My wife being a fan of (preferably bad) horror movies, she is working her way, this holiday season, though lists of scary movies; first the list from our local paper, then random movies (I guess) that she’s stumbled over on the web.
So she ended up streaming “I Spit On Your Grave.” This was the original 1978 film, not the 2010 remake.
I don’t share her tastes so I’m not watching any of these films.
But I do stick my head into the room from time to time. Every time I looked in on “I Spit On Your Grave,” the young blonde protagonist was being raped by a different man in the gang that had been following her. Much later, the protagonist was finishing off one of the men by tying him to the outboard motor on her motor boat, and turning on the engine.
I now discover this film has a history. Graphically violent, it has been attacked for being misogynist and praised for being a feminist revenge film. I just thought it was (in the scenes I saw) disgusting.
Curiously, though, I once held the idea that art should be graphic. If you are dealing with a disgusting topic, “show, don’t tell.” Show them how disgusting it is!
I’ve grown more subtle (and compassionate?) over the years. I no longer feel the need to nauseate.
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