Members of the community Bill Cebub is a very pleasant person in the musical or near-musical environment of heavy and special extreme metal of North America, Canada and other Anglo-American countries, the creator of the racial cult magazine Grimoire of exalted deeds, a journalist, a musician and a troll - and so thick that sometimes he even seems very thin, a person blooming and creating, successfully implementing the idea that the concept of absolute incompetence is extremely conditional, because everyone has his own talent. The Venerable Bill, meanwhile, managed to win a great profit and respect in the most brazen way outraged the community of heavy metal artists and hardcore, not grazing them with the release of each new LP and exhaling another portion of delicious kosars, but still effectively fertilizing them with selective criticism, not devoid of inhumanly evil author humor. But the moment of truth for William our Turijanchik (Bill Zebub with his pseudonym) came in the middle of zero, when he wanted to move to a new level of personal and creative growth - and instead of a cool party with blackjack and whores to start shooting a movie, with all the same content, aggravated except that all sorts of kavay hardcore and grindcore plot constructions, coupled with brutal violence, snuff, all kinds of BDSM and blasphemy and thereby the author's sense of humor, without the absence of which "Nots can be perceived by any other targets". Moreover, Cebub turned out to be a fascinating nature for the world of cinema; by this year, he had already released more than twenty films shot at a minimum cost, but rich in content for all sorts of different contexts.
However, even in the sickest joke, by default, there are half-bits of jokes and a large percentage of truth, and it is in this way - as an exclusively parody of zoohorror, but not as a full-fledged experience in it - that one should perceive the film "Ant Member Farm" by Bill Tsebub, which, on the general biased background of his specific filmography, is perceived a little more than completely as something so absurd that this absurdity from a solid and excited state rather soon turns into a liquid and gaseous one, initially isolating the viewer in this gasenvagen from any search for any deepening of Biebriticism, where there, with a vacuum of the two heroes, with such a sense of repressiveness, where there, with a vacuum-rexieousness, with a sense of being so disturbed. The notorious numb ants in pants in this slowly developing along the line of wet FGM picture went into a benevolent state not just too talkative organs of childbearing, but on a new round of their evolution, arranging a shelter of joy in the yoniyugma of the main character of the picture - a typical young representative of the Middle State saburbia Andrew, who suddenly fell on the anthill, realized that the benefits of this case-rhesus can be extracted a lot if there is imagination and irrepressible desires for revenge. And wrap...
Rapidly falling into the clinical absurdity and critical gore, and simultaneously denying himself any claims to reality, although still honestly proud of the microbudget through all the sex slots, this horror demonstrates its undoubtedly original vision of the problems of sexual promiscuity, depriving sex not only of any doubtful sensuality, but also romance with its preludes, long marathons of warming up and other pink ponies stretched latex on a spherical globe. Cebub thinks in the categories of straightforwardness, throwing all the heavy heroes of his ingeniously pornographic narrative, in which the horrors are actually from the pinky, but porn is from the trunk of a mammoth. But what is surprising is that watching the bloody adventures of two idiots benefiting from a random mutation within their own circumcised dignity and having fun quite in the spirit of a great faceless set of geniuses of the right hand and third leg is not so boring. Monsieur Cebub knows a lot about perversions.
You can, of course, try to look for in the "Ant Member Farm" at least social, at least sexual overtones, for nothing that the epic nerdiness of the main characters is emphasized boldly at any opportunity, and episodes of erotic content in fact is much more than you expect at first, because it seems like the idea of the film claims to be the title of horror with all the accompanying components of the genre, but in fact sex here prefer to engage often, in detail, perversely, but almost always past the main storyline. The exposition and the plot are present, but then the plot rushes through the potholes of the author’s stream of consciousness exactly like a drug addict who at once ate a lethal dose of the highest-quality heroin, and this approach to cinema from Tsebub eventually turns this terrible miracle into something original and has no analogues in various kinds of dirty (k)an(n)alah. Of course, an ant colony in an andryushin mediator will do hell and Israel in the most vivid and extremely memorable ways, but only the end of all the drama of pornographic surgery will be a little predictable, and our kind ant farmer will truly get even more than predicted. For Tsebub, the happy ending as a certain fact of the plot ending looks like some unimaginable oxymoron, the more the ambiguity of this pornopera that does not always have to give, as well as take, without previously wearing a gas mask and armed with a dichlophos, is perceived as nothing more than a depressing desire to kill a too obscene joke by the method of a vicious one that has already stretched for an extra hour.