Til Death: DVD

Feb 26, 2007

It’s official. I’m announcing it here for the first time: Plan 9 from Outer Space is no longer the worst film ever made. The new king of the dung heap is Til Death, a hopelessly amateurish stumble through the seedy world of drugs, strippers, and homicidal religious nutbags. Now, if anything in that brief description of this horrible little film in any way appealed to your prurient curiosity—and I can see where it might—let me spell it out for you, pig simple: This movie sucks and, if I may be permitted a garish American Idol reference, it doesn’t even suck in a William-Hung-sucks kind of way. For starters, this thing looks like it was filmed by some junior high kid on his cell phone and the audio is so horseshit in spots that you can barely make out the klunky dialog that falls like crispy turds from the actors’ mouths. By the time the credits rolled my brain had pulled up the covers and shut out the light, so I was in a drooling, catatonic stupor and didn’t catch who’s responsible for this sixteen car pile up. But suffice it to say, this plodding, hackneyed script was mailed in from the plugged-up backwaters of Dumpsville, U.S.A. The characters are so painfully one-dimensional and uninteresting that you don’t care whether they get everything they want and live happily ever after or are brutally butchered and fed to stray dogs. Even the token “crazy” guy in this film is Kevin Federline-level lame. The first time they showed him sitting shirtless at a table full of candles, reading ominous Bible passages, and grimacing like a constipated Jason Newsted, I chuckled—but by the third or fourth time, even that worthless teat had run dry. The acting, across the board, is beyond just cardboardish—this acting is cut from the heavy duty corrugated cardboard that your new outhouse comes in. And don’t let the cover art and all the gothic fonts fool you; this is about as much of a bloodbath as Dancing with the Stars. (I know that’s three “reality” TV references in this review, but this film deserves it.) Even gore fiends and darksiders hoping for lurid displays of murderous depravity will be bored out of their little skulls. This film, that dresses itself up so heavily in the death motif, has two—count ‘em: two—whole death scenes and they are so lurchingly executed that no amount of slow-mo jump cut editing and cornball special effects can save it from being Keystone Kops laughable. But even at that you barely can burp up a chuckle. And that’s ultimately the problem with this problematic film: it somehow manages to be thoroughly inept without being funny as hell. Just-plain-bad-and-nothing-else is a flavor I have not yet cultivated a taste for, I’m afraid. But I’m working on it. In the meantime, Til Death is a good movie to pick your nose and daydream to. –Aphid Peewit