Darkness (2009)

AKA T.M.A.

The passing of Juraj Herz in April 2018 was a massive blow to not just fans of eccentric cinema but for world cinema as a whole. Herz was an interesting character from the very beginning of his directorial career. While he could technically be considered part of the Czech New Wave, there were things about his films that set him apart from his Czech counterparts. Early on Herz showed an adeptness for fantastic genre material in the form of The Cremator (1969), a classic horror and black comedy hybrid that highlighted Herz's highly stylized and surreal visual sensibilities. Herz further honed his horror craft with Morgiana (1972) and would later take another somewhat cheeky turn with Ferat Vampire (1982) about a vampyric car that runs on human blood. Like a lot of his fellow Czech directors, Herz also had a particular skill when it came to fairy tales, his take on Beauty and the Beast (1978) standing out as one of the most original takes on the classic tale with its humanoid bird/man hybrid beast. Other films like The Ninth Heart (1979) and The Frog Prince (1991) also showcased Herz's skills at fairy tale storytelling. Herz would make a return to horror one final time later in his career in 2009 with Darkness, a film that, despite its rather anonymously bland title, breathes new life into a classic, tried and true horror film scenario.

Needing some time away from his hard partying ways, Marek, a successful musician, travels back to his childhood home for some rest and relaxation. Almost immediately after arriving however Marek is greeted with hostility from the locals who warn him that the house should have remained vacant. Not long after settling in, Marek begins to feel the presence of others in the house and begins having fragmented flashbacks to his childhood to an incident involving his sister Tereza, who's long been institutionalized. With the otherworldly presences becoming stronger, Marek begins to feel he's losing his mind and seeks the help of a local historian, uncovering the tragic history of his house involving the Nazi's in WWII, all the while Tereza is planning a trip back home.

Both a literal and metaphorical ghost story, Darkness is very much a film about the ghosts of the past rearing their ugly head in the present. The set-up is a classic horror scenario. The old, dark house with a troubled past, unwelcoming locals looking upon the newcomer in town with suspicion and disdain, skeletons in the family closet, all given a fresh spin by Herz. While the film is a literal ghost story in that Marek's house is truly being occupied by specters from beyond, the film's more metaphorical ghosts are represented via Marek's family history, with Tereza becoming an increasingly more important character as the film progresses, the fractured flashbacks giving the impression at times that Marek might possibly be going insane, adding to the already heightened sense of paranoia permeating the film. The ghosts of history also play a major role with the WWII backstory giving the film some pretty heavy emotional weight, the backstories of some of the side characters factoring in as well making things more intriguing. The film differs quite a bit stylistically from Herz's past horrors in favor of a more dreary look and tone which, given the material is understandable and eerily effective, with a sense of mounting dread being sustained for the majority of the film. The well-worn trope of the unfriendly locals feels even slightly more sinister and harsh, and Herz even spices the film up with some jolting bits of gore with have an Italian feel some moments of fierce, nearly X-rated sexuality.

All the WWII elements in the film were added by Herz with screenwriter Martin Nemec calling his original script more “intimate”. The war was a constant reoccurring theme for Herz, himself a Holocaust survivor, most famously fused with horror in The Cremator but also in films such as The Night Overtakes Me (1986) and Habermann (2010). During a behind the scenes look at Darkness, Herz explains his attraction to genre came about from reading fairly tales as a child and his later discovering of Edger Allan Poe, the suspense he felt while reading giving him the urge to create the same type of suspense for people watching his films. Herz would describe himself as a “devout atheist” who, despite loving making films about the supernatural, doesn't believe in it himself. Interesting then that there was an occultist on set who claimed to be in communication with a ghost. Nemec was quick to believe the set was indeed haunted with his laptop disappearing into thin air and the boom operators mic not picking up sound when it would normally pick out sounds from miles away. Darkness certainly sicks out from Herz's other works in the genre due to its modernity but with Herz at the helm all the shortcomings associated with such a term are sidestepped with Herz delivering a fine example of contemporary horror worthy of standing along side his previous genre classics. 

Spider (2002)

One of the most common descriptors used when discussing the work of David Cronenberg is “cold” or “detached” as it relates to his approach to his material and certainly his characters. While this is true to a certain extent as Cronenberg's films do tend to have a very clinical aesthetic, and his handling of characters could be described as psychoanalytical and fairly objective, with Cronenberg making little to no judgments of his characters, his films are hardly emotionless. For instance the divorce at the center of The Brood (1979) is sure to hit close to home for many as are the family dynamics explored in A History of Violence (2005) and even Maps to the Stars (2014) is an oddly touching film once the final scene ends. The Fly (1986) is well regarded for being a tragic love story at heart and the downfall of the twins in Dead Ringers (1988) is incredibly heartbreaking. Crash (1996), often regarded as Cronenberg's coldest, is, much like The Fly, ultimately revealed to be a love story. While his work was always psychologically complex, around the turn of the new millennium Cronenberg's films started to become even more more psychologically focused and it was Spider in 2002, another film that, clinical on the surface, slowly reveals itself to have a strong emotional core, the prime emotion being melancholy, seemed to usher in a new era for Cronenberg.

After being released from a mental institution, Dennis Cleg (Ralph Fiennes), known as “Spider”, is sent to live in a halfway house. Once there, Spider begins exploring the surrounding neighborhood where he grew up and begins to relive memories of his childhood involving his parents (Miranda Richardson and Gabriel Byrne), gradually putting the pieces of the puzzle that led to his current situation back together.

Even by Cronenberg standards, Spider plays some masterful tricks on the brain. Part of its genius lies in the way the film is structured. It begins simple enough, and the many transitions from past to present are easily discernible, yet Cronenberg slyly complicates matters in the most subtle of ways leading to more and more questions as the film progresses. Although the film isn't a first person narrative, it feels as such and therefore presents everything the way Spider sees it, which in itself poses a lot of questions as it relates to the reliability of his narration given his disposition. Very few films are able to get into a character's mindset with the ease of Spider which is what gives the film a powerful emotional edge. The world Spider inhabits in both his mind and physical surroundings is a sad and lonely place, represented by the films production design and washed out, almost sickly green color scheme. Even the slightly more colorful moments of fantasy taking place in a sunny pasture have a tinge of despair to them. The feeling of gloom and despondency is felt right from the opening credits until the end and eventually does begin to weigh heavy and lingers long after the film has ended. Of course the film rests almost entirely on Fiennes' shoulders who, despite never uttering one single word, only gibberish, brilliantly conveys Spider's tangled through process and Richardson's tackling of not one but three roles plays a major part in the films mental trickery.

Although Spider does suffer from a specific psychological disorder, Cronenberg wisely chose not to name it and even went so far as to remove moments in the script that would have called for effects, stating in an interview “I took the special effects sequences out of the script, because I think those effects... are recognizable to an audience as effects, as hallucinations that can’t possibly be real. And the unspoken purpose of the movie was to make the audience be “Spider.” So when he’s hallucinating and thinking something is real, we must also feel that.” Cronenberg also explained that despite the films focus on psychology, his main interest is still the body stating “Oh, there’s only a fleshy element. I am healing the Cartesian rift. I am an embodied person. I really understand the connection between body and mind... When you’re studying the human mind, you can’t take the mind out of it; you have to put it back into the brain. For me, it’s all body.” Spider is also a film that, if it wasn't already apparent from his entire filmography, Cronenberg, along with Fiennes and Richardson, are all in their chosen professions for the right reasons, with the films low budget forcing all three to defer their salaries and its obvious the amount of care that went into Spider, a film with the same amount of heart as brains behind it.

The Fall of the Louse of Usher (2002)

Much like the advent of VHS and the affordability of the home video camera in the 80's made it possible for virtually anybody to make a movie, the digital revolution and the increased availability of camcorders that came along in the late 90's and early 2000's led to even more opportunities for people to realize their filmmaking ambitions. Just as the 80's saw a glut of shot-on-video productions, the new millennium led to an innumerable amount of digitally lensed features, a fair amount by amateurs, but what digital cameras also offered was the chance for already established directors to work with total creative control away from studio interference as well as smaller crews. Jess Franco would be a prime example of a veteran director who dove head first into the digital sea, shooting a plethora of highly personal, experimental features on digital video. David Lynch was also a vocal proponent of shooting digitally, his epic Inland Empire (2006) being shot on a consumer grade Sony PD-150 camera. Ken Russell was yet another director to embrace the freedom digital video offered with Russell's later works consisting of several homemade digital shorts but the film that would become his final feature, 2002's The Fall of the Louse of Usher, has the distinction of not only being the crown jewel of his digital works but also one of the most outlandish titles in Russell's entire oeuvre.

After being convicted of murdering his wife Annabel Lee, rock star Roderick Usher is committed to an insane asylum under the watchful eye of Dr. Calahari (played by Russell himself). Almost immediately, Usher soon discovers that Calahari, along with his eccentric nurse ABC Smith, are just as if not more insane than their patients as he struggles to uncover the truth about his wife's death while being subjugated to Calahari's bizarre forms of treatment turning his already confused mind into a nonstop surreal waking nightmare.

Subtitled "A Gothic Tale for the 21^st Century", The Fall of the Louse of Usher is Russell completely unfiltered. Not that he ever let any producer hold him back, but even by Russell standards, Louse is a relentless barrage of lunacy from beginning to end. Stuck somewhere between a home movie and a music video, with the film fully becoming the later in parts, Russell's biggest influence as the title suggests is Edgar Allan Poe but not just The Fall of the House of Usher and Annabel Lee, as Russell mentions Poe by name throughout the film, even using plot points from Murders in the Rue Morgue to suggest possible clues to the mystery surrounding Usher's wife's death. That's of course if anyone isn't utterly lost by the time the film gets to the Rue Morgue references as the plot often takes a backseat to Russell's over-the-top visuals, all done on the most shoestring of budgets, including everything from a mummy, a gorilla, an orgy featuring blow-up dolls and an inflatable dinosaur and even a massive inflatable castle. While most humorless types will be quick to dismiss the film solely on its look, the film is actually rather interesting in that its almost as if Russell an co. were relishing in the artifice, purposefully making every aspect of the film look as cheap as possible and yet there is an ingenuity to all the homemade effects and costumes, the punk rock, DIY spirit of the production making the film all the more endearing.

The film was very much a labor of love from Russell and his wife Lisi Tribble, with Russell not only writing, directing and starring in the film (and hamming it up marvelously complete with a hilariously exaggerated German accent) but also acting as the cinematographer, producer and editor while Tribble pulled quadruple duties in the acting department playing four different roles. The film was again the product of a time of immense creativity for Russell who would follow it with several shorts, including a segment in the horror anthology films Trapped Ashes (2006) titled “The Girl With the Golden Breasts” as well as a hysterically incendiary Christmas themed internet short A Kitten for Hitler (2007). Prior to Louse, Russell had been working pretty much exclusively in television after his final theatrical feature Whore (1991) was unceremoniously slapped with an NC-17 rating, resulting in a limited release. It's perhaps safe to assume that The Fall of the Louse of Usher was the type of movie Russell was clamoring to make during his made-for-TV years, the advent of digital video finally giving him the resources. It's the product of legend effectively telling the filmmaking establishment he didn't need them anymore. Although some may run away in horror at the rough aesthetics of it, The Fall of the Louse of Usher is without question 100% pure Ken Russell and that in itself is something to admire. 

Whore (1991)

Leave it to the MPAA to add more fuel to a fire they were allegedly attempting to put out. When the NC-17 rating was introduced in 1990, thus retiring the X rating, the intent was to make a distinction between films designed for adults with content stronger than normally found in R-rated films but weren't hardcore sex films which is what the X rating had become synonymous with. The rating quickly developed a stigma of its own however and became known as a “kiss of death” for any film given the rating, with many theater chains refusing to show NC-17 rated films and various retail outlets refusing to stock NC-17 films. With the exception of Showgirls (1995), which was one of the very few major studio films with the rating to get a wide release, the majority of the films given the rating were interdependent productions, making any attempt to gain an R rating especially difficult with the MPAA's vague suggestions for cuts as opposed to the detailed outlines given to studio films. Ken Russell's 1991 film Whore was yet another independent film given the rating, rather unjustifiably as had the film been released by a big studio it would have been given an R without incident, which no doubt played a hand in the films limited release, depriving a large audience of Russell's unfiltered antidote to the lies of Pretty Woman (1990).

Presented as docudrama, the film follows Liz (Theresa Russell), a streetwise Los Angeles prostitute going about her business, narrating the details of her life which led her to the life she currently lives, waxing philosophic on her line of work and life in general, giving detailed accounts of her failed marriage, estranged son and some of her more eccentric clients, all the while desperately trying to avoid her violent pimp Blake.

In a lot of ways Whore can be seen as a companion to Russell's Crimes of Passion (1984) which also dealt with prostitution albeit in a much more colorful fashion. Much like Crimes of Passion, Whore deals with some pretty heavy subject matter. Again, the film was Russell's response after being disgusted by what her perceived to be the glamorization of the life of a prostitute in Pretty Woman and sought out to present what the life of a lady of the night is truly like. Quite often it isn't pleasant with several of Liz's encounters ending very badly and at times violently and naturally the reoccurring motif of the threat of her abusive pimp brings an even more dangerous nature to Liz's already high risk job. At the same time, the film has a tendency to shift tones, often abruptly with Russell's bizarre sense of humor coming into play several times so a scene that is at once troubling suddenly becomes absurdly hilarious, Liz's accounts of the turn-on's of her clientele, be they an elderly man who loves to get beat with a cane or a successful business man with a peculiar type of shoe fetish are especially hysterical. Theresa Russell really goes for in both her exaggerated street-tough guise as well as during the more tender, confessional moments revealing the more unfortunate aspects of her backstory and despite the tonal shifts, the film is never short on sincerity or sympathy, with the constant fourth wall breaking making for more intimate characterization.

At a 2010 career retrospective Theresa Russell claimed the film was her most difficult both technically and emotionally. Russell stated “There was monologue after monologue after monologue. I mean just in terms of just pure, technical stuff... I was worried about being boring, so much of it was just me walking along on the street as a hooker just talking, constantly talking to the camera... but anytime your doing a character like her that basically feels very bad about themselves, you know that's the place where you gotta go and you have to understand what motivated her to do these things to herself and her body and be who she was... as an actor its hard sometimes your just oh man its such a beautiful day I just want to go in my garden... OK your a piece of shit... you gotta work your way into it and then go to work!” Perhaps due to the films limited release frightening potential future backers, Whore would become Russell's final theatrical feature with Russell working in television and making digital films on his own until his passing in 2011. Whore still remains one of Russell's most underseen works but it also stands as a film as bold as its title and the fact that the film is a collaboration between the two most fierce Russell's in film, Ken and Theresa, makes it a must see.

Lisztomania (1975)

Ken Russell was a lot of things to a lot of people, both admires and detractors alike, and when thinking of Russell's legacy, one of the most astonishing things is just how many things he became synonymous with throughout his career. Most filmmakers would be considered lucky to have one film, never mind several films or “era”s, periods of their career which are oft-debated as to which is the most representative of their overall body of work. Russell certainty is of the later class, with it being impossible to define his career with one specific film or period. While The Devils (1971) is perhaps Russell's most famous film due to its sheer notoriety, Russell is equally renowned among horror fans for films like Gothic (1986) and The Lair of the White Worm (1988), while others swear by the hallucinatory sci-fi of Altered States (1980) or the berserk adaptation of The Who's rock opera Tommy (1975). One specific type of film Russell was particularly successful was the musical bio-pic, with some of Russell's most celebrated films being centered around the lives of classical composers, executed in Russell's typically flamboyant fashion, examples include the BBC documentary Elgar (1962), The Music Lovers (1971) and Mahler (1974). Almost immediately following Tommy, Russell found himself returning to the realm of the composer biopic, albeit in a much more maniacal fashion with Lisztomania, unquestionably Russell's most outrageous musical biopic.

While in Russia for a tour, renowned Hungarian pianist and composer Franz Liszt (Roger Daltrey) is offered a proposition by Princess Carolyne zu Sayn-Wittgenstein, that being the two of them marrying, giving Liszt the time and ability to compose all the music he wants. The marriage however is disapproved of by the church and Liszt devotes his life to being an abbot, although he soon finds another calling after being caught in bed with another woman by the Pope (Ringo Starr), who informs Liszt that his jealous composing contemporary Richard Wagner has not only become the anti-Christ but has also tricked Liszt's daughter Cosima into marrying him. After being commissioned by the Pope to defeat Wagner, Liszt arrives at Wagner's castle and discovers Wagner's diabolical plan of ridding the world of Jews and the creation of the master race.

Although Lisztomania technically falls into the biopic category, even when compared with Russell's previous excessive classical composer based films, Lisztomania is worlds removed from a traditional biography. Although the film does eventually follow somewhat of a narrative once Princess Carolyne enters the picture and the ensuing saga with the Pope and Wagner, for a good portion of the film Russell favors a stream of consciousness approach, loading the film with instances of surreal fantasy sequences and moments of random frivolity. Frivolous being the key word, with the over the top absurdity being the main selling point, Russell offering no breathing room from the barrage of madness. In fact, although both films couldn't be further apart tonally speaking, Lisztomania just might be second only to The Devils as Russell's most loud and provocative film. Along with making Wagner a Nazi anti-Christ, he is also a vampire, later resurrected as the reincarnation of Hitler crossed with Frankenstein's monster wielding an electric guitar machine gun, his intended method of genocide involves a faulty, Thor like creature made of iron (played by musician Rick Wakeman who provided the films score), and in perhaps the films most memorable moment and certainty one of the most unforgettable moments in Russell's oeuvre, Liszt inexplicably finds himself sprouting a massive penis and testicles. Russell even finds time to include rocket ships. Toss in voodoo and enough blatant phallic imagery that would make Freud's head explode and the tagline of “The film that out-Tommy's Tommy!” becomes much more than mere advertising hyperbole.   

The films title “Lisztomania” comes from an actual term originated by German poet Heinrich Heine used to describe the overexcited, mostly young female audience reactions at Liszt's concerts, which Heine stated were “true madness, unheard of in the annals of furore”, thus causing many to label Liszt the first real pop star. Of course, Liszt's frantic crowds were also fodder for critics quick to label such things as shallow and in a strange bit of history somewhat repeating itself, many critics of the day were quick to label Russell's film as shallow, with several bemoaning that Russell finally took the extravagance a bit too far, though over the years the film has rightfully gained a fanbase. As Rick Wakeman pointed out, “It took many years before Lisztomania became cult and recognized for the clever film it was...” The term “Lisztomania” was also the inspiration for the name later given to another musical phenomenon, “Beatlemania”, with the enthusiastic responses to The Beatles live performances and pubic appearances resembling the descriptions of Liszt's hyperactive crowd responses recorded throughout history, thus making Ringo Starr's turn as the cowboy boot wearing Pope all the more appropriate. Never boring for a second, Lisztomania is a quintessential bit of mad Russell brilliance and even in a crowded filmography loaded with highly imaginative works, Lisztomania manages to stick out more than some of the others which is quite the accomplishment.

Schramm (1993)

Germany has always had a curious history when it comes to horror films. With the exception of the expressionist silent era, Germany has never really experienced a horror boom, especially when compared to England, Spain, Italy and France, who's horror output flourished in the 60's, 70's and 80's. Perhaps because of the sporadic horror releases, when a German genre film does make waves at home and abroad, the films tend to be highly original, transgressive and confrontational, with films like Ulli Lommel's Tenderness of the Wolves (1973) and Eckhart Schmidt's Der Fan (1982) being some of the most famous. The arrival of Jörg Buttgereit with Nekromantik (1987) signaled a new era for German horror. The punk rock, DIY aesthetics of Nekromantik really lit a fire under the behind of the German underground and no doubt played a hand in inspiring other infamous German homemade horrors like Andreas Schnaas Violent Shit (1989) and Olaf Ittenbach's Black Past (1989) and The Burning Moon (1992). Far from content with being painted into a corner, Buttgereit remained unique with the experimental brilliance of Der Todesking (1990) before surpassing his original creation with Nekromantik 2 (1991). Schramm, Buttgereit's fourth and to date final feature, saw Buttgereit once again retaining his status as leader of the German underground, providing a gruesome and refreshing antidote to the slew of by-the-numbers police procedural serial killer films from around the same time.

While re-painting his apartment in an attempt to cover up his most recent killings, Lothar Schramm, dubbed the “Lipstick Killer” by the press, accidentally falls from his stepladder to his death. Before his passing, fragments of his life begin to replay before him, from his platonic relationship with Marianne, the prostitute next door (Monika M. of Nekromantik 2), various mundane episodes of his lonely home life to repetitions of the murders and post-killing rituals as well as the various hallucinations which led him to this point.

Subtitled “Into the Mind of a Serial Killer”, Schramm does just that, giving an unflinching, up close and perhaps an all too personal for some look into the psyche of a deranged individual. Although the film features just one narrative, in some ways the film resembles the experimental approach Buttgereit took with Der Todesking, with the titular Schramm's memories being fractured, matching Buttgereit's presentation of them. Despite knowing immediately what's being shown happened prior to Schramm's fall, Buttgereit still manages to obscure the timeline with Schramm's memories, oftentimes repeating certain scenes complete with disorienting camera moments and edits, the fragmentation of the narrative providing an insight into Schramm's disturbed mind long before his fall. Save for moments where Buttgereit makes the fantasy element obvious, there are quite a few times throughout the film where reality and hallucination become obscured, with Schramm suffering from some incredibly striking visions of eyeball removal, missing limbs and an especially jolting appendage complete with chattering teeth. The hallucinations also play a big part in Schramm's ultimate fate, potentially confusing matters even more. The film is even more note worthy on account of how downbeat an affair it is. While Lothar is hardly presented as sympathetic, much like many of the suicidal individuals in Der Todesking, there is an obvious feeling of emptiness and solitude during the scenes of Schramm going about his daily business that does weigh heavily despite the films brisk 65 minute run time, plus Schramm's self-loathing manifesting itself in one of Buttgereit's most wince-inducing scenes.

Buttgereit has gone on record saying that Schramm was made as a reaction against the police procedural types of serial killer films, claiming in his introduction to the film on the Cult Epics DVD release “When I made this movie in 1992, I was pretty much interested in whats really going on in the mind of a serial killer. I was tired of so called serial killer movies where I could only see, you know, chain-smoking detectives who try to hunt the serial killer and these films were not so much about serial killers, so I was trying to do a serial killer movie based on a lot of serial killer biographies I read and yeah, I was trying to get pictures on the screen that could be in the head of a serial killer.” Schramm is again Buttgereit's last feature film to date although he's hardly been resting on his laurels since 1993, having directed numerous television documentaries, music videos and shorts as well as Captain Berlin vs. Hitler (2009), a filmed stage play and the segment “Final Girl” from the anthology film German Angst (2015), which many hailed as a most-welcome comeback and hopefully will lead to an eventual new feature. Although the total count of Buttgereit's features is four, the cliché of quality over quantity rings true and Schramm, like all of Buttgereit's features is of an entirely singular quality.

Der Todesking (1990)

There's a popular cliché about only getting one chance to make a first impression and in the world of underground cult and horror cinema, very few films and filmmakers make the same kind of first impressions as Jörg Buttgereit and Nekromantik (1987). Gaining an almost instant cult following via word of mouth due its fiercely transgressive content, various bannings throughout the world and tales of bootlegged copies being seized at customs, Nekromantik broke new ground for German horror. Not only did the film give a defiant middle finger to German censorship laws, with the film never having been submitted to the German censors for review, but more importantly, it introduced the underground film world to a wildly original thinker in Buttgereit who would deliver three more highly provocative features that cemented his reputation among fans of fringe cinema. In a lot of ways, Nekromantik 2 (1991) surpassed the reputation of its predecessor, with the German police confiscating copies of the film, condemning it for “glorifying violence” while Buttgereit's fourth and to date last feature, Schramm (1993), gave an unflinching glimpse into the life of a serial killer, going places that no other serial killer films would dare go. Lost in the shuffle somewhat is Der Todesking. Sandwiched in-between the Nekromantik films, Der Todesking is perhaps Buttgereit's most challenging work and a perfect example of the experimental bend Buttgereit brings to all his films.

An anthology film of sorts, Der Todesking consists of seven segments taking place throughout an entire week centered around suicide intercut with a corpse experiencing various stages of decay. Monday: A man drowns in a bathtub after ingesting numerous pills. Tuesday: An anonymous individual is seen hanging after a scenario plays out on a nearby television featuring a man shooting his girlfriend after watching a Nazisploitation film. Wednesday: A man shoots himself after confessing his marital woes to a stranger on a park bench. Thursday: A montage of the names, ages and occupations of those who jumped from a bridge. Friday: A woman in an apartment complex receives a chain letter ordering her to kill herself. After falling asleep, a couple the woman was observing earlier in her same building are seen lying in bed dead, covered in blood. Saturday: A woman goes on a shooting rampage at a concert, filming the ordeal in first person until a concert goer shoots her dead. Sunday: A man wakes up in despair in desolate room and repeatedly beats his head against the wall.

Although the death obsession from the Nerkomantik films is carried over, giving way to several grotesque moments, namely during the segments checking in on the decomposing corpse, Der Todesking (The Death King, or The King of Death) ultimately lacks the sensationalism and black humor of Buttgereit's more famous “loving dead” duo, with Buttgereit favoring a more low-key, morose approach. If the film could be defined by one thing, its ambiguity. Save for the “Wednesday” segment, where the rationale for suicide is explicitly stated and the possible exception of the “Saturday” vignette, no explanation is given for the various individuals suicides, leaving everything open to question, not unlike suicide in real life. Despite the lack of information, Buttgereit's decision to leave everything open ended actually makes for some strangely emotional moments, as the environments he gives several of the characters to inhabit does emit a feeling of emptiness, particularly the “Monday” and “Friday” segments, making their fates resonate a bit more than one might expect given the absence of character development. The death as a chain letter idea Buttgereit plays around with is especially fascinating as it could provide clues into some of the characters insights while also potentially confusing matters more when questioning if the various letters seen throughout the film are actually connected. Stylistically, the film finds Buttgereit continuing his grungy, underground aesthetic while also getting more ambitious with the camera movements. The “Thursday” episode stands out in this regard and the first person point of view during “Saturday” is quite startling.

Der Todesking was the result of Buttgereit's desire to, in his words, “free himself” from audience expectations following the instantaneous infamy of Nekromantik and the clamoring for an immediate follow-up. The film also sees Buttgereit slyly paying tribute to video stores and the films that inspired him with a portion of “Tuesday” taking place in a video store with an impressive selection, including a strategically placed copy of Nekromantik as well as Abel Ferrara's Ms. 45 (1981), which Buttgereit channels during “Wednesday” which young filmmakers could learn a lot from as Buttgereit's way of tipping his hat to these influences being the proper way to pay homage while still retaining an original voice. The footage from the fictitious Nazisploitation film seen in the film should make many fans smile as well and could actually be seen as one of the films few humorous moments due to its over the top nature. Buttgereit is also quick to point out on the films Cult Epics release, really the first widely distributed home video release the film has ever had, that the film is against suicide. All four of Buttgereit's features are essential for their own unique qualities and while the Nekromantik films are understandably what Buttgereit will forever be synonymous with, Der Todesking remains one of Buttgereit's most potent macabre masterpieces and one of the most original works to fall under the Euro cult/horror umbrella.