"Nacho, nacho man, I want to be...a nacho man" Well in fact I don't, not if I end up anything like the Spanish writer and director of this pleasant little necro f**k-flick, Nacho Cera. This is a 34 minute script-free piece showing a number of very realistic autopsies and then a corpse-randy coronor jumping up onto a table and knocking boots with a partially eviscerated and flayed cadaver. Then he goes home with a piece of the corpse and feeds it to his dog. "Tell me more!" you (probably don't) say. Well this dark little movie has been knocking around for quite a while now , has assumed a legendary status and gathered quite a few people who claim it's a work of thought-provoking and challenging art.
Now everyone has their own opinion of who constitutes art, and that in my mind is art's greatest strength and it's greatest failing. In this case I fail to see what "message" or intelligent discourse this movie is meant to generate. Is it conveying the futility of existence and the grim reality that once we're dead all we leave behind is a helpless bag of clammy meat? Thanks for that, and there was me thinking that upon my heroic demise my body was going to mutate into a enormous bejewelled faberge egg floating in a giant pool of rainbow juice. What's that Nacho? Your next movie is going to be a 30 minute arse-cam closeup of a bear evacuating it's bowels in a densely forested area? In it's defence the movie looks great, but then again so does Kelly Brooke and you just know that within that exquisite skull there's nothing but a few lonely isolated brains cells jumping around trying to keep warm. Perhaps the fact that the soundtrack consists of classical music has subconsciously triggered the art label in some viewers minds. It's unsavoury stuff. I'm an open minded man, in a very rigid and inflexible way, but this definitely triggered the This-is-a-bit-wrong-o-meter. Recommended only to cellar dwelling german weirdos and future serial killers still living with their parents.
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