I was sufficiently nauseated by Lucifer Valentine's ReGOREgiated Sacrifice to leave it almost nine years before attempting to complete his infamous 'Vomit Gore' trilogy. I don't think I left it long enough. It probably didn't help that I had just eaten two rounds of ham, cheese and pickle sandwiches, but Slow Torture Puke Chamber definitely had the desired effect, leaving me feeling more than a little bit queasy. Lucifer Valentine fans will no doubt take that as a recommendation.
It might be hard to believe, but this third film takes the depravity even further than before, with all sorts of revolting acts intended to have the bile rising in your throat. There's the expected regurgitation of blood and unidentifiable matter, of course, but Valentine also includes water sports (and I'm not talking about wake-boarding or surfing), insect eating, autoerotic-asphyxiation, crucifix masturbation (The Exorcist has nothing on this!), and sadomasochistic fun with a used tampon.
The performers are a variety of tattooed women who, according to a disclaimer at the beginning of the film, are in no way being forced to debase themselves on camera: apparently they do it for the kicks, which makes one wonder what kind of childhood they had to have grown up with such low self-esteem. Oh, and there's one guy who goes by the name of Hank Skinny who, in the film's bad taste show-stopper, cuts open the belly of a pregnant woman, removes her foetus, and goes where even A Serbian Film didn't dare to go.
This is one of those kinds of films that I find difficult to rate, so I won't. It's far too sick to say that I enjoyed it, but at the same time, I admire its ability to shock even my jaded soul. I also appreciate it for reminding me that, no matter where life takes me, no matter how hard it all gets at times, at least I can say I never starred in a Lucifer Valentine vomit gore movie.
It might be hard to believe, but this third film takes the depravity even further than before, with all sorts of revolting acts intended to have the bile rising in your throat. There's the expected regurgitation of blood and unidentifiable matter, of course, but Valentine also includes water sports (and I'm not talking about wake-boarding or surfing), insect eating, autoerotic-asphyxiation, crucifix masturbation (The Exorcist has nothing on this!), and sadomasochistic fun with a used tampon.
The performers are a variety of tattooed women who, according to a disclaimer at the beginning of the film, are in no way being forced to debase themselves on camera: apparently they do it for the kicks, which makes one wonder what kind of childhood they had to have grown up with such low self-esteem. Oh, and there's one guy who goes by the name of Hank Skinny who, in the film's bad taste show-stopper, cuts open the belly of a pregnant woman, removes her foetus, and goes where even A Serbian Film didn't dare to go.
This is one of those kinds of films that I find difficult to rate, so I won't. It's far too sick to say that I enjoyed it, but at the same time, I admire its ability to shock even my jaded soul. I also appreciate it for reminding me that, no matter where life takes me, no matter how hard it all gets at times, at least I can say I never starred in a Lucifer Valentine vomit gore movie.