The first one had a ridiculous German torture master, some anus-to-mouth surgery and a deep contempt for logic. You hated yourself for watching it, hated having your own face sewn to the crack of an unworthy ass-terpiece. What could possibly be missing from the magic formula? Dutch director Tom Six returns with his offensive notion of who his fans are, depicted onscreen as Martin (Harvey), a mute, corpulent creep who works in a London parking garage and watches The Human Centipede on repeat. He keeps a scrapbook of the movie's posters under his shit-stained sheets. He dreams a little dream.
The rest of this sequel---more laughable than effective---is devoted to putting the plan into action, as a dozen interchangeable victims are captured, bound, stripped and assembled in an industrial warehouse. Our hero, decidedly without medical training, gets busy; are you ready for half an hour of forced diarrhea and crude flesh cutting? Six manages to find the one element that could have made his idea even more noxious, a strong whiff of pretension: Interiors fade into b&w shadows (Eraserhead this is not), while Martin's miserable home life invites the worst kind of psychobabble from characters and viewers alike. The question remains: Exploitative films are a dime a dozen, but how low will two-faced art-film distributor IFC go?
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Watch the trailer