This is the type of movie that should be shown in high school Health classes. Or elementary school, given how disturbingly early that kids are becoming sexually active these days. Hell, I was a dirty pup in my younger years, if I’d had an iPad that I could find PornHub on at that age, I would’ve shown my babysitter a thing or two instead of vice versa! Okay, now that I’ve probably grossed out 70% of the people reading this by making a mockery of my molestation, maybe we should just get to…you know… the movie.
Jaimie is a young college girl in the prime of her life. Maybe. I don’t really know what qualifies as someone’s “prime” anymore, I just know that I’m WAY past mine. Jay’s got a new man in her life named Hugh, who she’s yet to play “Hide the Sausage” with. However, for the purposes of this particular plot, their intimate exchange of fluids is inevitable. Sure enough, they bump the proverbial uglies in his bitchin’ Spanish Fly mobile, and she instantly regrets it. Did Hugh give her the herps? Fertilize her eggs? Inject her with a chestburster?! Worse.
As the douche explains to her in the ether-soaked afterglow, Jay has now been infected with an STD – Sexually Transmitted Demon. An enigmatic entity whose origins no one knows, whose shape shifts at will but looks like Hollow Man to anyone not subject to its influence, and whose sole reason for existence is to murder-fuck whomever gets stuck with this supernatural hot potato from sex ed hell! The only way to get this monkey off your back? Slap sex meat with someone else and pass it on like the videotape from Ringu.
Like Tom Servo’s laundry list of queries about the human act of “making out”, I too have many inquiries to make about this mysterious metaphor for sexually discharged diseases. However, in the interest of keeping this Vienna Sausage of a review from turning into a windpipe clogging foot long, I’ll save them for a full length rant at another time.
I’d heard a lot of good things about It Follows prior to our viewing and apart from its lead-handed approach to its gimmick, I find myself in agreement. The cinematography is beautiful, the use of color is at times awe-inspiring, the no-name cast all put up performances to be proud of, and Disasterpeace’s soundtrack is aural sex for kinky ears. The whole thing gives me warm memories of The Neon Demon, only with a more structured story and less random “what the hell did we just watch?!” scenes. Note the key word there is “less” and not “no”.
Writer, director and He-of-Three-First-Names, David Robert Mitchell, deserves the heaps of praise sent his way for this movie, and though I have very little interest in his follow-up movie, Under the Silver Lake, I may have to give it a watch anyway. You know, “expand my horizons”. Then again, my horizons are already packed tighter than Lisa Ann’s Play Dough Fun Factory with all the shit I still haven’t made time to watch.
Four Blue Waffles out-of-Five
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