‘I took the evil to her.’
Brothers Pedro (Ezequiel Rodriquez) and Jimi (Demián Salomon) hear distant gunshots late at night outside their remote farmhouse. In the morning when they go to investigate, they find the mutilated corpse of a man in the nearby woods. A notebook leads them to Maria's house, a woman that has hired a 'cleaner', a professional exorcist of sorts, to kill her demon-impregnated brother (a 'rotten') Uriel.
Uriel must be killed before he gives birth and lets the demon free to possess others. Pedro and Jimi set out to dispatch Uriel before he can disgorge his satanic off-spring, but they’re both so hopelessly inept, things go horribly, horribly wrong. There’s no final girls here, just two dumb-as-fuck men who think nothing through properly and act entirely on impulse and way-off-the-mark instinct.
This film is really, really gross. It’s actually disgusting. Uriel is a huge, bloated piss-stained grey mass covered in intestine-like growths. He leaks fluid all over the place. There’s no cutaway from the violence, even when a dog attacks a small child and drags her around like she’s a chew toy. The squelchy, drippy, oozy sound design will leave you feeling queasy.
It’s not a film that’s going to explain everything to you in a convenient exposition dump. In fact, you’re left wondering how long the town has been dealing with the ‘rotten’. Pedro’s mother sings a song which lists the rules to avoid possession, so we can assume it’s that been many years.
Character backstory is revealed slowly, but not through flashbacks or clumsy conversations.
This is not the film for you if you like the where's what's and whys to be explained, or if you like neat answers to what exactly it is that’s possessing the town and why.
Possession seems to take the form of a disease rather than a spiritual take-over, and Uriel reminded me a lot of the Slow Lows from 28 Years Later.
Fun fact: Uriel isn’t played by one actor, but 3; Two who operate the mechanical model that forms Uriel’s body, and then voiced by the third.
Content warning: eating a baby like it’s a KFC bargain bucket, axing your own face, coughing up a large clump of blood and hair….you know what? This whole thing is just 90-odd minutes of hide-behind-the-cushion, stomach-churning, gakky fuckery.
Final verdict: the dog dies.
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