ok ok hear me out. the best part of these erotic thrillers is getting to see the gleaming visage of upper middle class america crumble beneath its plain domestic lighting and be thrust toward its shadow self: the sanitized suburb is shot thru with suspicion, regimes of compulsive heterosexuality implicitly fail, and the intensities of misogyny and coercive monogamy these women have to navigate are set flame under the tinder of their own repressed desire.
each of these films (the…
sitting here sipping a cocktail falling deeper into my satô vortex thinking about how the penetrative slasher object—kitchen knife, chainsaw, machete—typical phallic symbols of male dominance is literalized here in the form of a deadly chrome vibrator. a series of giallo-like snuff scenes full of oozing fluids—blood, urine, poison, shaving cream—immortalized by the camera shutter into an abject art exhibit. almost entirely unpleasant until our lead lolita reclaims the vibrator as an object of womanly power and slashes back against the patriarchy. "i don't need you, i have this!" she says as she stands over his gagging body, clutching the steel dildo.
soupy domestic new age melodrama. the superficial fantasy of the nuclear family teetering into nightmare. nothing is natural. lush midi piano over kitchen sink realism one minute & then hardcore s/m scenes of leather-clad women shitting into the open mouths of men the next. satô ventures out of the alienated modernity of the city into the quiet vignetted suburbs, a fantasy dreamland of private compulsions, mass surveillance & as many depraved kinks as can fit inside the residential home. just totally rad. "what kind of labyrinth did i walk into?"