





As a piece of cinematic art, Flesh of the Void reflects the 1990 horror film Begotten in more ways than we can possibly imagine. Yes, that's a compliment.

Being a critic, I personally can not fathom the amount of dedication James Quinn shows in his new entrance to the abyss. Where many filmmakers shy away from the barbaric or insane, Quinn dives headlong into the cavernous depths of pure fear. Like a deadly car crash, my eyes were glued to the screen. Shooting ejaculate at the screen every chance he can get, his Void takes hard jabs at the religious sect as he continues down a trail into his very own hellscape.



Using a similar black and white distorted tone that’s graphically horrifying in its surrealist presentation, claustrophobia sets in as flesh tearing perversity is highlighted by a strange realm that can only be qualified as gothic terror. The piece runs amok for an hour and fifteen minutes of pure unadulterated directorial indulgence that’s rooted in an eerie soundtrack and shocking instrumentations of death that are definitely the things my worst dreams are made of. With no straight narrative, Flesh of the Void will throw even the most jaded horror fan for a whirl. A low pitch continues throughout the feature setting a hypnotizing pace that’s both freaky as hell but strangely satisfying. High toned whines break the monotony as gradient pictures are backed by never ending noise, both visually and auditory.









Insects are focused. Sexual organs are mutated. Voices of agony cry out in pain while our eyes are gouged out by a never ending stream of blood, pain, and suffering. If ever there was a film that painted death on a theatrical canvas, this is it. Played over several acts, Flesh of the Void is not simple or procedural in any way. For anyone that has ever experienced night terrors, this won’t be an easy viewing. Armed with the weight of sheer darkness, it has an oppressive quality that’s marked by forced sex acts, decapitations, and cannibalism. This is not for the weak willed. In fact, if you’re not of a solid mental make up, this is in no way a recommended viewing. We’re sure the people behind this project would sympathize with that statement. FOTV is far beyond your standard horror fare.



Shot exclusively on Super 8 and 16mm, the movie has a dirt and grittiness to it that feels like pure evil transposed to the screen. While nothing in this really relates in any way to snuff, there are many wounds inflicted, most of which involve digits being removed and oral manipulation that may result in a cataclysmic loss. Quinn shows us the darkest regions of his creativity by putting every bit of his (genius) madness into this project. For that alone, we’re giving him the highest mark available.









Not since Mark Hejnar’s 1996 shockumentary Affliction has my mind been so engaged at the insanity on screen. We repeat, if you’re thrown by male self manipulation or ungodly sexuality that crosses into self harm, this is not for you. For those that respect artistry for the time and energy it takes to create, Flesh of the Void is top shelf exploitation that’s ready to burn gallons of nightmare fuel. Thanks to this, I won't sleep tonight.





Score





-CG



