Oldboy
The corridor fight alone would earn its place. The last twenty minutes are why nobody forgets it.
Films made to offend, that found their audience at midnight. Waters, Jodorowsky, Lynch.
Not a genre so much as a scene: films made deliberately to disgust, provoke or bewilder, which the studios would not touch and which found their audience through late-night repertory screenings. The midnight movie circuit was their distribution system, and word of mouth was their marketing.
The presiding genius of American bad taste. Pink Flamingos (1972), in which Divine competes to be the filthiest person alive and eats dog excrement on camera to settle it, is the purest act of cinematic provocation ever committed to film. Female Trouble and Desperate Living followed. Waters made offence into an art form and did it with genuine wit.
Alejandro Jodorowsky's El Topo and The Holy Mountain built the midnight circuit. David Lynch's Eraserhead (1977) ran at midnight for years and made him. George Romero, John Waters, and the Rocky Horror phenomenon all lived here. Later, Jorg Buttgereit's Nekromantik and the shot-on-video underground extended the tradition.
Transgressive cinema is exploitation's most self-aware wing: it exists to cross lines, and it knows exactly which lines it is crossing. Where the rest of the site's films offend by accident or for profit, these offend on purpose, as the entire point.
Pink Flamingos if your stomach is strong, Eraserhead if it is not.
The corridor fight alone would earn its place. The last twenty minutes are why nobody forgets it.
Lynch's industrial nightmare about fatherhood. It played midnight for years and made him.
A class of ninth-graders handed weapons and told to kill each other. Fukasaku at seventy, swinging hard.
Noe runs the night backwards so the horror lands before the love does, and half the cinema left before either.
The art film that shipped its own negatives abroad to beat Japan's censors. Unsimulated, and deadly serious about it.
The slowest, sweetest bait-and-switch in horror. Miike lets you fall for her first.
Jodorowsky's spiritual epic. Every frame is a blasphemous tableau, and it is dead serious.
The New French Extremity's defining title, and the one that empties the room.
Divine competes to be the filthiest person alive. The most notorious act in film history closes it.
The coldest panel of Park's revenge trilogy, with no jokes and no mercy in it.
Revenge as a chew toy. Nobody in Korean cinema has been crueller for longer.
Aja before Hollywood, at maximum brutality, with a twist that still starts fights.
The French extremity wave stripped to one room, one night, and a pair of scissors.
Opens with fifty-four schoolgirls and an oncoming train. Then it gets stranger.
Jodorowsky's late masterpiece. A circus, a cult, an armless mother, and her son's hands.
An acclaimed animator's fairytale about a noblewoman and a well-equipped forest beast, banned on sight.
Divine's crime spree as performance art. Waters at his most focused and vicious.
Anthony Wong won Best Actor for this. Then you find out what goes in the pork buns.
Cannibal desire filmed like an art installation, and it will not hurry for you.
Buttgereit's bleakest: seven suicides, one rotting corpse holding it together.
Buttgereit's necrophilia sequel, prosecuted on arrival, and stranger than the first.
Deliverance relocated to the Belgian mud, and just as unwilling to let anyone leave.
A nouveau-roman novelist makes a nunsploitation film and refuses to let it mean anything.
Body piercings, a penis monster, and Lemmy on narration. Troma's actual masterpiece.