Viva La Muerte (1970)

Fuck this film. My first experience with Fernando Arrabal's work wasn't exactly a walk in the park, but it was far more interesting than this ugly clusterfuck. Saddled with a jejune story and dream sequences rendered in primitive, poorly-filtered videography (seriously, the fantasy sequences are unwatchable), this flick is wholly undeserving of its acclaim. Arrabal appears to be the surrealist answer to Gregg Araki, covering up his lack of ideas with scatology and transgression. I made it fifty minutes before I gave up. You shouldn't have to.

Grade: none