope
their reasons don’t include the need to engage in like-minded behavior for real. (Oops, I think I just gave away the plot of the
sequel.)
“The Human Centipede,” like other torture porn cut ‘em ups, shows
that there are virtually no limits when it comes to humans imagining ways to inflict the most intense pain on one another. The
American cinema has produced more than its fair share of malevolently mad doctors and
scientists over the years, many of whom use their formidably fertile genius toward destructive ends. What
distinguishes this film from the others is its lack of even the most threadbare or eccentric of character motivation. Horror
has become existential. It needs no
inducement. It simply is. Or, perhaps, extended isolation in an excessively tidy, labyrinthine, woodland home would by itself be sufficient to unhinge even the sanest of us. No matter. The recluse, a once near-great, now merely insane, Dr.
Heiter, is capable of doing little else than fixate on a most ghoulish successor to Nazi German surgical
experimentation. Like his real-world predecessors, his brutal procedures would make Hippocrates himself swear and forsake
his oath. Probably, the best that can be
said about him is that although he makes a very poor host, he helps make quite a compelling case for bottled water.
Obviously, one would do well to stay away from Dr. Heiter,
but Lindsay, Jenny, Katsuro and a few other misbegotten souls either stumble upon
his doorstep or are targeted by him as experimental fodder. This monomaniacal man has but one end in
mind: the creation of a human centipede.
His design for this creature requires grafting the mouth of one human
being onto the anus of another. After drugging these poor unfortunates (see note re: bottled water above), he uses them as the raw material for an organic sculpture whose beginning,
middle, and end are interwoven in a shared nightmare from which there is no awakening.
One of the film’s surprises is its lack of gore, gratuitous or
otherwise. Much of the violence takes
place off screen or during an ellipsis of the narrative. Perhaps, this mercy was driven by budget
constraints, but it may also have been a conscious directorial decision. Just the thought (compounded ultimately by
the sight) of three human beings stitched together sequentially butt to face produces quite enough queasiness. And while I'm bordering on being nice, I should also give a nod to the film's moody HD cinematography. Except for a few overlong and unnecessary close-ups of the damsels in distress, careful attention looks to have been paid to camera placement, lighting, movement, etc.
But form cannot stand alone, and this film contains lackluster
content at best. Don’t look for
motivation. Don’t look for characters you care about. Don’t look for
logic. In fact, don’t look for this film at all, and if you should happen upon it,
run the other way. If the characters in the film had heeded this advice, things might have worked out better for them, too.
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