About a depraved priest who lures innocent suburban girls into sexual slavery.
Director â Bill Zebub
Starring â Michael Stevens, Eidolona, Taylor Trash
There are two options a writer / filmmaker has when deciding how to convey the theme of a film to the audience. The first, and more traditional, is to use subplot. There can be one, usually two or three or more but in some way they add dimension to the film through our protagonistâs interactions with the characters that inhabit the particular subplot. The second option is to bash the audienceâs head with it over and over until you wanna throw your hands in the air and say, âokay, I get it!â Guess which method this film falls under.
Nothing sets the tone more than the warning that appears on the screen before the movie begins. âYou must be 18 years old or older to watch this movie. If a younger person is in the room, stop this movie now!!! Make sure that only adults are within viewing distance of this movie.â From there the credits start to roll and in what is definitely the scariest part of the film, we are told that some footage is provided by crucified-women.com. Now, if that website actually exists (I wasnât gonna type it in), Iâm wondering, in all honesty, what the purpose of it all is. In fact, I donât really want to think about it so letâs move on.
The antagonist has the starring role and he is a balding, slightly overweight Catholic priest. Thatâs right, a priest. He goes to the apartment of a young woman who is suffering from depression. Her mother, not wanting to bring any shame to the family, wants her to see a priest rather than a psychiatrist. It starts to go downhill right away when the priest insists that our troubled woman call him âdaddyâ instead of âfather,â much to her protests. He assures her that he is also a licensed psychiatrist and that he knows what he is doing. Of course he also tells her that he is the embodiment of Jesus Christ. Oh boy, canât you just see the proverbial can of worms being opened?
If you manage to get through the first scene, I got news for you, youâve got four more just like it coming and they donât get any better. Conversely, and odd to say, they donât get any worse either, unless you consider the same thing over and over and over getting worse. And that, from a storytelling point of view, is the major problem of this film. There is no progression. It harks back to the âletâs beat âem over the head with our themeâ tactic.
And what exactly is the theme? Well, something to do with the abuse of power and the overall power of the Catholic church and how it âprotectsâ molesters and well, need I go on? But you arenât going to find any scathing social satire here, nor commentary to shed any new ideas. Nope, this film is just pure exploitation. Proof? The way it lingers creepily on certain body parts during these young ladies ordeals. Rape on film is controversial enough, even when the big studios do it. For as great as Jodie Foster was in âThe Accused,â many critics questioned the extended rape scene as being necessary. I know, I know, the âpurposeâ is to show the atrocity of it all and spur us, the audience, into social action as we join the fight. Kinda sad to think that we need such âmotivational toolsâ in the first place.
And just when you think the film canât get much lower, there is even implied necrophilia as one of the scenes fades to black. The end of the film does put a twist in and, honestly, itâs not that bad. Have we just been let into the mind of a sick, depraved individual? But call it a little much way, waaaaay too late. By the time it arrives youâre all ready to hit the showers and soak your t.v. in some disinfectant.
Forgive Me For Raping You