Something I’ve noticed in my long musings and writing on extreme horror is that the extreme and the arthouse seem to go hand in hand. This dates back to the original grindhouse theaters, where controversial arthouse fare would play back-to-back with exploitation odysseys. Both styles approach the edge of what we consider cinema, but from different angles and with different intent. These two modes are also incredibly complementary to each other, as evidenced by such different films as Jorg Buttgereit’s hazy daymares (like Schramm and the Nekromantik films) and the gut-churning melodrama/romanticism of Marcus Koch’s American Guinea Pig: Bloodshock.

What these films share in common is a willingness to approach the edge of taste and cinematic limits. They brush against the experimental and avant-garde while maintaining a sense of narrative cohesion that separates them from the furthest reaches of film experimentation. This tradition is extremely evident and lovingly embraced in the works of Domiziano Cristopharo.

Cristopharo, in recent years, has pushed away from the underground and film scene and reached towards performance art and dance. Expressing discontent with the state of behind-the-scenes politicking and the cutthroat nature of independent horror, he has decided to divorce himself completely from the art form. It is always disappointing to see a talented filmmaker leave the scene. However, he has finished his body of filmic work with Flammentod.

Billed as Cristopharo’s final film, Flammentod serves as both an intriguing introduction and a culmination of the director’s work. It is a tightly woven exploration of the director’s thematic preoccupations while also pushing further into the realm of arthouse with interesting choices in structure and technical execution. I will refrain from overt spoilers in this article since, well, the film is still forthcoming to a broader audience and to rob the viewer of the full experience would be a disservice.

Flammentod follows the exploits of an unnamed protagonist. He spends his days dreaming of fire, masturbating, and burning pornographic photos. He has serious burns covering most of his body. At night he dreams of a faceless man removing his own, which frequently leads to wet sheets (whether this is semen or urine is up to the viewer’s interpretation). During the day he stalks a particular person, muttering to himself while trying to stay inconspicuous.

The way these sequences are intercut and sequenced builds tension and an unstable footing for the viewer. There is a rhythm to it that feels almost normal at a certain point. It’s startling to discover that you know how these days will play out, but you also notice the small escalations of the protagonist until they finally reach the breaking point.

Cristopharo is, of course, not a stranger to these kinds of narratives. His approach to serial killers’ lives is methodical and character-driven, as evidenced in films like eROTik and Doll Syndrome. This film is very similar in tone and pacing, but is more assured than some of the director’s previous work. It is a final statement in a long-running series and one that pulls out all the stops in order to exemplify his artistic vision.

The most noticeable instance of this is Flammentod includes no audible dialogue. It’s all presented as subtitles, alternating between internal character thoughts and mimicked dialogue. It harkens back to silent films while eschewing the intertitles of that era. This technique works especially well for internal monologues and thoughts, bringing us closer to the killer and his thought process. It doesn’t work quite as well for spoken dialogue, which can seem awkward and stilted with this particular style, but I did enjoy how it separated and further isolated the protagonist.

With the lack of spoken dialogue, the music has to fill in for the sensory gap. Luckily, the score from composer Vincenzo Ricca is up to the task. It oscillates between gorgeous motifs and unsettling soundscapes. It manages to match the scenes while also sometimes providing incredible juxtapositions. This centering of music as the main sonic interaction with the film points back, once again, to the silent era and forces the viewer to interact more emotionally within the film. The score teases and provides power and emotion while also denying the viewer the easy comfort of the human voice. This is only broken in certain sequences, which benefit heavily from the separation (or intimate blending) of the audio and visual. There is a particular sequence later in the film that uses an operatic vocal that immediately floored me on my first viewing.

The visual aspect of Flammentod is also intriguing. Shot totally in 4:3, the boxy ratio calls back to the pan-and-scan era while also jumping between different film formats. Some sections feel like full digital HD, while others appear to be Super 8 and Video to approximate a handheld camera used by the protagonist. Some outside segments are particularly striking, with a soft-focus haze reminiscent of 50s melodrama a la Douglas Sirk. This mixed with the beautiful setting and ocean spray (the protagonist appears to live in or near a lighthouse) lends a romantic quality to the harsh and disturbing imagery that the viewer is frequently subjected to.

But this is an extreme horror review, so many of you are probably wondering if it lives up to expectations. The answer is a profound and stunning YES. From the title and previous explanation, I’m sure you have no doubt in your mind that there is a focus on burning and smoldering flesh. If you come into the film with that expectation, you will definitely come away satisfied. The practical effects are wondrous and disturbing, with one of the most disturbing sequences being one that is a show of love and devotion from the protagonist. I would like to call out a particular practical effect during an evident hallucination/dream from the protagonist that is shot from within the body. It is a marvelous effect that highlights the romanticism and fixation in the protagonist’s mind, while maintaining a dreamlike and surreal quality.

I’d like to note, however, that some of the sequences with imagined fire do not live up to the incredible practical work. However, I only note this to be entirely transparent. Flammentod is, as expected from a movie of this style, low budget and it shows through in certain moments. This is mostly seen in sequences of superimposed fire, which can distract from the viewing experience. However, I know that both myself and many viewers of this style of film are more forgiving of these shortcomings if the film itself lands its true punches, which Flammentod does at almost every point.

These disturbing sequences are punctuated by something that makes the sequences hit like a sledgehammer. We see Flammentod from the protagonist’s subjective viewpoint, EXCEPT for the footage from his video camera. Here, we have a stark and realistic view of what is actually happening, including the only human noises in the film. These flat, affectation-less segments highlight the moans of pain and terror from the victim and serve as a masterful juxtaposition of the protagonist’s viewpoint which is bathed in blues and reds with a constantly shifting score. These whimpers and moans are some of the most heartbreaking and upsetting moments in the film.

This is all tied together by a bravura and committed performance from Jose Luis Lemos Páez. He’s game for whatever is required of him, and the amount of time he spends nude or in compromising positions only highlights his commitment to the role. He also has good chemistry with Kevin Poblador Torres, who plays his main victim. The aforementioned hallucinatory sequence is of particular note here and highlights the strengths of the film.

Thematically, Flammentod uses the idea of fire to exemplify both passion and trauma. They are intertwined in the mind of the protagonist, and he serves as a sort of apostle for the gospel of these disparate ideas. The reveal of the full plot and connection between victim and killer is both touching and abhorrent. Cristopharo handles this with grace, presenting it as a fact and emotional touchstone, while also showing how the biographical (excuse the pun here) flashpoint led to the horrific moments that end the film. 

This mix of arthouse and extreme horror is one that Cristopharo has tread confidently throughout his career. While Flammentod has its shortcomings, it does exemplify his filmmaking style while leaning mostly into his strengths as a director. It’s a slow burn, and one that took me a little while to fully connect with. However, if you allow yourself to be taken for the ride you will definitely find a film that mixes the extreme and art, as well as beauty and disgust. Extreme horror fans, take note: we may have no more to look forward to from Cristopharo but he’s left us with a stunning capstone. That final shot will be one that stays with me for a very long time, a vision of natural beauty and human darkness.

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