“No one wants to die at the hands of some lunatic on the middle of nowhere,” says John (Greg Poppa) to Jay (Tyler Ivey), some way into Director’s Cut. John is praising Jay for the restraint he showed as another vehicle tried to play road games with them on a rural Pennsylvanian backroad.
Jay and John are travelling in a van along with their respective girlfriends Jen (Haley Cassidy) and Val (Danielle Kotch), fellow band members Menace (Brandy Ochoa) and Juan (Louis Rocky Bacigalupo) and their manager AJ (Darrin Hickok). Their goth metal outfit The Suicide Disease, named after the painful illness that led to the early demise of Jay’s brother, has kept a low profile for over a year, as its members recovered from another death – of their mutual friend Casey – but now they are ready to reemerge, regain their mojo and start cashing in on their talent. All they need is a video with which to promote their new song War, but they cannot afford the costs – until, that is, a mysterious director reaches out from an Instagram account (whose followers appear to be fake) with an offer that they cannot refuse: a free film shoot. So now they are on their way to an ‘abandoned mansion’ deep in Pennsylvania.
“There’s gotta be a catch,” John observes, before caving to this once-in-a-lifetime offer. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” Not only is John’s suspicion predicated in sound reasoning, but text that opened the film informed is that The Suicide Disease disappeared in Spring 2024, and refers to its members as ‘deceased’, so what we know – even if these musicians do not – is that they are doomed from the outset. We may not yet know how or why, but they do indeed seem destined ‘to die at the hands of some lunatic in the middle of nowhere’.
Arriving at the mansion and noting its high-end security cameras, the seven, already haunted by their friend’s death, quickly get the impression that they are not alone in these hallways and basements – and soon the wheelchair-bound ‘Mister Director’ (Louis Lombardi) and his transsexual assistant Babs (Lucy Hart) make their presence felt, insisting for the music video on a vision of S&M motifs and solo performances. “I feel like I’m on a porn set,” AJ comments, seeing all the chains and harnesses – although a different kind of porn, popularised by Eli Roth’s Hostel (2005), will soon establish itself.
With its cat-and-mouse, its young co-eds killed off one by one and with its final girl, writer/director Don Capria’s feature debut is a slasher of sorts – although it also brings its own subversions and sophistications to the genre’s traditions. Here the identity of the killers is never really in any doubt, even if their motive only comes late, and it is in fact the victims alone who wear masks (as a part of their act), and whose own questionable morality is repeatedly – if never conclusively – scrutinised. There is also, of course, in a movie about the making of a movie (and with a title that merges terms from slashing and editing), a strong metacinematic element, as the band members are genuinely being filmed, both on-set and off-, for a viewership other than the adoring fanbase that they imagine.
We are of course the ultimate viewers, made privy to the ins and outs of a creative ensemble whose petty peccadilloes on display – transgression of stated rules, drug-taking indulgence, sexual betrayal, Jay’s emo whining and self-pity (even mid-blowjob from his girlfriend) – demand our judgement while discomfiting us with the severity of the punishments that are eventually executed. Meanwhile, our precise idea of what kind of movie we are watching is carefully reoriented, as we are aligned with an exclusive audience whose feelings and desires we may not wish to share.
strap: Don Capria’s sort-of slasher feature debut is a sexed-up meta-horror music video made for a select set of eyes
© Anton Bitel
