Kuso

Kuso may often feel unproductively loud, and monotonous, but it is a head-scratcher worth contending with.

Every densely layered image of oozing pus and gassy orifices is as imaginatively rendered as it is disgusting.

So thoroughly conceived that it demands appreciation if not quite love, Kuso offers gross-out Afro-future horror for the dank-memes generation.

[An] insufferable mishmash of interwoven segments - aimless in themselves, even more so as a whole - almost entirely concerned with bodily functions and bodily fluids.

Each episode is very different, but they are all unified by a thematic focus on graphic sex, arseholes (both kinds!), bugs, Cronenbergian metamorphoses, and elements of self-reflexive metacinema.

Maybe Kuso becomes coherent on a second or third viewing, but few would (or should) attempt such torture.

I couldn't tolerate "Kuso" for seconds at a time without making myself sick. It might not be my cup of tea, but it might be yours.

Kuso could scarcely be called a film proper; it's more like a feature-length sequence of moving pictures and disparate narratives that seem perpetually engaged in a game of one-upmanship, the point being for each image to be grosser ...

Despite its love of toilet humour, and attempts to be disgusting and oh-so edgy, Kuso is nothing but a humourless and tiresome trudge, destined to be watched only by young teenagers with poor taste in films.

Ellison has clearly taken great delight in creating a freakshow designed to offend, but by its end, Kuso might even qualify as moving.

I've never been this grossed-out or challenged before and those that walked out were completely right to do so.

Those willing to let Ellison walk them through his 93-minute nightmare will find something challenging, revolting, and eminently watchable.