The ABCs of Death is an ambitious anthology film with twenty-six directors and twenty-six stories, each of which is titled after a letter of the alphabet. D is for “Dogfight,” F is for “Fart,” and L is for “Libido,” which tells the story of a masturbation contest, the loser of which gets impaled. That one is among the most memorable, not to mention one of the most twisted.
At this point you should already know if this movie’s for you or not. If it is, keep reading. If it’s not, skip it. Really. One of my friends proclaimed it was too extreme for him when he suggested it to me (apparently I’m the guy “who likes that kinda shit” and I don’t know how I feel about that). Taboo isn’t just a recurring theme, it’s celebrated.
At more than two hours long, The ABCs of Death has more than one shitty story, but overall I found it more entertaining than Sturgeon’s Law suggests: ninety percent of it is not crap. Sometimes the word the filmmakers came up with is a bit of a stretch, sometimes the story works better in theory than in execution (and vice versa), sometimes the stories simply suck. But where else are you going to see a Japanese Dr. Strangelove and something as gratuitously offensive as a plane painted on a bare breast and…? Well, I won’t spoil that one for you.
Overall, I think I liked The ABCs of Death more than the V/H/S/ movies.
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