I mentioned this at the beginning, but I sort of admire the film (that tearing sound you hear is my pass to heaven being revoked). One reason is the film’s consistency. The film’s vulgarity never stops, and it remains constant, holding its energy level at a good pace from start to finish. It never drags as its low quality of humor revels at being at the bottom of the barrel. Usually, films this bad lose steam by the end, but not here.
Imagine you’re sitting in a darkened room, and some guy is beating you and beating you and beating you over and over again. Mercifully, this beating only goes for seventy-five minutes, but after a while, you get used to the incoming blows and, in some sick way, start to enjoy it. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to having Stockholm Syndrome. Honestly, I know I have it, especially after two glimpses of mother Kathy’s lower parts. I can’t erase that image, no matter how much disinfectant I drink!
“Juvenile. Grotesque. Silly. Racist. Misogynistic. Insulting. Incestuous, Ungodly. Vulgar. Sickening.”
Let’s talk about production values. Henrietta and Her Dismal Display of Affection clearly has a low-budget indie film quality to it. In fact, most of the budget was probably spent on bad wigs. Camera-work is typical for low budget films, and sadly, the audio is clear enough to hear every joke. The acting quality is far from Oscar-worthy, and because the film is so offensive, no one on the cast should ever run for president. But ironically, if they did, they’d probably win.
My approach to reviewing films is two-fold. The first is to give you a good representation of a movie. The second is to tell you what I think about the film. I’m sure Jeffrey Garcia could care less of my opinion of his film because deep down, he knows what he made. In a way, it’s critic-proof. Movies are a matter of taste, and I’m sure 99% of movie buffs will hate this movie after the first two minutes. But there’s that 1% that thrives on films like this. It’s clear Henrietta and Her Dismal Display of Affection was made for that 1%, and to you, I say enjoy.
"…It’s the closest I’ve ever come to having Stockholm Syndrome."