It has a premise so repugnant that it’s hard to fathom a reason for it to exist. Yet it’s filmed in such a way as to give the disgusting idea of patina of fright film respectability. The acting is impeccable, the direction clean, crisp, and assured. Yet there’s no escaping the core concept - a mad surgeon, known for his skill at separating conjoined twins, so hates the human race that he’s out to reconnect a few unfortunate tourists. His plan? Medically sew their mouths to each other’s anuses, connecting their gastric systems into one long entrail and create…a human centipede. His methodology? Practiced, precise, and wholly perverse. The results? Devastating.
Ever since it hit the festival circuit last year, Tom Six’s The Human Centipede has been the stuff of heated discussion and dismissive scandal. It’s been called everything from a “masterpiece” to a “miscreant pile of self-indulgent garbage.” If it’s art, it’s the kind without any real redeeming social or political value (though a certain subtext can be read into it) and if its exploitation, it often fails to deliver the debauchery one expects from the genre. Landing somewhere solidly in the middle, this is an unforgettable cinematic experience that’s also unforgiveable, unfathomable, and unseemly as Hell. Movies aren’t supposed to make you feel this dirty, this polluted, this…disturbed.