vagina dentata organ

action at CIA, HK

boring on hara-kiri

At this point the unpopular teleological argument usually slips in to increase assurance about the thermal insensitivity of the intestines. The esophagus and stomach can easily be stimulated thermally and might therefore be endowed with means for thermal perception; but why should the intestines have thermal receptors, when from birth to death they meet with almost no thermal change except from enemas, surgery, accidents or conceivably hara-kiri?

E. G. Boring (1942) Sensation and Perception in the History of Experimental Psychology, remarking on the lack of adequate experimental investigation of the ability of the intestine to sense heat.

ode to torture porn

"Torture porn" is a derogatory term recently in vogue for describing the genre of cinema which is exploitative and centers upon the graphic depiction of torture.

What is the appeal of such a genre? Why would anyone, presumably with enjoyment, watch a movie valued (solely) for its depiction of torture?

The answer is the human condition.

Torture porn is rightly compared to porn, for both are instance of "exploitation" cinema, where exploitation here is characterized by a value measured solely in the depiction of some particular subject, not by more abstract measures of cinematic value (story, acting, dialog, etc.).

Shakespeare, for example, is the sheer antithesis of "exploitation" in this sense precisely because, even during his most ludicrous comedies, bloody tragedies, or ass-kissing historical plays, the value of the play (as we cherish it today) does not depend upon the depiction of farcical situations / violence / fawning political commentary, but upon the clever dialog and subtle characterization.

Porn is the most famous exploitation genre, exploiting the act of sex, but it depends no less single-mindedly upon the mere depiction of sex than, say, martial arts movies depend upon the depiction of a certain style of violence, westerns on a certain setting and aesthetic, horror upon creation of a certain type of suspense, etc.

So, "torture porn" is justly named, it is indeed the valuing of the mere depiction of violent acts of torture against other human beings over and above plot / dialog / characterization / production value / etc.

But why? What is the appeal, and, empirically, given its existence as a profitable genre for decades, there is appeal, of torture porn? What drives people to watch it? In what sense do they enjoy it?

Here, a compelling answer is found in the culture which is perhaps the greatest consumer (and producer) of torture porn: Japan. The 1976 film Shogun's Sadism, also called The Joy of Torture 2: Oxen Split Torturing begins with this quote:

'The weak become the victim of the strong,' is a rule of mankind. Cruelties have been inflicted everywhere since time began.

How true this observation is! But let us be careful. Let us not be swayed by utopian dreams of an equal society, where every individual is equivalent in power to another and there are no "weak" and "strong." Politically, such a situation has never been realized. Even attempts (one thinks: Soviet Union, North Korea, China, Cuba) to establish a communal society universally fail. No matter what, strong and weak separate, communities organize themselves into a hierarchy on the basis of power.

This is no less true at smaller or larger scales. Just as nations economically bully each other into engaging in particular international policies, so smaller groups (a class in elementary school, a university department, a band, a pair of lovers) inevitably establish structures of power, control, and thus hierarchy. Of course, at smaller scales, there is much more room for give and take, for the possibility of some kind of equivalence, even if it is only represented by a regular alteration in the relative positions of power.

As Baudelaire observed:

[L]ove is very like a torture or a surgical operation. But this idea can still be more bitterly expressed. Even though a pair of lovers may be deeply devoted, full of mutual desires, one of them will always be calmer, or less obsessed, than the other. He or she must be the surgeon or torturer; the other the patient or victim.

No accident that he characterized love as a "[d]readful game, in which one of the players must lose his or her self-government," for "government" in every sense is a position of power, of control. And the inherently hierarchical structure of human interactions necessitates the abandonment of (self-)government.

Torture is the purest realization of that aspect of love which mirrors the general structure of society as a whole; the necessary preconditions of the organized interaction amongst those who, without interaction, would otherwise be equals.

So, the existence of torture is the fundamental precondition for human society.

(Surely, this has already been remarked upon by Bataille?)

But this does not explain the appeal of "torture porn" the movie genre. For if it is indeed a precondition of social interaction, if it does indeed permeate every moment of our human existence, what pleasure then is to be derived from the single-minded fictional depiction of torture? What pleasure derived from the externalization, the graphical and physiological depiction, of an inherently internal and counterfactual social dynamic. "Torture porn" makes that which exists at the level of possibility, of control, of what can be achieved, visible, visceral, and ineluctable.

Here, the crucial answer is to be found in the attitude of the cinema goer to his or her positions within the many overlapping social hierarchies in which she / he participates.

Those who are resigned to their position or those who are satisfied with it, will not enjoy "torture porn."

"Torture porn" is a genre of the disenfranchised, the dissatisfied, those who desire a change (a radical, violent change) in social position. Furthermore, this desire for change must be intimately intertwined with some (subconscious? / conscious?) understanding of their social standing and a realization (even mere gut "grasping") of the relationship between their state of mind (happiness, or lack thereof, etc.) and their position within this social hierarchy.

And here, the ostensibly value-neutral flavor of this essay must end.

For, desiring a position of greater power precisely so that one might wield that power is surely morally reprehensible. To wish to dominate in principle, so one might also dominate in practice, is to succumb to sadism, evil, and the very corrupting influences of power which motivate the drive towards equality as a regulative ideal in the first place.

So, yes, the lover of torture porn may be evil.

(A Japanese example, one picked at random amongst many: Tsutomu Miyazaki.)

But this is not the only human drive which might motivate an "enjoyment" of "torture porn." And this precisely is the point, and why "torture porn" as a derogatory term is indeed unjustified, why the assumption that those who do "enjoy" it are necessarily monsters is, in fact, the true position of evil. The position assumed by the sadist, the torturer, the pervert.

For the desire to be a part of hierarchical change may be motivated not by inherent cruelty, but by pain, victimization, the realization that the lack of power one holds over one's life, that impotence, is an unfair and undesirable state. One might identify in torture porn not with the torturer, but the torturee. And not out of some misplaced (masochistic) sexual dynamic, but out of pure empathy.

For we all are tortured in this life, and to see a graphic analogical depiction of the that very whimsical "torture" to which we are every moment subject may have a profound power of catharsis.

Thus, so-called "torture porn" may be a positive force for healing, for self-realization, for release, understanding, acceptance, but also a constructive release of tension.

And this is why the critiques of Mel Gibson's Passion as mere "torture porn" are so ignorant and woefully misplaced. For this is indeed the role that the story of the passion of Christ as a mythology has always played—a role of catharsis for those subjugated by the (inevitable and universal) power structure of society. This is precisely why the story achieved the religious power it has, why it continues to be spread amongst oppressed peoples, why we see it as a positive and uplifting story. To focus on the pain of Christ is to focus on the plight of those who are not at the top of the hierarchy, of those who are subjugated, controlled, "tortured" by those with more power. That just is the religious significance of the story. That just is why it is a story about love and faith and healing and positive change for a better world.

Christ without the sacrifice would be Marx, Stalin, Castro—he would be the faux-torturee, a mere fascist, a dictator, a torturer.

What about those who identify with the torturer because they long for social change? Those who wish not to be subjugated, not merely so they can subjugate (as the serial killer or the sociopath), but so they can reap justice. Should we condone—must we condemn—those who revel in the possibility of retribution when they watch "torture porn"?

This is in many respects the predicament of Alex, who identifies with the Romans when hearing bible stories, yet whose apparently nihilistic rampages are clearly motivated to some large degree by his position of soci-economic impotence within society. His sadism amongst his droogs is precisely mirrored by the ease with which the larger political structure of society bends and controls him. Howsoevermuch we may revile him for his deeds, what are we to think of the casual manner in which his very personhood is violated against his will by grander, and indifferent social forces. Alex's cruelty is a faint reflection of that cruelty and control to which he is potentially subject by his very place within society and to which he becomes actually subject in the conceit of A Clockwork Orange.

Insofar as retribution may be just, the viewer of torture porn may identify with the torturer in clear conscience. And you, who are resigned, complicit, or who yourself inflict that social torture which he thereby escapes, have no moral standing for criticism.

But insofar as the justice of retribution depends upon a constructive drive towards the regulative ideal of equality, the identification with torturer should be tempered by an identification with torturee, for otherwise the pendulum will swing too far, the desire to supplant the inherent injustice of the hierarchical structure of social interactions will be replaced by a mere lust to occupy the domineering position in such interactions, and the altrustic communistic ideal will curdle into fascism, as it always has in political practice.

"Torture porn" then is indeed technically porn. But it is also religious text, a potential for catharsis and for the recognition of and rebellion against that very order of society which itself ensures, institutes, and institutionalizes torture.

white trash art comment

How to comment on the degeneration of American society, the gaping interstices in which the poor, the cultureless, the callous, the consumers of kitsch, the fans of heavy metal, the drinkers of cheap beer fall? Where is their voice? What is their voice? What should be their voice?

One strategy: found object, synthetic documentation from within the void.

trash humping

The "fanzine" which accompanies the DVD of Harmony Korine's latest movie, Trash Humpers begins with a "synopsis" of the film, which ends:

Crudely documented by the participants themselvs, we follow the debased and shocking actions of a group of true sociopaths the likesof which have never never been seen before. Inhabiting a world of brokendreams and beyond the limits of morality, they crashagainst a torn and frayed aAmerica . Borderin on an ode to vandalism, it is a new type of horror - palpable and raw.

(Typos reproduced as accurately as possible.) Trash Humpers features 4 "elderly" protagonists with identical faces who vandalize, crack cheap jokes, mingle with white trash eccentrics, and, most frequently, "hump" trash (cans, bags, also electrical poles, trees, and pretty much anything else at hand).

Later in the "fanzine" (mostly nighttime photos of the films protagonists) we find this phrase (scrawled in deliberately childlike handwriting, like much of the document):

this movie is more like an artifact, its like something found somewhere and unearthed an old vhs tape that was in some attick or buried in some ditch

Now, Trash Humpers does seem to be shot on video, and it's clearly been run through several generations to of vhs copying to degrade the image quality and introduce the familiar analog noise of an old videotape.

On the other hand, before its video release, it was shown on the big screen in 35mm. The DVD packaging lists New York, Toronto, AFI, Rotterdam, Copenhagen, London, and SXSW festivals. This is hardly a screening pattern typical of a found object. The supposed "fanzine," is clearly not made by any fans of the film (as the fallacious and self-aggrandizing quotations above should indicate)—one can only hope it was not made by Harmony himself given the flagrant inconsistency of vision and message between the movie and the packaging / "fanzine" insert.

Compare this with August Underground, a film which also was deliberately degraded by several generations of video copying, also was shot handheld, simulating the homemovies of socio/psycho paths, also features them marauding through a desolate suburban landscape, and also features faux-snuff (though this plays a much more prominent role than in the few scenes in Trash Humpers). Arguably, if there is a purpose to August Underground (beyond its status as gore-exploitation (and maybe there isn't any such further purpose)), then it is as a commentary on a disaffected portion of society, with no sense of social boundaries, a lack of respect not just for law and property, but for human beings themselves, a complete selfishness and entitlement which permits all, at the cost of permitting only the most base repetitive and meaningless actions. (i.e. the exact same purpose we might plausibly attribute to Trash Humpers)

[Tellingly, it appears that once one rejects boundaries and respect, once one rejects the humanity of one's fellows, there isn't much of interest, value, or complexity left for one to do.]

August Underground: eating chips without paying for them, prelude to a grisly crime

August Underground, however, rather famously, preserved the appearance of found object in its initial distribution. It was mailed in neutral packaging on an unmarked VHS tape to likely reviewers of extreme gore, and thereafter passed through the underground amongst aficionados of the genre.

Of course, if Trash Humpers attempts to create appearance of a found object and fails, this in itself isn't a criticism unless the success of the movie stands or falls on this illusion. And in order to answer this question, we need to understand the point of the endeavor: what would it mean for Trash Humpers to succeed?

We could go to the director's own comments on this point, but they're largely unconvincing:



Much more convincing are the comments he makes in character, while driving the other trash humpers to a new location for humping, presumably (note, this monologue is completely out of character with the giggling and leering which characterizes the rest of the film, amply demonstrated in the first 1:12 of this vid):



Safe to say, there's to some extent a glorification, and to some extent a recrimination of a certain type of devil-may-care, libertarian rejection of social norms and morays. A "do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law" attitude that originates, not in mystical visions, but in a combination of a permissive society, devoid of overseers, and a lack of motivation to instill the order / structure that such overseers might themselves have implemented.

Of course, the classic source for this attitude is an explicit rejection of authority. I hump trash because it is forbidden, and because the powers that forbid it are too ineffectual to prevent me. A sense of rebellion and degeneracy which appears in all of Korine's works, though perhaps the closest in spirit here is his Gummo.

If this is correct, though, then the motivation behind the serial killing in August Underground is actually more complex than that in Trash Humpers—yes, there's the libertarianism, yes there's the "because I can," but there's also a de Sade power-trip, a getting off on using others as objects, as means rather than ends. The trash humpers, however, seem oblivious to the owners of the trash, or the effect their actions have on them, they are merely amusing themselves through juvenalia.

So, suppose both the point is correctly identified, and that the criticism is warranted (i.e. there is a degenerate and selfish libertarianism at the heart of the American experience), then how does the "found object" strategy serve to make that point? The idea here is to produce an artifact of that degeneracy, and comment on it through immersion: you the viewer are forced to confront a side of society which you do not (yourself) participate in, recognize their practices, and reflect on the circumstances which brought them about.

Fair enough, but then the crucial element for creating the desired effect is authenticity. To the extent that the viewer is not convinced by the purported found object, he is divorced from the experience, and no longer reflects upon the circumstances which produced said object, but upon the filmmakers own ineptness and confusion in thinking he understood it.

Which brings us to acting. The primary characters in Trash Humpers are four supposed old folk, all played by quite young folk (e.g. Harmony and his wife Rachel) wearing old folk latex masks (the effect being all the more disturbing because the masks are all identical). To be fair, these characters are quite compelling and, besides the obvious surrealism of their faces being identical, are convincing as demented artifacts of a corrupt society. Unfortunately, the secondary characters they interact with are totally unconvincing, bombastic in the delivery of their lines like any second rate actor, and clearly the products of Hollywood and not the suburbs. As such, their presence undermines the authenticity of the film and destroys any purported status it pretends to as found object, and thus also as insight into the American experience.

Unconvincing second-rate actor smirking and breaking character when supposedly he is being threatened by a humper

For comparison, Harmony's first film, Gummo, brilliantly combined professional actors with local amateurs caught candidly engaged in their usual white trash activities. Although it didn't purport to be a found object (using voice overs, still frames, and other clever filmmaking techniques), it succeeded far better in immersing the audience in a particular experience.

Much more convincing than anything in Trash Humpers

Likewise, the August Underground series succeeds in immersing the viewer in a plausibly naturalistic scenario. Of course, not all films from Toetag have succeeded equally, nor does the extremity of the content reflect as widespread a social disease (although, one must assume here the trash humping stands in for a broader category of social pathologies—trash humping itself may actually be more rare than serial killing for all I know), nevertheless, the abstract point, about subversion of libertarian values in an American wasteland, is even more effectively conveyed. In fact, I'll go one step further—not only is the acting more convincing in the August Underground series, but the characters themselves (when not engaged in their pathological behavior) are more like us. Ordinary folk one might see walking the streets.

Bumfights, a true found object

Better even still, both on the realism front, and the social commentary front, however, are the actual found objects of the nihilistic American suburbs. I'm thinking here of the countless shock / trash videos to be found in underground music stores, or available for cheap download—actual documents of social deviancy, not faux documents of such by an alienated and pampered NYC art house elite. A prime example for comparison are the Bumfights videos.

If you want to know the sickness that lies in the interstices of the libertarian American dream, then Bumfights will certainly show it to you. Of course, videos such as this exploit the poor and homeless (arguably true of Gummo as well?—even if to a significantly lesser degree). Certainly, it would be reprehensible to encourage videos such as Bumfights by purchasing them or in any way allowing more money or power to end up in the filmmakers' hands. And to watch such videos with glee, to empathize, not with the desperate, the victims, but with the psychopaths, the filmmakers, the de Sadian exploiters, would be sick sick sick.

On the other hand, what to think of the audience for a film like Trash Humpers? Its protagonists are also killers and vandals and exploiters. It also has no plot, but is just a sequence of degradation-glorifying vignettes. Only, unlike in Bumfights, or August Underground, the exploited are unconvincing, are absent or patently in league with their supposed exploiters. Wink wink, nod nod—we're all really intellectuals here! And the cost? No empathy, no redemption. At least the goal of depicting the anarchy in the interstices succeeds with the true found object, or the authentic found object. But without that authenticity, there can be no empathy, and without empathy, there can be no redemption: neither spiritually, nor aesthetically.

Personally, I'm much more worried about whatever head-up-his-ass pretentious nihilist dickwad who awarded Trash Humpers the grand prize at a documentary film festival than the skate punk degenerates who paid money for Bumfights. At least the latter feel something.

Reality in Shock Cinema: Maskhead

The cinema of the horrendous has always relied on a combination of reality and special effects to achieve its ends—the manipulation of viewer emotional state through a sequence of shocking / disturbing images.

An extreme example are the films of the Viennese Action movement, particularly Otto Muehl's. These films include real blood, real feces, real animal slaughter, and, famously in one instance, a woman pleasuring (?) herself with the neck of a beheaded swan.

A less extreme example, perhaps, is the Mondo genre of films, initiated by the brilliant documentary Mondo Cane (1962). Though it started with the travelogue depiction of bizarre practices around the world, the genre quickly degenerated into a reliance on faked events. Already in Mondo Cane 2 (1963) the self-immolation of a Tibetan monk is faked (though, in fact because, such events actually occur, the filmmakers simply happened not to be present).

Japanese fetish cinema of the 1970s and 1980s also combined actual bondage and torture with simulated violence to create an overall atmosphere of deprivation. Notable examples here include Wife to be Sacrificed (1974) and the significantly more offensive (and less poetic) Captured for Sex 2 (1986). The Japanese also, however, introduced a brand of gore so excessive and minimal there was no room in the plot for real acts at all, most famously with Flowers of Flesh and Blood (1985). Significantly more excessive, though in some respects exemplifying similar spirit (drained, however, of the aesthetic vision provided by Flowers director and mangaka Hideshi Hino), is the utterly repulsive Flesh Daruma (1998), which combines real hardcore sex with simulated torture and murder.

Contemporary shock cinema has sought a happy medium between the real and the fake. The real aspects of the film lend plausibility to the fake, yet frequently now involve willing, even enthusiastic, participants. Here again we can see two dominant strategies for imbuing simulated violence with the veneer of reality: i) the inclusion of real acts of a shocking or graphic nature between simulated ones; ii) a documentary filmmaking style. Obviously, some films choose to employ iii) a combination of the two.

Falling into the first category are the recent films of Andreas Bethman, José Mojica Marins, and Randy Greif. Bethman's Angel of Death II: The Prison Island Massacre (2007) and K3: Prison of Hell (2009) both combine real (and graphic) hardcore sex with simulated torture and violence (via the special effects wizardry of Olaf Ittenbach). Marins' Embodiment of Evil (2008) and Greif's The Three Trials (2006) both feature performances by body modification enthusiasts intermingled with simulated torture and domination.

In the second category, one need look no farther than Fred Vogel's August Underground trilogy and Murder Collection, Vol. 1, discussed in some detail here. These four films all utilize a gritty verité / faux documentary style in order to heighten the effect of scenes of simulated gore.

Perhaps the grandest recent exemplars of the combined strategy are the "vomit gore" films of Lucifer Valentine 666, Slaughtered Vomit Dolls (2006) and ReGoregitated Sacrifice (2008). Both films combine real stripping, domination, and vomiting with simulated torture and murder, all shot in a documentary style. One hesitates to describe them even as "faux" documentaries given that the documented events (domination and vomiting) are frequently real, and the voice one hears of the satanic narrator is that of the director himself instructing his (willing) actors.

This brings us to the latest offering of ToeTag Productions, Maskhead. I have to admit, however, some befuddlement about the exact goal of Maskhead. It is noticeably lacking in any of the three strategies for combining realism with simulation displayed in the shock cinema genre. As a consequence, although the effects are, as always, up to ToeTag's high standards, the atmosphere of the film is confused and lacking in intensity or focus.

For example, Maskhead revolves around a couple of porn producers who lure would-be amateur porn actors and actresses into snuff films where they are slaughtered by an enigmatic masked figure. The trailer promises a puzzle concerning the identity of this "Maskhead"—is he "The Cowboy"? Will he turn on his employers? What are his motivations, his history? None of this is revealed. Furthermore, although the characters are ostensibly shooting porn, there is hardly any nudity in the film. The supposed "fetish porn" which introduces every Maskhead scene is extremely prudish, featuring actors in underwear or neglige. This is all especially surprising given that earlier ToeTag films (Redsin Tower (2006) and Murder Collection, Vol. 1 (2009) both feature sex scenes more explicit than anything in Maskhead (though obviously still simulated rather than real).

As a second example, consider the fisting scene, a scene played almost entirely for laughs. The scene works because of the charisma of the only interesting character in the whole movie, The Cowboy. But, again, it feels out of place. In a world where fisting, if not commonplace (though surely becoming more so), is publicly available through the magic of the internet, why not secure a genuine enthusiast to act in the film? The obvious answer—that such an amateur would not be able to uphold the acting standards of the film—doesn't seem applicable. In fact, uniformly, though not engaging in any pornographic acts, the level of sophistication of most of the acting is no better than that in the average porn flick (the notable exception, again, being The Cowboy).

The point here is not that one wishes to see fisting in a gore movie. In fact, quite the contrary. However, it is precisely because this is not the gut desire of the viewer that inclusion of such scenes would have heightened the realism, intensity, and atmosphere of the film as a whole. Surrounded by the implausible and the cartoon, the gore scenes themselves feel confusing and random. There is no build-up, no tension (at least not after it is revealed, early on, that The Cowboy is not Maskhead).

What about the second strategy for imbuing a shock film with a veneer of realism, a documentary style? In many ways the style of Maskhead is documentary-esque—handheld, shot-on-video, sporadic in image quality, etc. However, there is none of the artifice needed to make this interpretation convincing. The August Underground trilogy relied for its success on a compelling and convincing simulation of the homemovie. Murder Collection, Vol. 1 successfully simulates a lone collector's selection of accidental death videos. In both cases, there is a consistency of vision and style that supports the artifice, lending it plausibility. It is the very sporadic character of Maskhead that prevents any such illusion from taking hold. It is not the homemovie of the porn producers, it is not an accidental document, it is not even one of the videos they themselves produce (though there is an episode along these lines).

So, what then to make of Maskhead—who is it for? Why is it? As a piece of shock cinema, it largely fails (speaking by comparison here, of course). There is indeed extreme gore, but it is linked together by unfocussed vignettes featuring bad acting and zero plot development. This sounds suspiciously like porn—not capital-P Porn, but rather any exploitation genre film, serving the sole purpose of delivering the enthusiast his desires mounted on a pointless facade of filler. In this sense, the chop-sockey film is also a type of porn, and Maskhead itself is gore-porn.

Ironically, if Maskhead had included scenes of actual porn, if the fisting, for example, had actually been depicted, it would have been less porn-like in this exploitation sense. For then the gorehounds would have been shaken from their comfort zone, they would have been truly shocked and disgusted, rather then pleasantly titillated. If the viewer of Maskhead were truly made to feel horror and fear, disturbed and disgusted by his own emotional trajectory, then it could have risen to the level of some of the earlier ToeTag offerings.

Alternately, the film could have embraced a more traditional narrative structure. Perhaps if there had been tension, a reveal, a mystery, or retribution—some arc or change in the characters—the film could have avoided the gutter of shock and exploitation entirely and aspired to a more mainstream style. Perhaps this was the filmmakers' intent; though, if so, it leaves one puzzled about why the character of Maskhead was not developed more. Maskhead himself is not even developed as a mystery. We very rarely see him when he is not performing. How does he live? Where does he live? Why does he live? His enigma could have been served as the driving force behind the story, but by the end we have learned nothing. Nothing has changed but the death of some irrelevant (and also underdeveloped) amateur porn actors. Boo-Hoo.

lucifer valentine 666 is white

apparently

I'm so disappointed.

wrist cut rally

trends in meta-snuff: Murder Collection, vol. 1

So far, there appears to be no such thing as a snuff film.

Nevertheless, the possibility of snuff has been a powerful source of inspiration for the underground gore community.

This inspiration has expressed itself in two basic ways:

1. Imitations of Snuff, i.e. fake snuff films
2. Films about Snuff, in the best instances providing some form of commentary on the nature of snuff and its appeal.

The most famous instance of the first type is perhaps the guinea pig short, flowers of flesh and blood, 1985. Which Charlie Sheen famously believed to be a real snuff film.

Instances of the second type include those that focus primarily on the psychology of those making the snuff films (Peeping Tom, 1960), the society that consumes snuff (Videodrome, 1983), the victims of snuff (Evil Dead Trap, 1988), or even all of the above (Cannibal Holocaust, 1980).

A compelling new trend in snuff-aesthetics can be seen in the films of Fred Vogel's ToeTag Pictures. The August Underground trilogy (August Underground, 2001, August Underground's Mordum, 2003, and August Underground's Penance, 2007) manages to combine the best features of the two primary types of snuff inspired film.

Technically speaking, these are all fake snuff films. This allows them to take advantage of the primary aesthetic virtue of the fake snuff film: its ability to connect viscerally and emotionally, to induce direct bodily reactions.

However, films about snuff traditionally find it much easier to investigate the underlying psychology of snuff. This psychology includes that of the filmmakers, the consumers, and also the society as a whole which has produced this trend. And it is this last factor, of course, which is in many ways the most interesting, as it implicates even those who do not seek out and consume extreme gore in the trends which it expresses.

The August Underground videos, especially when taken as a whole, manage to comment on the underlying psychology of both the murderers depicted and the society which produced them. On the side of the murderers, their attitude towards their violence gradually shifts from indifference in the first video, towards emotional, romantic entanglement in Mordum, eventually degenerating into empty, unfulfilling compulsion in Penance.

Society at large, however, is implicated in the extended non-gore scenes. The films intersperse scenes from the everyday lives of the protagonists along with extended of scenes of them torturing their victims. Unlike in a film such as Peeping Tom, where the protagonist is introverted, socially maladjusted, and explicitly attempts to erect a barrier between his snuff-habit and his everyday life, the August Underground films portray the protagonists' violent behavior as lying on a continuum with their everyday activities.

Conversations with friends, a walk in the park, dancing at a concert, getting a piercing: all these activities are presented as mere manifestations of the same underlying drive which motivates their crimes.

ToeTag's most recent picture takes this technique a step further, this time attempting to directly analyze and implicate the audience. The video is called Murder Collection Volume 1. Strictly speaking, Murder Collection is not a fake snuff film. Rather, it is a fake instance of a very real phenomenon: the collection of death footage.

This trend was perhaps initiated by the shocking but brilliant Mondo Cane, but in the days before everyone was walking around with phones and cameras which can double as video capture devices, footage of actual deaths was hard to come by. This inspired a number of fake collections, such as the Faces of Death films.

In the age of the internet, however, accidental (and deliberate) death footage became widely available. Sources range from accidents to Islamic extremists, to honest-to-god serial killer home videos (yes, if you look hard enough, they can be found). Murder Collection purports to be a mixtape of such found footage by a mysterious figure named Balan who helmed a site catering to those interested in such fare from the early days of the internet, i.e. 1994.

Much like actual sites which distribute such footage, Balan runs afoul of the authorities and the site is dismantled. Murder Collection, however, presents videos from his collection, interspersed with commentary by said shadowy figure. Unlike previous films like Faces of Death, which proclaimed itself real in all advertising material, or Cannibal Holocaust, for which the director asked the actors to go into hiding for a year in order to heighten the illusion they'd been killed, Murder Collection does not hide its fictional character. It has opening credits listing the (to my knowledge real) names of all involved, and ending credits which clearly list all actors in all segments. Furthermore, promotional copies have been distributed signed by all participants.

Essentially, then, the video is a collection of short stories, each fulfilling two constraints: (i) somebody has to die (usually accidentally), and (ii) the action must be captured by a video recording device plausibly operating within the context of the story. The stories themselves are quite clever, and, in particular, use time and perspective to generate substantial suspense. Overall, the gore level is quite low compared to other ToeTag pictures, but the suspense and intensity in the stories makes for a compelling and disturbing experience.

For our purposes, however, it is the interjections by host Balan which are perhaps of most interest. We never see a clear picture of Balan's face, only snippets of distorted and manipulated video, capturing various features in isolation. It's clear that these are compiled from a number of different faces, and features of the three main protagonists of the August Underground films are all in evidence (if my eyes do not mistake me). Balan's voice is distorted past the point of recognition, and his interjections are subtitled. It is clear that there is no direct connection between the text and voice.

Here's an example of one of Balan's comments, occurring a third of the way through the film. The grossly distorted voice uttering a string of expletives, something like: "[unintelligible] this motherfucking, stinking [dog?] pitiful piece of shit . . ." [etc.], which are subtitled:

"The joy of being repulsed stirs up our viscera. Causes us pain, nausea and discomfort. For most it is not enjoyable to watch another human die. Yet, it gives great pleasure to some. It makes them yearn for it. Even want to take a life for themselves. Regardless, in the end it's all the same. Viewing death generates acids in our guts and makes us feel alive."

Here we can clearly see the implication of even those members of society who choose not to watch gore, snuff, or death footage. The physiological reaction which motivates those who enjoy gore is the same as that which motivates those who despise it. Furthermore, the end consequence of this physiological reaction is the same in both types of people, it makes them "feel alive." This is perhaps Balan's own answer to the question he asks at the start of the video: "Why are you watching?"

Murder Collection is the gore underground's attempt to adapt to the times. Snuff films are not real, but accidental death videos are. Now that, thanks to the internet, they are widely available online, it is imitation death videos, rather than imitation snuff which are of interest. In the words of Balan: "the new media shines light in dank crevasses." Furthermore, the role of the snuff filmmaker has been replaced by the role of the death vid collector. In many ways, this subject is potentially more compelling from a psychological standpoint as he is much closer (in terms of his behavior and the lines he is willing to cross) to the audience of gore than the genuine psychopath.

One can see this in the content of the short stories. Although some capture thieves, kidnappers, or intentional murderers, others capture pranks which go too far or accidental expressions of emotion which cross the line into fatal excess. These serve to implicate the viewer and the everyday hooligan in much the same way as some of the most ambiguous august underground scenes.

But Balan's questions, whether sincere or ironic, remains hanging in the air: why violence and death? Will there even be an interest in the fake accidental death video when the real is so readily available? Is this human nature or perversion? Are we all implicated?

yes.

war memorial

The claim that war is "bad" for its own sake is profoundly offensive. The history of compassion is drenched in gore ~ blood sacrificed that compassion might be possible, blood squandered in the misguided and hypocritical name of "compassion," blood spilt across centuries, drenching entire continents, simply because two groups have incompatible notions of "compassion." You who protest war simply because it is war deserve the slavery and gas-chambers to which such narrow-minded, close-sighted cowardice inevitably leads. You defecate all over difficult decisions and impede rational debate. You deny history and shun the sacrifices which have allowed you the very liberty to proclaim your facile views in the streets unhindered. To begin to analyze the value of this or that particular war, one must first acknowledge the role war serves in the evolution of human culture. One must acknowledge the occasional necessity of war. One must acknowledge that to refuse war is sometimes the very antithesis of compassion, to refuse war can mean complicity in murder. Furthermore, one must abandon this talk of a "just war"! Justice is a notion defined within a legal framework; wars, by definition are conflicts outside the bounds of legal systems, between legal systems, as it were. To pretend then that there can be such a thing as a "just war" is to persist in a delusion about what one is engaged in ~ to paint the other in one's own colors and presume he will admire you for it. No no! ~ if the notion of "just war" were coherent, there would be no need for war! Let us pray we never see such a day, as on that day we will know that liberty sleeps in her grave.

Not "just war," but "justified war" is the notion needed, with the recognition here that justification is only by our own lights. Then we can debate, then we can engage in rational discussion, we can weigh the cost against the gain . . . . but this cost, this cost! Today we remember the cost, the lives snuffed out by the wind of war, in justified and unjustified wars alike. And their sacrifice is no less, their honor no less in the latter case. For the danger of poor decision making hangs heavy over any rational debate, this very uncertainty is what creates the excitement of thought, the adventure of argument. Often, only in hindsight can one truly measure the value of a particular war, and even then, our judgments may change from age to age. No, the soldier cannot be judged by the value of the war in which he participated, for such is ever indeterminate. Rather, the soldier can be judged by his actions: by his courage to place his life at risk for the life of his culture, for the lives of his compatriots. To be a soldier is to see with keen eyes the distant unfolding of human history, to put others before oneself, compassion in its truest sense. In this country, we ride on the backs of countless dead ~ a revolutionary war, a civil war, two worlds wars ~ "justified" or not, it is impossible to imagine our culture uninfluenced by these wars. We lead lives determined by war, and both the beautiful and the ugly of our culture was birthed in war, is steeped in war, is inextricable from our history of war. Today, at least, we should think of the beautiful, that we might better appreciate the value of deaths which from so many other perspectives seem futile and barren of meaning.

You who died that I might freely publish these vain bloviations, that I might wallow in security and liberty and health, that I might have a life filled with opportunity, joy, and pleasure: you are too many for me to ever know your names, but I know your sacrifice and I thank you in the only manner I can, with these impoverished words. thank you.