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See Naples... Then Die Online Free

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Original Title: See Naples... Then Die

Genge: Action,Comedy,Crime

Aaron Stielstra's previous film "Less Human Than Human" was an instant classic, a gibbering, psychotic patchwork of violence and depravity vomited out upon the viewer's retina, left to soak through to the subconscious and leave the brain coated in rancid dinosaur bile. Corrosive, crazy stuff. I doubt there's a person who has watched it that hasn't had to stifle a scream when they see a plate of spaghetti-o's. With "See Naples... Then Die" Stielstra again displays his encyclopedic grasp of the behaviors of half wit metal fans, inbreds, drug freaks and other unique human waste, and takes great glee in inflicting their ridiculous antics on us the viewers. And this time no stone is left unturned. Hell, even the mutant puffer fish in the production credits was bizarre enough to have me worried that I was in over my head. It's a perfect storm of no holds barred brutal mayhem, satire and social comment with added bonus paint huffing. The plot is as crazed as it is inspired, with angst-ridden cop taking on Italian mobsters trafficking addictive paint with the help of a falsetto-ed hillbilly (Michael Fredianelli in his signature role and face wig). Not your average Shane Black script obviously. In true Depth Charge Productions style, there's toilet humor galore. Hell, it's like an overflowing septic tank of discharge comedy in places - one early scene between hero Gus Benedict and his irate, sloppy uncle Ted centers around a heated argument over a clogged toilet. Intercut with a whale-like TV fat kid's tale of food deprived woe, naturally. The conglomeration of drooling, marble mouthed miscreants are so repellent they make the cast of "Gummo" seem as beautiful as the Brat Pack circa "St. Elmo's Fire". Stielstra delivers a masterclass in weirdo performance, voices and grimaces with the help of various wigs and two dollar gas station eyeglass frames from the infamous Depth Charge props bucket. Tongue-tied assassin Shaun Levine has to be seen and heard to be believed, as does the music video dream sequence by shaggy head-banger Todd (surely he could have come up with a better name?). If MTV's Headbanger's Ball was still being shown, they'd never play that clip in a million years. Their loss. The dependable Brendan Murphy, with style facial hair and threadbare good old boy hunting cap, glowers in his only scene in effortless style. But star character of the show is undoubtedly Chicano oaf Nosotros Martinez Parker, an inept Mexican with a hilarious line in rapping, Rottweiler pups and full-body gang signs which look like Danny Terrio going grand mal. After a hotel room introduction that is both sidesplitting and jaw-droppingly foul, his death scene is possibly the funniest of all time, bursting into tears and signing off with a spastic salute to "the street" before having his chest blasted into crimson porridge. His name-check of "Robocop 2" alone earns my undying respect. Speaking of blasting, the insanely sloppy squibs used in this film warrant a review of their own, but I'm not gonna write it. They detonate inside threadbare singlets and acid-wash jeans like stomped-on colostomy bags, in some scenes there's more red splashing about the place than... you know... something with a lot of red splashing about. Special mention has to go to the spectacular leg wound suffered by dribbling wannabe Ricky Babyboy Nine Millimeter, which erased most of his thigh in an explosion that looked like a stick of gelignite going off inside a can of coagulated paint. Masterful effects work. Gus copping a baseball bat to the face is a stunning stunt also, perfectly timed. With that kind of guerrilla genius on show I'm not going to whine about the so-called "home made" quality of the whole thing, personally the sloppy ADR, mismatched footage quality and random boosts in the audio volume add so much enjoyment that there's nothing to realistically complain about. Nothing, hear? I'm gushing like a complete fan-boy now, but the sheer creativity and crazed abandon on show here cannot be denied. Not only do the visuals throw in the kitchen sink, they puke in the sink first. Tasteful slow-motion, freeze frames, hell there's even some bizarre cartoon inserts like classroom doodles torn from the back pages of Harvey Pekar's high school maths book. The audio would make Ben Burtt brown his chinos, with nightmarish roars and garbly, slurred sonic landscapes pouring from the speakers like a repugnant aural treacle. Is that the worst simile ever? I think so. The relentless onslaught of caco squelches, gut splats, doodie splashes and childish Bronx cheers were music to my ears, as ironically was the music itself. Distorted Boss metal pedal guitar duels with overlaid wah wackiness, Tangerine Dream-y synth drones and rumbling bass farts. Guitar multi-effects torture never sounded so fitting. Deafening Led Zeppelin crankage as it should be played, drowning out everything else in the mix, and Toto to boot. Freakin' beautiful. Endlessly re-watchable, supremely quotable - Nido's "You are not worthy to suck my buttocks!" has to be funniest line of the year - and with more lunacy and mulletted Neapolitan infants than you can fit in a year's worth of crack-fuelled fever dreams. Final scene is bizarrely poignant, before hammering home the intrinsic horror of humanity like a sharpened toothbrush shank to the spleen. Majestic. Powerful, dare I say it.
After securing enough funds from playing bit parts in a variety of Wild Dogs features, director/writer/actor/musical talent/caterer Aaron Stielstra assemble the closing(?) crimer in his trilogy of sadism, perversity and atrocity-laden mayhem nestled quite violently and belligerently in an abundance of absurd action conventions. Those seeking more metal yetis, Tucson immigrant personalities and beautiful hand-held pans of Genoa look no further than this shocking tale of paint smuggling and revenge. While the plot may lose viewers that don't have the fortune of a map and instructions, there's enough singular action and bulbous Italian humor to keep the funny bone tickled and satisfied. Authentic dag0s and sceneries push the boundaries of the film's limited origins with a few newcomers offering their sweaty, foreign flavor to the American based production - the squash like ogre kingpin Scugnazzi constantly exudes menace whether he's berating his henchmen or crippling a cacco fruit (his two favorite activities) and a poorer Ray Lovelock lookalike brings a much needed poliziotteschi element to the promised title with a collection of Italo winter wear and scarfs.

Filmed with a cornucopia of one chip camcorders and on-camera mics (I heard a couple of audio scenes were recorded using tin cans and string) it's up to the performances and scriptwriting to keep the whole affair afloat. Unfortunately, the script is a mixed bag. While the premise is original and utterly ridiculous, the story arc and plot lineage is contrived and uninvolving. Many of the action cliché staples rear their ugly heads including the most annoying: bad guys reveal their plans without killing good guy. But Stielstra's gifted ear for scumbag speak makes for a delightful collection of colorful dialog and profanity without getting too cutesy or self-referential on itself ala Kevin Smith. And there is a scary surprise ending that is both tragic and heartbreaking in its implied nihilism and misanthropy, though in retrospect it should really come as no surprise as it seems the director's intent all throughout is to blueprint the downfall of civilized society. Even when the focus shifts away from criminal activity, we see quick inserts of normal civilized folks and how they struggle with equally life threatening issues such as obesity (as personified in Fat Jessica) This need to exploit such helpless figures is a brilliant mirror image to the bigger picture of hooking teens on inhalants, a theme the movie feels it wants to explore but never really gets to develop adequately.

Stielstra gives us possibly his best acting work with a whole line of characters that each have a distinct (and severe) mental disorder or physical deformity, and on the opposite end, he injects enough sympathy and melancholy into Gus to keep the overall conflict balanced. My favorites are Mr. Nido, a self-absorbed health nut with a hankering for barbarian metal and the need to speak in Shakespearean tone, and Nosotros Martinez Parker, a little bald-headed Mexican with thug aspirations and sociopathic tendencies. It's too bad Stielstra is way too tall for this character. I think Joe Tamayo would have nailed it but I guess he wasn't available. The action scenes are all brief and range from OK (foot chase) to cool (end shootout) to awesome (Nosotros' deft massacre of two FBI agents is straight out of a Glickenhaus flick and the subsequent gorno viewing with a Jewish rabbi discharging urine from his anus may just raise the film to genius level). All the original music is great and fun with its synth and stingers and drummy Chuck Norris notes. The tunes easily shift tone to accompany the more somber montages and voice-over sequences which are well conceived and written. Todd's metal song about demons and his vision of the ultimate music video is a candidate for MTV's Headbanger's Ball. The supporting cast is all decent but it's easy to spot the players with less experience. Nose phones it in letting his coke bottle glasses do the work for him, but he really isn't given much to do anyway. His character IS given the dignity of a pulpy slow mo shooting, but I still can't figure how he appeared in Italia (my only guess is that he was shipped with Sean Levine's body but the film doesn't leave many clues). The one actor that plays the squeaky, annoying Virgil Barleycorn is terrible. I can't tell who it is under all the latex and overalls, but judging from the broken nose and scarecrow arms, I would guess it's Fredianelli. Brendan Murphy seems to have put on some weight for his role, but the magical beard and right-wing hunting caps he so proudly displays make his Scarsdale hillbilly a hilarious and frightening creation.

The only major concern is the abysmal video quality that fluctuates from camera to camera and location to location. Content is important but presentation is as well, especially when your audience is weaned on perfectly filmed one-hundred million dollar blockbusters. A lot of the scenes seem too disjointed and odd partly due to inferior equipment being used and the necessity to shoot and dub shots from single scenes on completely different sets and audio background. Ignoring the homemade difficulties and mediocre storytelling, the flick does deliver on hilarious characters, content and intentions. I feel like buying Stielstra a proper camera and microphone to make something that LOOKS wonderful too.

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