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Hemo: The Kotori Review


Hemo is a masterpiece of drug cinema

Directed/Written/Produced by Bob Freville

It's not every day that we get to asked to write about masterpieces here at Kotori Headquarters in sunny California, so when Hemo came across my desk, I shoved the intern off my lap, did a few lines, and got wild.  I'd been waiting a long time to see this movie, and suffice it to say, I was not disappointed.

I'd been hearing many all sorts of exciting things about this strange new tale from writer/director/producer Bob Freville, the legendary underground writer and filmmaker (see Of Bitches & Hounds, and all the other crazy shit he's written as a journalist over the years).  I even met the guy on a trip to Tijuana a few years back,  and boy, can he party.  The sign of a true artist, I guess.

Lucky for him, all the rumors proved true: Freville has redefined drug cinema with this orgy of carnage and depravity.

Hemo is sort of like blending Natural Born Killers, 30 Days of Night, and Drugstore Cowboy all into one lumpy, decaying bloody mary, and then serving it to your blind, "developmentally delayed" retard of a cousin....then telling that cousin he needs to drive your aunt's Lexus down the highway at top speed...except it's not a highway, it's a pedestrian street, lined with children walking to school.

In other words, this is no more a movie about vampires than Spun is a love story.

The movie follows a typical couple young American lovers- Felicia and Calvin- as they go from one score to the other.  They're cynical, they smoke cigarettes like real fucking Americans, and occasionally they're in love...though that's mostly a by-product of their insatiable substance addiction.  Except, instead of hard narcotics, they're hooked on blood.  That is the only notion of "vampire" you'll get from this movie...well, except for some gloomy jackoff in a trench coat that keeps showing up to fuck with Felicia's head, but that character made so little sense, I'm not sure it wasn't my own hallucination.

Sure it's lacking in sound quality, and sure whatever cameraman Freville hired should be castrated for his lack of understanding the most simple concepts of photography...but despite its shortcomings, Hemo stands tall as a remarkably solid story, executed with only the most tiny flaws. 

While this is obviously due primarily to Freville's script and direction, it is Pamela Price that carries this macabre joyride to success.  I'm not just saying this because she's hotter than homemade sin (though she certainly is), but rather because she has true DEPTH and RANGE, and moreover, she BECAME her character.  She IS Felicia, the junkie blood-fiend...but she's also vulnerable at times.  You feel sorry for her...until you see what kind of manipulative bitch she really is.  But every time you watch Price on screen, you forget you're watching a movie, and you are instantly sucked into Freville's reality via Pamela Price.

The weird part about this is Kevin Petroff, who plays Calvin.  The guy walks around like he has a plank in his asshole, and I don't know that Freville's casting a flamboyantly gay dude as the lead was the most informed or even sane decision he could have made.  This is even more weird during the "love" scene, where Price grinds her gorgeous body all over Petroff...whose flaccid penis is distracting, to say the least.  And here I am, thinking this chick could turn any gay man straight.  I guess I just don't know the joys of sucking cock...but I digress.  Even Petroff's bland performance isn't enough to derail this lovely circus of mayhem.

All in all, Hemo is a masterpiece of drug cinema, and just as Price shines as one of this generation's best actors, Freville stands tall as one of this day's finest filmmakers.

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