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Lights. Camera. Evisceration.
13 February 2019
The title serves it up without the need for dressing. "Faces of Snuff" couples elements of the death documentary/mondo film (with an obvious nod to the notorious "Faces of Death" series) with the faux snuff/found footage genre that has grown into an epidemic over the last couple of decades (epitomised by the "August Underground" series). No fewer than twenty directors from around the globe contributed to this 136-minute anthology film - and in an attempt to lend credence to the tagline 'Dozens of "snuff" films. Which ones are real?', nobody is credited onscreen.

This sense of unknown origins - amplified by the almost complete lack of production credits - is embellished by the lo-fi, spontaneous, homemade quality of the footage, shot on various formats and incorporating onscreen dates that go as far back as the early 80s. Grainy film stock, screen static, sound design reduced to nothing but the whirring of a projector - these elements echo representations of snuff in earlier grindhouse and mainstream films like the controversial "Snuff" (1975) and Paul Schrader's "Hardcore" (1979). This is perhaps most effective at the climax of the film, which features the bulk of a faux snuff film called "Captains Pride Volume 33" - an American short which has been in circulation for years but whose origins remain anonymous.

The grim tone of "Faces of Snuff" is offset at regular intervals by the inclusion of footage from a 1965 propaganda film (courtesy of pro-censorship group Citizens for Decent Literature), in which an onscreen narrator attempts to strike fear into the hearts of the righteous with his increasingly histrionic warnings of pornography depraving America's youth. Juxtaposed with scenes of graphic cruelty and sexual abuse filmed half a century later, these moments are quaintly amusing - while also compelling viewers to reflect on changing standards of obscenity and censorship in the media.

There are also brief clips and still images of the aftermath of actual atrocities, often flashing onscreen with subliminal effect. As with a film like "Faces of Death" (1978), well-known for including an abundance of faked footage among the real deaths, we are continually manipulated into reversing the scepticism that governs when we know that what we are watching is not real. The messiness of the film's construction, with its sudden switches between unrelated sequences and snippets of depravity dropped in at random, strengthens this disorienting device.

Seasoned horror aficionados will not be fooled, however. Coordinated by producer, segment director and actor Shane Ryan, the gore is often overshadowed by the kind of explicit nudity and unsimulated sex that typifies Ryan's approach in his own films - such as "My Name Is 'A' by Anonymous" and the "Porn Star Killer" series, both of which lend footage to "Faces of Snuff" - and displaces common expectations of an extreme horror film. While there is plenty of graphic violence, the film was obviously never intended to compete with the likes of the first entry in the "American Guinea Pig" series or the trailblazing faux snuff movies the Japanese have been churning out since the 80s, like the first two instalments of the original "Guinea Pig" series or "Tumbling Doll of Flesh" (1998). It's unlikely that Charlie Sheen will be calling the FBI over this one.

The 'Could this be real?' quotient is further diluted by the segments that incorporate a novel twist or sting in the tail. While often entertaining, this brings to mind the typical structure of anthology films like "The ABCs of Death" (2012), where the boundary between the end of one segment and the beginning of the next is clear, and viewers are invited to catch their breath and retune their antenna at these moments. The variation in both approach and genre tropes is enjoyable, however, especially considering the film's length - and actor/director/producer Ryan obviously believes length to be an asset in more ways than one, as evidenced by a nude scene in which he sports an erection you could hang a wet coat on. Captain's pride, indeed...
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Debris Documentar (2012 Video)
Defecation. Death. Decay. Documentation.
8 January 2015
Most reviews of "Debris Documentar" follow the same redundant pattern: descriptions of the countless disgusting acts in the film, interspersed with exclamations of how disgusting it all is. If those acts were to be listed here in detail – and this is no exaggeration – there would be no space left for an actual review. This is the debut feature (although it didn't properly surface until years later) of German filmmaker/public enemy Marian Dora, whose magnum opus remains "Melancholie der Engel" (2009) – a film which tops "most disturbing films" lists with alarming frequency. For many, "Debris Documentar" surpasses even that film.

Carsten Frank, who continued his association with Dora in "Cannibal" (2006) and "Melancholie", appears as himself in "Debris", although the film is clearly not a documentary. The lack of English subtitles prevents a complete understanding or reliable analysis of the film, but he appears to be a set dresser or propman on a film set. "Debris" follows Carsten through his daily routines (eating, showering, jogging, working, returning phone calls), juxtaposing this sense of the normal and mundane with endless scenes involving (in relentlessly explicit detail) urination, defecation, regurgitation, masturbation, ejaculation, self-mutilation, genital amputation, an enema, coprophilia, scatophagia, rotting carcasses and disemboweled animals. The guy even picks his nose and eats it.

"Debris Documentar" is something of a companion piece to Dora's "Melancholie". During the opening credits the title of the film is followed by a line which roughly translates as "Insights into the pre-production of Melancholie der Engel". Aside from the presence of several actors, both films are unmistakably the work of the same filmmaker; they share a similar visual aesthetic, atmosphere and iconography (rotting remains, dolls, spiders, sphincters), reflecting the same nauseating preoccupations of their maker. But whereas "Debris" contains much less violence and cruelty, it is stripped of the poetry and philosophical references that provided "Melancholie" with an otherworldly, even romantic atmosphere.

Instead, "Debris" aligns itself with a far less highbrow cultural phenomenon. Carsten has a neatly displayed video collection, loaded with horror and exploitation movies, including many video nasties. Actor David Hess (from video nasty cause celebre "The Last House on the Left"), whose songs were actually used in "Melancholie", makes a brief appearance here, and the voice of king of Eurosleaze Jess Franco (also responsible for several nasties) can be heard on the telephone several times during the film. Video nasty director Ulli Lommel, with whom both Marian Dora and Carsten Frank have collaborated a number of times, also shows up.

But back to the poo. Vomit, urination and defecation on camera is nothing new. Dora has declared the influence of many films of the 1970s on his own endeavors. Three landmarks of transgressive cinema of the mid-70s, banned throughout the world (having reached a much larger audience than Dora's film), come to mind when experiencing "Debris" – but each offers some kind of lens through which the shocking material is contextualized. For "Debris" is not tempered by the political polemics of "Salo", the surrealist playfulness of "Sweet Movie", or the innocence and tenderness of "Vase de Noces" (aka "The Pig F**king Movie").

More recently, there are links with fellow countryman Jorg Buttgereit, whose hugely controversial films (such as "Nekromantik" and "Der Todesking") deal with death, decay, mutilation and necrophilia. Dora and Buttgereit are clearly united in some of their obsessions, and their careers (sometimes even their lives) are constantly under threat due to the amount of controversy their work generates. The kinds of movies they are driven to make, unfortunately, are not rewarded by a cultural climate that encourages debate and interpretation of such confronting and repellent material.

But unlike any feature film before it, "Debris Documentar" filters this deconstruction of death and rot through a meditation on human waste – ironically intensifying the reactions of offended audiences with Dora's method of utterly deglamorizing the processes through which the body rids itself of natural debris. The amount of feces spilled in this film could probably sustain a small country's farming industry for a year. Carsten also gets off on smelling the interior of his sweaty shoes, jerks off while taking a dump, picks his nose, butthole, scabs and areas between his toes – and eats each and every nugget. This is the human animal at play; Carsten seems quite harmless, and nobody is getting hurt – at least until the descent into violence and sadism toward the end of the film, which contains unbelievably graphic images of sexual violence.

Through it all, Dora revels in challenging the viewer to find beauty in the darkest depths of depravity – where some believe that trying to push the body to its limits is a form of spiritual ascension. As the director himself puts it, you have to put your morality aside in order to engage with his films. It is clear that most viewers, even horror aficionados, are unable or unwilling to do this. If the sights and sounds of the very same bodily functions we are all condemned to perform daily is too much, do not fear – you can always go back to universally accepted forms of entertainment like murder, torture and rape.

Ultimately, with "Debris Documentar" perhaps Dora's sensibility is largely informed by the horror movies that line his character's shelves, and the environment Carsten works in – being part of a film crew and constantly filming his own depraved exploits. The corpses and dead animals he captures on camera hold the same fascination for him as the dolls and other props he works on. It is all simply raw material for his documentary of waste; life is an endless cycle of dirt, excrement, sexual gratification, death and decay. Is our disgust a sign of the success or of the failure of the film? Either way, I am reminded of that definitive slogan which accompanied advertisements for David Hess' most notorious and incendiary film: It's only a movie… only a movie… only a movie
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