“The ABCs of Death” is a bad movie – and some may find that endearing.
An ambitious anthology that culls 26 short films from 26 international directors, “The ABCs of Death” is exactly what its title implies: juvenility posed against morbidity. As with most anthology films, there are gems and there are clunkers; for this particular collection of pseudo-horror shorts, the clunkers have the decided advantage.
But there’s a caveat to the onslaught of terrible that the film unleashes: Once the boundary of taste is tested, some might find a sliver of pleasure in its sometimes intentional, mostly unintentional hilarity.
The concept is at least promising: 26 directors are each given a letter from the alphabet. They form a word with that letter, and from that, create a short segment of macabre goodness – or terribleness, as is more often the case.
The litmus test for how enjoyable the film may be lies in its two unabashedly terrible segments: “Z is for Zetsumetsu” and “F is for Fart.” The former translates to “The End of the World,” which, according to director Yoshihiro Nishimura, includes radioactive sushi and genitalia warfare, topped off with an homage to Stanley Kubrick’s “Dr. Strangelove” (it’s much weirder than it sounds). The latter, brainchild of Noboru Iguchi, is also an apocalypse movie, except with farts. Fearing a world-ending earthquake, a young girl decides to die by the monstrous fart of her teacher. Hilarity supposedly ensues – there’s a song to go with it, to boot.
If one can stomach those two separate lows, there are bits and pieces that are enjoyable without being offensive. Lee Hardcastle’s clay-animated “T is for Toilet,” winner of the contest to be in the movie, is a welcome antidote to the dumb or dumber “F” segment, indulging in potty humor that is at once hilarious and gross and hilariously gross – with a dash of blood thrown in.
The best segment of the movie, Adam Wingard and Simon Barrett’s “Q is for Quack,” gives up on the concept completely and goes for a humorous metafictional take on how to work with the letter “Q.” It’s the most purely enjoyable part of the film, powering through a predictable premise through sheer craft.
Then there are the perfectly fine segments. Ben Wheatley, probably the biggest name in the film (aside from Ti West, whose “M is for Miscarriage” is a mistake), contributes an effective vampire tale in “U is for Unearthed” – though one can’t help but speculate that he originally wanted “V.” Bruno Forzani and Hélène Cattet’s “O is for Orgasm” is decidedly the most visually assured of the movie – it’s an entirely sensual experience, where fragmented images of sex transcend into colors and bubbles.
But on the whole, it’s the silly segments that make the film endurable. “D is for Dogfight,” for instance, puffs up a faux-serious dog versus man fight, only to pull out ridiculous-looking, slow motion man-punching-dog shots. And “Y is for Youngbuck” is even worse, a music video pumped up with over-the-top ’80s synth oomph that can’t help but be funny, even with its self-serious revenge fantasy story.
“The ABCs of Death” presents a veritable conundrum: its good segments are just good enough, but its bad segments are much more interesting, in a twisted, watching-a-trainwreck way. For those inclined to “midnight movies,” where the ridicule is part of the film, it fits that purpose completely.
For those in want of a good movie, look away, look far, far away.