There was much discourse in the lead-up to “Fuck My Son!”—proclamations about not being constrained by ratings or good taste, going all out, being free and uninhibited and portraying all manner of things that mainstream cinema wouldn’t countenance. If you were expecting something like Lars von Trier’s “Nymphomanic” or “The House That Jack Built” or even Gaspar Noé’s “Love.” Think again, “Fuck My Son!” is not a real movie; it is a gigantic troll being pulled off at the expense of a captive film festival audience. It is a film that could only be suffered through by its first audience. As soon as word is out about what the film is, and the ‘no advance information’ festival protection is off, “Fuck My Son!” has no future, no prospects, no audience. Save for the local scat dungeon or themed fetish parties, if that is your thing.
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It isn’t that “Fuck My Son!” is too gross or indecent for a general audience. If anything, its failure is that it isn’t transgressive enough. In fact, it isn’t very interesting. It is truly damning that yours truly dozed off several times in a movie where a cancerous, boil-covered mutant anally rapes his octogenarian human mother with his 20-foot-long, pus-filled penis. Adapted from a comic strip (go figure), “Fuck My Son!” promises much before missing the goal by a lightyear. There are barely 15 minutes of ‘material’ here, stretched interminably to pad out a soporific 94 minutes.
The misdirection begins with an elaborate, nearly 10-minute-long pre-film guide that contains helpful audience directions like ‘No jerking off in the theater’ and an elaborate tutorial explaining a prop handed out to the Toronto International Film Festival audience: Paper glasses, like the 3D glasses from the 50s, with one said labeled “Perv-o-vision” and the other “Nude Block.” The joke is that the movie is going to have real hardcore porn-level sex and nudity, and audiences can put on glasses during those scenes to either enhance them or block the nudity. It is, of course, a bit, and the glasses obviously do not work (nor does the movie deliver the promised porn). It does allow writer-director Todd Rohal to waste 10 minutes.
“Fuck My Son!” seems like it was made so that the filmmakers could say the title out loud and get audiences to say it too. It concerns an octogenarian woman (Robert Longstreet in drag) who kidnaps a young mother (Tipper Newton) and her daughter, Bernice (Kynzie Colmery), so that the young woman can fuck her diseased, grotesque alien creature of a son (Steve Little). That’s it. As the main ‘storyline’ isn’t enough, the film is padded out with musical sequences (no kidding) that aren’t clever or subversive, just witless. Bernice is given a subplot about a singing pepperoni and pastrami cartoon that she loves, and which interrupts the movie like a chorus.
“Fuck My Son!” is ultra low-budget and basically takes place in a room. The make-up effects on the octogenarian woman and the creature are terrible and unconvincing, one senses purposefully so, but that could be said about the whole production—essentially a cheat code to use the ultimate excuse—it is terrible by intention! “Fuck My Son!” has no redeeming qualities and is an abomination, and can’t really be recommended to anyone as it is not even a real movie. It is a prank to hoodwink an unsuspecting audience. [F]
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