"THE MOVIE THAT HAS NO LIMITS OF EVIL."

Thriller: a Cruel Picture. This 1973 Swedish exploitation film packs all the punches for a “thrill” you can't forget even if you try. Weeks after you stepped off the ride. And man, oh man, did I try, for several days. 

If there's one thing I'll tell you first about this movie, there is a non-explicit and an explicit version. I didn't know this. 

DO NOT WATCH THE EXPLICIT VERSION. WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT WATCH THE EXPLICIT VERSION. I made the dire mistake and it's been months and I'm still trying to scrub at my eyes with Vim and polyurethane sponges. 

I found out about this movie upon watching Kill Bill (for the tenth time) by your favorite filmmaker's filmmaker. I was doing a lil' snooping around, trying to figure out what exactly makes the Kill Bill series so great. What lies beyond the brick road that is its iconic yellow poster, leading to such a solid body of work? 

So, there I was traversing across the plains of Google, when I found myself gazing upon the murky waters of numerous vintage films. From the fluidity of Bruce Lee epics to Meiko Kaji's concrete Lady Snowblood, to Foxy Brown and the endless farce that is Blaxploitation. And amidst them all, one stood out with its ridiculous cover of an eye-patched petite woman, gripping a shotgun with the spiritual presence of a white Samuel L. Jackson. 

That film, left me speechless, even from the second I saw its poster; film-printed and painted like an Italian horror, I should have known it would be nothing less than European. And being European, it would fail to have a filter. Even an itsy bitsy little one, so the rest of us basic bitches wouldn't have to clutch at our plastic pearls for the entire 1 hour, 47-minute runtime.

No plot spoilers here so here goes…a young woman abused in her childhood and abducted by a pimp claws her way to freedom by training under a martial arts master to destroy her captors. 

But I should tell you, at the very least, there are no victors - not in the orthodox sense. It's all bleak from here. No one gets out unscathed. 

Truthfully, I don't know where to begin on that bleakness. And I don’t want to remember. So, I'll focus on the production behind it all because what I learned about the process behind it saves the experience for me. The director Bo Arne Vibenius (killer band name, by the way) sought to make it “the most commercial film ever made”, after his past film flops, throwing in blatant pornography to capitalize off of growing leniency on such material at the time. Take from that what you will. 

Then of course, the martial arts stunts (in case you forgot the time period), with very little protection. Hell, even the firearms used had real ammunition and it was guns akimbo. But don't worry, he bought the lead actress, Christina Lindberg, life insurance. So all was well. 

Moreover, the use of real injections of saline solution into her arms. And worst of all, a real dead body was included for an eye-gouging scene. YES, A CORPSE WAS USED IN THIS. And you know who supplied it? You do? Tell the cops. 

Listen, I like weird films. But there was something exaggerated about this one - even for an exploitation film. Even Russian film theorist Sergei Eisenstei would roll in his grave at the levels of societal “confrontation” this project presents…like the director didn't get enough hugs as a kid. Like it's a strange celebration of all the depravity that exists in this world. All done for a minimal indie budget price, reportedly (because who else would back this?) 

And for a moment, I would have turned it off…if not for the smart visual choices. Old yet futuristic, you get the viewpoint of a world abandoned by any sort of benevolent deity. I hate to say it, but the director has a right eye. 

And the performances. The gripping and convincing personas each actor injects into their role, especially Christina Lindberg, dragged me back in scrambling. There's just something so sad yet truthful you find while peering into any close-up, one-eyed stare of her protagonist, “One Eye”. She isn't the perpetrator of destiny, but she doesn't stay its hostage either. 

With a movie like this, sometimes I wonder if God should have ever let us have independent films. Maybe we should have stayed doomed to our big-budget production company overlords and their sludge - at least then, this level of psychopathy would never have seen the light of day. 

But I digress because this movie, in a lot of ways, challenged me. I used to believe that if you really feel it, you can just do it. Put any and everything into your medium of choice. 

In the aftermath of watching Thriller: A Cruel Picture, my perspective has shifted from filmmaking solely being a romantic art form and the end credits of the old masters' ways. And it’s shifted from being simple entertainment. 

Now I see, strangely so, it can also be the destroyer of all worlds, the last weapon of anarchy. 

You decide.