The Pit (Lew Lehman, 1981)

The final act of this film plays like a meeting of the Ewoks and the redneck posse from Night of the Living Dead, wherein actors wearing bearsuits ramble through the woods before being pierced with bullets and punctured with racist leers. This cheapjack conclusion, however, does not subtract from the preceding pungent, and deeply disquieting, broth of Oedipal longing, as most adult female characters we meet are shot as if seen through the eyes of young murderously perverted Jamie, all soft focus and longing close-ups, where the slightest glimpse of a sweaty brow is served up as violent lusty fetish. It’s easy to see the parallels between this pubescent creep and Jame Gumb; both are convinced that the only function for objects of desire/loathing is to deposit them in a dark womblike hole and hope they are devoured by monsters from the id.

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