Dead Lover

Dead Lover, in all its stinky, sexy, queer and grotesque glory, is one of the grossest and loveliest films about love I’ve ever seen. This one’s for the horny, hopeless goth inside all of us.

The real trick of the film, though, is how it constantly steadies itself in the face of ever-mounting absurdity. This is a movie of such sexual outrageousness and stylized depravity that it should topple over every few minutes. And yet Glowicki and Petrie (who plays multiple roles) ride the razor’s edge of delirium to create something fantastical, even beautiful.

It would be an understatement to say that Dead Lover is unusual. It may be more accurate to call it entirely novel.

For those drawn to the bent, who crave some "Cheepnis" in a cinematic landscape of overproduced and overpriced madness, they just might fall in love with Dead Lover for all of its foul, fecund, and farcical facets.

The can-do spirit of Dead Lover, as evidenced by the way it couples goofy sound effects with cuts and camera movements, takes it a long way.

It’s too much yet not enough.

It is perhaps too much the acquired taste (and smell) to appeal to everyone, but it’s distinctive, never dull and – much like its most noxious niffs – difficult to shake.