The Human Centipede (First Sequence), 2009

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.