Rochelle LaRoche’s Anal Ass Blasters VII is a work lifted right out of the oeuvre of Hitchcock. As the man himself wrote, “Tell the audience there is a bomb under that table and it will go off in five minutes. The whole emotion of the audience is totally different because you’ve given them that information.” The Hitchcockian qualities are exploited in abundance in LaRoche’s latest work with the ubiquitous sense of what (or should I say ‘who’) is coming, but it will still have you jumping out of your chair.
Don’t expect this to be a film without its flaws though; LaRoche works from a sloppy screenplay that in parts feels like the actors are improvising, and ultimately Blasters meanders to its inevitable conclusion. The plot revolves around the growing relationship between Karl Hungus (Buck Naked), and Rhea Vulva (Hunnee Bunns), the mother of his girlfriend, an unseen – and unnamed – figure, an indication of the ennui-stricken parallels between the two, a feature reminiscent of Barry Levinson’s classic Diner. However, while the exploration of Oedipal desire is an oft touched upon subject, this is a forgettable, and preposterous re-telling of a classic; although I get the sense that much as with the popularity of The Master of Suspense himself, it will be the set-pieces of this picture that will stick in the memory.
While it is unfortunate that set-piece driven art has come under much scrutiny in recent years, Anal Ass Blasters VII strikes on the success of its predecessors by relying on the action alone, rather than special effects to stimulate its audience. Buck Naked provides an edgy, hubris-laden performance but he inexorably takes the back-seat (literally) to the veteran of over two-hundred films, Bunns.
While it would be easy to place all the credit to the film’s stars, one has to appreciate the hyper-real quality that the low production generates; LaRoche creates a degree of verisimilitude to each ludicrous plot-twist. Central Los Angeles has never looked grittier and darker as we experience a Kafkaesque transformation from suburban Americana and into depraved harem, but it is with absurdist theatre that this film draws most influence. There is a certain Brechtian quality that comes from our emotional detachment to these characters, despite being shown their most intimate relations, and this is the unavoidable presence which draws in its audience time after time.