By Keri O’Shea
Judging by the (albeit limited) filmography currently attributed to Manolito Motosierra, cannibalism seems to be his theme of choice. There’s his first film, Corpse Grinders 3, for one; I’m sticking my neck out here, but I’m guessing that the ‘somewhat peculiar family’ of 2012’s Jodidos Kabrones may be up to the same tricks, though I haven’t seen it; then – finally – there’s The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre, or to give it its less-likely-to-be-picked-up-by-gullible-Anglophone-viewer title, Carnívoros. Two, probably three passes at the theme of cannibalism, then – so why isn’t the man getting good at it by now?
The plot of The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre, such as it is, is oh-so familiar. We start with a trope-tastic bloodied woman fleeing through a forest, just prior to discovering the person who was definitely chasing her is magically in front of her and about to wallop her. Which the assailant duly does, though the film is quick to show its hand by then having the leering goon graphically smash her head in with a rock. So much for that. We then head back to suburbia and meet a rock band called The Metal Cocks (yep) who it seems are about to head on tour. Could it be that our bristling caricatures could be about to drive their van through the exact same stretch of woodland, and encounter the exact same leering goon – not to mention a townful of leering goons – who are hellbent on eating them?
In a word, yes. There, I’ve saved you the bother of sitting through forty-five minutes of this not-quite-a-short, not-quite-a-feature. The band get a flat, the band end up in a small town on a saint’s day, the band end up on the menu via a series of fart jokes and penis torture scenes, to give credit where credit’s due, quite unprecedented in cinema. There’s lots of swearing, helpfully pidgin-translated in the subtitles (we don’t want to miss any of these pearlers, after all) some women in merkins (nothing shrieks comedy gold like evident pubes) and the film is punctuated by flabby man-arse throughout. It’s all probably hi-larious, if you’re easily pleased, and generally I am, but I have just realised just how much I have limits.
Apart from laughing uproariously at his own gags, I’m not quite sure what Motosierra was aiming to do here – but if I had to make a guess, I’d say the film seems to owe a heck of a lot to Troma at its absolute worst. It’s almost anathema to say as much in horror circles, and Troma have eked out a few good movies in their extensive history, true, but let’s be frank: without the brand and the almost religious duty felt by many to say they love everything Troma has ever cranked out, a lot of their movies are just fucking dreadful, and whilst the ethos behind making your own damn movie may be admirable, the lion’s share of the output categorically isn’t. This is an epiphany I had a few years ago, and now I can hardly believe I ever didn’t see it. Therefore, when I see a film so painstakingly applying the Troma model, whether by accident or, more usually, by design (endless fart jokes, gurning, crass SFX, ache-inducing levels of cartoonish self-awareness) then a little part of me dies. Somehow, there’s something profoundly depressing about people trying so very hard to be funny.
In the interests of balance, I should try to say something positive about The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre. So, erm, the village where it’s set is very nice. Also, they remember to put in a chainsaw just before the end credits, just pre-empting what was going to be my final complaint of the review. Otherwise, this is like being stuck in a dreadful circus, complete with a random limb-flailing clown which has nothing to do with anything. The film at least seems to acknowledge its circus-like qualities with the Big Top style end credits and music, but one knowing wink isn’t going to justify this much wank. I’d give this a miss if I were you.
The Spanish Chainsaw Massacre is available now from 88 Films.