Antibirth

Antibirth ★★★★★

The lost souls of the exurban strip-mall wasteland drink a beer called Route 666 and use garbage fires to illuminate their punk-rock abandoned-warehouse dance parties. They survive by cleaning motel rooms, or selling drugs, or donning nightmarish mascot costumes at a local Chuck E. Cheese knockoff. The TV shows they watch are a psychedelic mélange of cult programming, vintage foreign cartoons and alien-abduction documentaries. Nothing makes any sense; might as well be blitzed out of your gourd all the time — on weed, on booze, on coke, on some experimental shit your best friend's boyfriend is dealing. So when our sarcastic disaster protagonist Lou (Natasha Lyonne) wakes up with fractured memories and a mysterious illness, she's more disgruntled than alarmed. When the illness turns out to be a monstrous and inexplicable pregnancy that rots the skin off her body and shoots arcs of electricity at nearby appliances, she doesn't play scream queen; she's just tired of the endless parade of bullshit. Antibirth is a perfect slice of trashy, messy phantasmagoria, emphasis on the "gory." Lyonne's handling of her character is spot on, the central mystery is compelling, and the flagrantly grotesque ending is handled with a panache that got me pumped up like few horrors have lately. Recommended if you want to see Cronenberg's The Fly and Araki's The Doom Generation have an unholy abomination of a baby.

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