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First, I’m sick of some reviewers going on and on about the GORE in this movie. This is NOT a Panic movie. This is not a gore-drenched rip-off of “Saw” or “Hostel.” In fact, most feeble panic movie loving folk will probably not sit all the draw through this film, for the simple reason that there is not wall-to-wall gore or humorous dialogue or gratuitous T&A.
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For the most fragment this is a very detailed and very long history lesson, that like “Men Slack the Sun” is not disquieted to exhibit a coarse and horrendous fragment of the past in horrific detail. While “Men Late the Sun” (a film that I also have a lot of respect for) is bright, “Philosophy of a Knife” is presented in mostly dusky and white with a first-rate 16mm educational documentary feel. While this achieve has been overused and ineffective in the past, it works very well here.
Make no mistake “Philosophy of a Knife” is very graphic, and the grotesque and horrifying medical experiments are presented in nightmare-inducing detail. But it doesn’t arrive off like gore for gore sake. It seems and ‘feels’ very real; as if we’re actually there witnessing these unspeakable horrors in the name of medical science.
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The valid rush time with the introduction is nearly four and a half hours. It actually seems longer considering the exhausting amount of interview and recreated footage to be found here. However I was never bored. And, when it was finally over, I could do nothing but sit and peep at the conceal. I was experiencing feelings that I rarely feel after watching a movie. Putting it simply, I was numb from the complexity, power and the repugnant historical nature of the movie that had unprejudiced consumed an entire summer evening.
Philosophy of a Knife (Andrey Iskanov, 2008)
For twenty years, a debate has raged over the title of most obscene gore film. While you’ll have your classicists arguing for Cannibal Ferox and the like, the actual discussion boils down to two films: Hideshi Hino’s sixty-minute masterpiece Flower of Flesh and Blood and T. F. Mous’ tainted started-as-a-documentary-and-turned-into-a-gore-film Men Leisurely the Sun. Now, MbtS is twenty years obsolete, FoFaB twenty-three; you’d mediate by now someone would have pushed the envelope a bit. But those two movies are like the Whitehouse and Sutcliffe Jugend of filmdom; sometimes people gain conclude, but no one ever seems to spill over into unknown territory. There are some envelopes that are, seemingly, made of titanium. The latest chap to try is Andrey Iskanov, whose Nails made me assume we might be seeing the first truly boundary-battering Russian director since Tarkovsky; with Philosophy of a Knife, he decided to pick what Mous was originally going to do and integrate it with what Mous finally did, creating what the panic underground have been calling a “goreumentary” ever since buzz started flying about this movie a year or so ago. And with a projected running time of over four hours (the released version does, in fact, clock in at four hours and nine minutes, excluding the intermission), a bunch of us believed it was time for Mous and Hino to step aside and reply the modern master. Well, now I’ve seen it. Mous and Hino are resting safely on their laurels.
It’s tough to talk about directorial style when you’re reviewing a documentary, so I’m not even going to try, except to mention that in the gore-film bits, all the fantastic stylistic quirks that made Nails (and, to a lesser extent, Visions of Suffering) such a treat are absent; I purchase that’s to withhold the film’s documentary look-and-feel. I missed them greatly, especially as it seemed to me that some more personal touches from Iskanov might have invested us a enormous deal more in what was going on; Mous achieves the shock and nausea he does in Men Tedious the Sun specifically because he’s got himself a storyline and some fair solid characters, while Iskanov is more alive to in depicting the horrors of Unit 731 in a more impressionist style. (There is one undercurrent of a storyline, actually; it involves what seems to be the growing feelings of a male nurse for one of the maruta. And it should near as no surprise that the resolution of that storyline, despite being one of the quietest scenes in the film, is also the strongest.) As a result, while there can be no doubt whatsoever that when you expend a metric of gallons of fallacious blood and innards per hour, Iskanov probably has, in fact, created one of the most violent films I’ve ever seen, but the gore sequences never glean under that barrier of detachment. There’s no trusty execute to them, other than saying “hmm, appealing consume of special effects.” Also, a number of scenes seem designed more for shock value than anything else (though the documentary half of the film assures us that yes, these things really did happen), which took away from the movie somewhat. It should be famous, again, that the scenes obviously designed for shock value in Men Tedious the Sun did not have this effect; i.e., they actually did shock, despite being far less explicit in most cases. I should also point out the soundtrack, which worked very well for a film like Nails, but constantly feels out of area here.
Still, I don’t want to give the impression that this is a terrible film. It’s certainly the most comprehensive treatment of Unit 731 we’ve seen on cover, thanks in no miniature share to its memoir speed time, and that alone makes it a notable document. And while I know Iskanov and crew spent four years on the project, it does seem as if one more rewrite of the script, to further integrate the gore-film aspects and give us some characters with whom we could empathize, would have done a spacious service to the finished product. ***
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