Green Slop & Political Shit: The Disturbing Film Iceberg
By Reese Carmen Villella
DISCLAIMER: This essay series discusses films from the Disturbing Movie Iceberg chart. As such, it contains descriptions of graphic violence, sexual assault, gore, animal cruelty, and other forms of extreme content. Some films also deal with themes of fascism, trauma, and sexual exploitation. Reader discretion is advised. This particular article will focus on Tier 3 of the chart, so there will be spoilers for the films discussed. If you want to watch these movies unspoiled, I recommend skipping the sections for the films you have not seen.
Last year, I read a tweet that said anyone who enjoys the Terrifier franchise must be sick. God forbid anyone knows how to have fun. And sure, maybe it’s a little sick. But maybe it’s sicker to demand that art, especially horror, behave politely. This dismissal reveals what I believe many people’s resistance to the horror genre is: we have trouble separating violent imagery from moral judgment, fun from pathology. And this dismissal of an entire genre, or at least the splatter subgenre, prevents us from having meaningful dialogue about when films actually cross a moral line.
A few years ago, on Reddit, u/nice-guy-phil created a Disturbing Movie Iceberg, outlining the niche depths of exploitation cinema. The top two tiers are mostly mainstream or easily digestible (The Conjuring, Saw), while the lower tiers descend into taboo, banned, and outright absurd films. The iceberg goes beyond the likes of Terrifier, descending to the darkest, goriest, and most obscene depths of film.
Divine in Pink Flamingos (1972); Image Sourced through Pinterest
A Pretentious Rant on Extreme Cinema
I’ve always been drawn to extreme cinema and its intersections with feminist critique and film morality. These works live on the margins of art and exploitation, trauma and catharsis. Often dismissed as juvenile or misogynistic, they also open space for transgression, critique, and even beauty. As Laura Mulvey and Martine Beugnet argue, corporeal imagery can destabilize cultural norms and patriarchal structures rather than simply reinforce them. The body (especially the female body) becomes a contested site in violent media: victimized, but also resistant, transformative, symbolic. My lens is feminist, but also concerned with morality, spectatorship, and value. Can violence in cinema be meaningful, or is it always exploitative?
As a filmmaker, I’m drawn to this paradox. My own work engages with violence and the body, and as a critic, I’ve published on these topics from a feminist perspective. I’m especially fascinated by the New French Extremity, and I think that Gaspar Noé and Julia Ducournau are two of the most interesting filmmakers working today. Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance is further evidence that violence, body horror, and transgression are not just shock tactics but necessary tools in contemporary media. Andrzej Żuławski’s Possession (1981) remains just as culturally resonant, demonstrating how grotesque imagery can articulate grief, repression, and political tension.
Body horror, gore, and exploitation cinema can all deliver meaningful impact, whether framed through feminist critique or broader allegories about authoritarianism, fascism, or corruption. But there is always a teeny little line between exploration and exploitation, and where that line falls depends largely on the viewer. Some films, like High Tension, are divisive: one person reads it as homophobic or sexist, while I find it a compelling exploration of sexuality and suppression. Maybe that’s me being open-minded. Or maybe it raises the essential question: at what point does value turn into exploitation? Can cinematic violence ever exist in a vacuum? Perhaps all violence serves some purpose, whether as metaphor, provocation, or at the very least, entertainment.
Still from Gaspar Noé’sIrréversible (2002)
The Iceberg
That tension between art and exploitation is what I want to explore as I descend the disturbing film iceberg. The first two tiers, full of mainstream titles like Saw, Hostel, or Midsommar, don’t engage this debate in any serious way. While I am a diehard Saw fan, have a soft spot for Hostel, and adore Ari Aster’s earlier work, these films are too familiar, too safe. And so, I am beginning with Tier 3, where the films start to earn their reputation. A few of these films I’ve already seen, and others I’ll be watching for the first time. My goal is to descend the iceberg tier by tier, documenting not just my reactions, but also the cultural, ethical, and aesthetic stakes of these films.
Films I’ve Previously Seen
Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975)
When I first watched Salò, I hated it. Not because it disturbed me in the way it’s meant to, but because I found it tedious. My God, the monologues upon monologues. And its most famous scene is something I just have this unique little distaste for… I don’t like poop stuff. Call me crazy, I guess, but it’s one of those things I have trouble looking past. But with distance, I see its value. The film’s value, not the poop’s.
I’ve always been fascinated by Marquis de Sade (who wrote the original novel in 1785), and I really do enjoy how Pasolini recontextualizes The 120 Days of Sodom. Where de Sade used sadism as a thought experiment about freedom, Pasolini uses it as an allegory for fascism. It was a timely film when it was made, and Pasolini’s assassination shortly after its release only deepened its urgency. Salò feels less like a period piece than a perpetual warning: authoritarianism always returns. That’s why it remains relevant today, and why its brutality still carries weight.
I still don’t enjoy Salò, but I respect it. And for the scaredy cats out there, it’s not as scary or difficult to watch as its reputation suggests.
Pier Paolo Pasolini; Image Sourced through Pinterest
Martyrs (2008)
To be honest, I don’t want to say too much about Martyrs (although I could go on and on) because I love it so much, and it’s best to go in as blind as possible. This French extremity landmark is a permanent fixture in my Letterboxd Top 4, and it is a must-watch in my opinion. It is poignant, captivating, and frames violence effectively and powerfully. As far as disturbing goes, it’s not too hard to watch. I find the feeding scenes (where an individual is fed mysterious green slop) harder to watch than any of the physical violence. Martyrs is not easy to watch, but it’s beautiful, and it remains meaningfully brutal
And if I may leave you with any words of advice, do not EVER under any circumstances watch the American remake of this film. It is an abomination to this gorgeous piece of cinema. Shame on you, Martyrs remake (2015).
Still from Martyrs; Image Sourced through Pinterest
The House That Jack Built (2018)
Lars Von Trier’s The House That Jack Built is less disturbing than it is smug. I like this movie, I’ve watched it twice, but in true Von Trier fashion, it is self-indulgent and masturbatory. It’s gory at times, but not gratuitously so. The kills in the film are more like thematic vignettes than drawn-out torture sequences, relying on tension more than they do on blood and guts.
Critics often call it “an incel movie,” which feels tired. The protagonist is a self-important and self-pitying man, but that doesn’t read as exclusive to incel culture to me. And even if the character of Jack perfectly fit the incel archetype (if he were a fedora-wearing Arthur Fleck type), which he doesn’t, I still wouldn’t lend this film that title. A film about a narcissistic killer doesn’t always mean the film endorses that killer. I mean, what is this? A Vincent Gallo movie? The real “disturbance” here is Trier’s self-indulgence. If you hate it, you probably hate his ego more than his imagery.
Pink Flamingos (1972)
John Waters’ Pink Flamingos is the crown jewel of camp cinema. Starring Divine, it’s a film that deliberately set out to be the filthiest in history. But beyond eating dog poop (you already know this pissed me off) and the whole prolapsed anus sequence (don’t even get me started), it’s a landmark of queer cinema. Camp has always been vital to queer culture. It’s controversial because it spits in the face of good taste, but that’s the point. Waters and Divine weren’t making something polite; they were making a revolution in filth. And they succeeded so thoroughly that artists today (hello, Chappell Roan) still pay homage to Divine’s iconic look.
Cannibal Holocaust (1980)
I was fascinated by Cannibal Holocaust far before I saw it. Ten days after its premiere, director Ruggero Deodato was charged with obscenity. Rumors circulated that the murders in the film were real and the actors had actually been killed on camera. Deodato even had to bring the actors into court to prove they were alive. These controversies revolutionized the found-footage genre that would later power The Blair Witch Project, which further popularized this subgenre. It’s a fascinating story on paper, but in practice, it’s almost unwatchable.
While the murders were not real, the animal cruelty was. I knew about the turtle scene going in (thank you, WatchMojo circa 2015), but it’s certainly hard to actually watch, and so are the six other real animal deaths in the film. The rape scenes, too, drag on far past the point of necessity. Frankly, if it isn’t Irréversible, graphic rape scenes rarely hold much value for me.
However, to throw this film a bone, I will say that the gore and practical effects are well done. The film is also well-shot, though grotesque to look at. I respect Cannibal Holocaust for its historical place in horror. The message of Western filmmakers exploiting “savage” tribes for shock and it leading to their own demise is interesting, even ironic, given how exploitative the film itself is. Its value, for me, is as a conversation piece, not a film to ever sit through again.
Still from Cannibal Holocaust; Image sourced through IMDb
Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989)
Shinya Tsukamoto’s Tetsuo is a fever dream of body horror and cyberpunk. Metal fuses with flesh, industrial machinery becomes erotic, and psychosexual violence drives the story forward. Conceptually, it’s brilliant. Personally, it didn’t quite land. I love body horror, especially when it veers Cronenbergian, but Tetsuo felt more like an experimental art installation than a compelling narrative. It’s visually striking, absolutely worth watching once, but not a film I’d return to. However, as far as “offense” or “disturbing” qualities go, it’s not that hard to watch.
First Time Watches
Suicide Club (2001)
I actually enjoyed Suicide Club a lot. It’s highly stylized, fast-paced, and just fun to watch, almost campy in its energy. The visuals are striking, and the film boasts a frenetic, high-energy style that keeps you engaged throughout. I also picked up some lesbian vibes, but upon further research, apparently that’s just me. The most disturbing part to me was the animal cruelty (I don’t avoid movies with animal deaths, but it is one of my pet peeves, so to speak), but it was fleeting. There is also some sexual violence and suicide, as the title suggests, but nothing gratuitous in my opinion.
Still from Suicide Club; Image sourced through IMDb
Shōjo Tsubaki / Midori (1992)
I started off confused with this one because a film titled Shōjo Tsubaki (which is listed on the iceberg) does not exist. I was, however, able to discern that Shōjo Tsubaki is a Japanese manga series that was adapted into two films: Midori: The Girl in the Freak Show and Midori: The Camellia Girl. The former is an animated film, the latter is live action. As far as I can tell, the animated one is the film referenced on the iceberg, and to be frank, I couldn’t find the live-action film anywhere, so that’s what we’re going with.
Midori follows a young girl sold into slavery, and it’s as bloody and grotesque as you’d expect, but also surprisingly colorful. Even the gore feels oddly elegant at times. That said, I didn’t really connect with it. The pacing is uneven, the sexual violence feels unnecessary and unmotivated narratively, and personally, I don’t tend to gravitate toward animation. The rough quality of the version I saw didn’t help either. While the visuals are compelling in moments, the film overall didn’t land for me.
The Human Centipede 2 (2011)
I hated the first one, but at least it had an eerie concept and some genuine tension. Of course, when the centipede of it all actually unfolds, the first film falls apart for me (give up the scary poop trope, please). So, naturally, the sequel is a masterclass in how to ruin an already bad idea.
Tom Six tries to escalate the sequel by adding sexual violence and scatological humor. Again, I don’t like poop horror... I guess that makes me a snowflake, but to be honest, I don’t care. At least Pasolini used it as a political metaphor. The comparison to the centipede as a phallic figure, relating to the villain’s sexual trauma, has the beginnings of a decent idea, or at least a solid attempt at legitimizing this atrocious concept. But you can only intellectualize your unexplored protagonist’s backstory so much until we remember we are watching a pretentious rendition of someone’s scat fetish.
I will say, this is a step up in terms of film quality. The sequel has an appropriate kind of grindhouse/indie horror look to it that fits the ambiance a bit more, but then again, it’s not all that much to look at. The fact that Six directed this after working on the original Big Brother makes a perverse kind of sense. Reality TV and this movie both depend on humiliation, but at least Big Brother is funny on purpose.
Still from The Human Centipede 2; Image Sourced through IMDb
A Serbian Film (2010)
If Salò is the most famous film on the iceberg, then A Serbian Film is undoubtedly the most notorious. The problem is, unlike the films it wants to stand beside, A Serbian Film is less a work of transgression and more a work of juvenile provocation. It is precisely what you expect it to be… no better, no worse.
From the outset, the film feels sterile and sluggish. The cinematography is harsh and flat, with occasional flourishes (a porn sequence recalling Polanski’s Bitter Moon, in which a woman crawls toward the protagonist), but otherwise it resembles a “how it feels to chew 5 Gum” commercial: abrasive, empty, trying far too hard to feel extreme. The film is edited like it is trying to give the viewer a brain injury.
The premise itself borders on parody. Our protagonist, Miloš, is a retired porn star who waxes nostalgic about his glory days on film, yet the flashbacks look like they could have been shot ten minutes earlier. He looks exactly the same, which makes the whole conceit unintentionally hilarious. From there, the narrative trudges along until Miloš, predictably, finds himself lured into “one last job” for an underground porn operation. He accepts, despite the glaring red flags (if you’re blindfolded in the car on the way to the shoot, maybe don’t put your dick anywhere).
The performances don’t save it either. The lead is at first somewhat compelling, but once the drugs enter the picture, he’s reduced to bug-eyed mugging. Rather than a portrait of complicity or corruption, we get a man transformed into an animalistic automaton with no agency. This robs the character of any moral culpability, which in turn robs the film of stakes. If everyone is merely a pawn stripped of agency, then nothing matters; actions lose meaning, suffering loses impact, and the entire story collapses into nihilistic noise.
Then, of course, there are the two most infamous sequences. The “newborn” scene needs no introduction; its reputation is larger than the film itself. What’s striking is how little the film does to contextualize or justify this moment. There’s no thematic build, no exploration of what it means; it simply exists for shock value. It reminded me of the 2017 Chilean film Trauma, which also traffics in taboo sexual violence, but at least Trauma is competently made (and to be honest, it’s not all that good either). The ending, too, is famed, tying things up with some rape, incest, and murder-suicide. By the time the final “twist” arrives, it feels less like a gut punch than a tired shrug.
A Serbian Film’s provocations feel like the kind of “dark” creative writing exercises I remember from undergrad workshops, where young men would say: what if I wrote from the perspective of a killer, or a pedophile, or a rapist? The problem is never the “what if,” but the absence of “why.” Without a deeper interrogation, these stories aren’t transgressive; they’re just tasteless. A Serbian Film is precisely this: a series of “what ifs” strung together without purpose.
Compare this with other exploitation franchises like Saw, Hostel, or even Terrifier. Those films may be excessive, but at least their violence serves a purpose: entertainment. Saw also often serves as a metaphor for exploitation in healthcare, but I digress. They revel in gore, they try to shock you, but they’re also fun. A Serbian Film swaps out fun for misery and pretends that misery alone is profound. When a film deals with sexual violence, “just because” isn’t enough. If the only justification is provocation, then it’s not bold, it’s lazy, and it makes you look less like an artist than a sadistic pervert.
In the end, what lingers isn’t horror or disgust so much as boredom. Ninety minutes of my life spent watching a film uninterested in story, character, or even coherent provocation. It isn’t art, it isn’t meaningful, it isn’t even entertaining. It’s just empty shock. And then, to add insult to injury, the credits roll over an absurd rave-like beat drop as a final reminder that there’s no depth here, just juvenile filmmaking dressed up as extremity.
Conclusion
Martyrs and Pink Flamingos prove that extremity can carry depth, style, and even beauty, while others (A Serbian Film and Human Centipede 2) feel hollow, confusing provocation with substance. As I move deeper down the iceberg, I’m curious to see which side will dominate. Will I keep finding films that challenge, unsettle, and inspire me, or will the films start feeling more and more like Redditors tipping their fedoras at me? Can’t wait to find out as I continue the descent.
Still from Salò; Image Sourced through IMDb
