.
I don't really feel like picking apart Fresh Meat because its heart - its still beating just removed from the chest cavity about to be gnawed upon heart - is in the right place. Or you know, the right wrong place. It's basically The Last House on the Left played for laughs with cannibals and cross-dressing, and I hate to set my stink-eye on something so forthrightly monstrously silly (and gay-friendly to boot). But man it just didn't work for me. I was groaning inside, and not for being grossed-out - every broad slapsticky horror just felt a second or two misjudged. I never came to like anybody, yet instead of wishing them ill and delighting in their deaths the violence still came across as mean-spirited. This sort of thing often depends upon mood, so maybe I just wasn't in the mood - maybe it would've worked better with an audience primed for merry human mastication, rather than me being holed up at home watching it by myself where it was hardly holding my attention save the every so often most squishy of splatters.
.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment